“Asher, I really need you to call me back so we can make arrangements for this medication. The spots are limited, and although I’m your mother, I can’t sign for you. You’re an adult. Please call me.”
Another.
“Asher. You need to come home. I—I can’t get ahold of your brother. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you both home.”
My chest tightened.
Then there was one from my doctor.
“Asher, this is Dr. Azad. An opportunity has opened up for you, and I’d like to discuss it with you before we enroll you. There are parameters you must be able to meet before we get started, and if you haven’t been taking the proper precautions, I worry you won’t qualify. Either way, give me a shout at the office. I’ll be here all week.”
And then my mother again.
“Asher! We found your brother, but you need to get the fuck home. The family needs you here!”
I lowered the phone from my ear. Something catastrophic was happening. I didn’t know what, but I could feel it.
“Duke,” I said, my voice holding a bitter urgency. “I need to get home. Quick. Something’s wrong.”
He met my eyes in the rearview mirror, and nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
Duke launched the car forward, tires searing the pavement as he raced toward home.
Asher
Racing through the doors of my childhood home, I watched as every head turned to face me.
The relief that washed over my mother’s face was almost unrecognizable.
She was worried to death. I could see it. It hung palpably in the air.
I kicked off my shoes and walked toward her just as she got up to embrace me in a hug. She pushed her face into my neck and began to sob.
I didn’t know what to do—so I did what I’d learned to do with Lennon.
I just held her. I ensured she knew she was safe to unleash the demons inside of her.
My embrace was committed. My chin rested on top of her head and my arms wrapped around her frame.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m here. What’s going on?” I whispered.
My father rounded the corner holding two crystal glasses of what looked like scotch on the rocks. His stern brow furrowed the moment he caught sight of me.
They weren’t celebrating.
They were mourning.
“Where’s Wyatt?” I asked, suddenly aware of how cold the house felt.
My dad placed the glasses down on the counter, hiking up his sleeves as he trudged toward me. My mother turned just in time to see my own father wind up and drive his fist directly in my face.
The immediate shock of pain seared my face, causing an explosion.
With that, the house erupted into chaos. My mother screamed for him to stop. My father shouted something intelligible about me being selfish. A female voice begged everyone to stop.
And before I knew it—I was lying on the floor.
Blood burned hot, the arteries pumping blood fast to my face. I felt it pour from my nose.
