Page 13 of Embrace

“How was the study group yesterday?” she asks when I pull out of the parking lot.

A vision of red hair crosses my mind and then the requirements for the course, page after page. “I just went through the syllabus.”

“Still brutal? I heard Dr. Dunn is back and he’s worse than ever.”

I nod. “Taking Advanced Stats my last semester might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You’ve done worse things.” Summer taps her phone a few times until mine pings. “I sent you all the notes and assignments I have. You’ll do fine.”

Other than the guys, Summer’s the only one who knows why I’m hell-bent on getting that parchment. She wasn’t there to see who I became when my dad died, but she seems to understand why I want this just the same.

“You could just tutor me, you know.” I bat my eyelashes when I glance at her.

She scoffs. “I’d rather take a swim in the Eco Center Pond.”

Worth a try.

When we pull up to the hockey house, Summer drops me off because she has to study and I walk into a place that’s completely empty. Dylan’s probably still at the rink getting chewed out by Coach, and the rest of the guys are at the gym.

In my room, there’s already a vinyl playing “I’m Not In Love” by 10cc, but I swap it. Pulling a random one from the stacks I still haven’t sorted. I have a bit of a problem, like the guys always say.

“Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day echoes in my room, and the absence of bodies to absorb the sound gnaws at an ache in my chest I hadn’t known was there again.

I fall back onto my mattress. I barely register what I’m doing before my phone’s to my ear and my sister is answering after a few rings.

“Kian? Are you okay?” Kiyomi’s concerned voice is immediate.

It’s been four years, yet every conversation between us since has carried the same anxious weight. It was after my dad’s funeral, when I returned to Connecticut and didn’t understand how to go back to my life as if it hadn’t ended right there in that hospital room.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but dial Kiyomi. She heard my first panic attack, and now she picks up as if she’s bracing for that moment to happen again. Like some fucked-up version ofGroundhog Day.

“I’m fine, Ki.” I chuckle to lighten the mood. “I just called to check on you and Mom.”

Her exhale is heavy. I can’t decide whether it’s from relief or from me adding to her already overflowing plate. “Everything’s good, pip. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Sometimes calling her feels like wearing my dad’s old sweater, only to find it doesn’t smell like him anymore.

“Mom too?”

“Yes, she’s fine.” Her response is curt, like she’s warning me. I can never tell of what.

Every year that goes by, I’m less satisfied by her syntheticresponses. I’ve always been kept in the dark. No one told me my dad was sick until it was too late.

Apparently, he thought it was best that I stay focused on school rather than on the fact that he was dying of lung cancer. I should have known something was wrong. I could’ve helped.

After Dad died, Mom sank into a depression I didn’t know about until Kiyomi accidentally cc’d me on an email to a psychiatrist. It’s the only reason I know about Mom’s dementia too.

“How’s the semester treating you?” she asks.

“It’s okay. I signed up for a study group and I have a tutor. I’m on track to graduate.” I brace myself before I continue. “But I was thinking I could drive up to see you guys this weekend? Before everything gets hectic here.”

There’s a long pause and then that same sigh I’ve become so accustomed to. “This weekend isn’t great, Kian. I’m really busy with work, and it’s been hard getting all of Mom’s meds with her psychiatrist out of the office. I can’t take care of you too.”

I bite back the urge to argue because I know where it leads. Last time I pushed, it ended with silence that stretched for too long and me calling the next day to apologize. Ki laughed softly and said she could never be mad at me, that she was just tired. Always tired. Always stressed. Always busy. And no matter how many times I offer to help, she never lets me take any of the weight.

I’ve always been little Kian, the one with a fragile heart, too gentle. It’s why I started to play hockey. It was the toughest sport I could think of. And it turns out that I’m good at it. But I wanted to be someone people could rely on. I could make a difference. I just don’t know how to show her that.

The backs of my eyes burn. “Yeah, I get it. Forget I asked.”