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It was dwindling fast.
After graduation, there’d be a six-week gap until I started my job.
I left Dad to the TV.In the kitchen sink, a tower of dishes threatened to topple. I’d do them later.
I dropped a few twenties on the empty table. Normally, my dad did this — the only gesture he made toward taking care of Nick and Eddie. Instead of buying groceries and necessities, he left crumpled bills on the table and my brothers were left to fend for themselves. During my last visit, Eddie hinted that the cash had slowed to a trickle.
Walking down the hall, I knocked on his door. He was hunched over his old PlayStation, as usual.
“Hey, buddy.” I hugged him around his narrow shoulders.
“Hey!” He bounced up and flashed his customaryPatrick’s here!grin, zooming from sluggish to excited, but deep circles shadowed his eyes. There were too many energy drinks lined up on his desk.
“Let’s call it quits on these for tonight, okay?” I moved the drinks to the back of the desk.
“I only had two,” he protested, pushing scraggly brown hair out of his eyes. I’d take him to get it cut tomorrow. “You’re home early! You usually come on Saturday.”
“There’s nothing happening at school tonight. And I missed you.”
On the shelf above his desk, piled with papers and ninth grade textbooks, an old family picture caught my eye. Eddie snuggled up on Mom’s lap. They resembled each other: short and slight, with blue eyes that were soft instead of sharp. I resisted the urge to turn the picture toward the wall.
“Are you making us dinner tomorrow?” he asked.
“’Course.” My stomach growled. I’d skipped that meal tonight. Too much of my food money was going toward splurges, like out-of-season strawberries on a breakfast tray.
“You cook really well now,” Eddie said. He was right — ever since I lived in Rome. “What about tonight? Aren’t you doing somethingfun?I thought you went out all the time on Friday nights.”
Growing up, Eddie wanted to know everything about my life. Now he was scraping by, still putting me on a pedestal. Still trying to live through me, the fucking great role model, while he hid out in his room. It killed me.
I tousled his hair. “This is fun,” I assured him. “I’m here to see you.”
He beamed and held out a controller. “Okay, will you play with me?”
His smile was so eager and breakable. I couldn’t say no.
I took the controller and sat on the floor. “Where’s Nick?”
“Dunno. He’s never here.”
Eddie was fragile. It was a relief to see him in a good mood tonight. A few weeks ago, he’d called me at one am with a full-blown panic attack and I’d driven home, zooming away from campus while a pair of dark eyes full of questions stared after me.
The minutes slipped away. When my phone buzzed, I paused the game.
A little bird told me it’s your birthday.
I smiled; I couldn’t help it. Who told her? Probably James Ulloa.
He thought I already knew. I went along with it.
“C’mon, let’s play,” Eddie said.
So…happy birthday, Patrick.
I closed my eyes. I could smell her.
That’s right, girl. Wish me a happy birthday. Make today a good day.
My eyes snapped open. No. Fuck, no. Christina wasn’t supposed to care. She wasn’t supposed to text me sweet little messages. If she wanted to tell me about her life, fine, but my life was none of her business. The more she found out, the more she’d wish she hadn’t.
