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Mom would lose her shit if I mentioned that I was not only working at a bar but at an establishment dedicated to all things hockey where the team likes to congregate. Anytime Wolf or the Westerville family is mentioned, my father foams at the mouth, and my mother gets teary eyed. It’s hard to blame them for continuing to grieve, but it’s time for them to move on and stop dwelling on what happened.
It was only when I escaped to college and then returned home for Thanksgiving break a couple of months later that I realized just how mired in the past they were. It was difficult to be around without becoming depressed and sad.
By the end of the four-day vacation, it was a relief to flee to school.
And I hate that.
Hate that I now feel this way about them.
I love my parents more than anything, but I have no idea how to help them through the loss of my brother. At every turn, they’re trying to suck me back in, and I refuse for that to happen.
It’s like the spiel they give you on an airplane. In case of an emergency, put your own oxygen mask on and make sure you’re all right before attempting to help others.
That’s what I’m trying to do.
Make sure I’m good before offering assistance.
It doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to figure out why I was drawn to psychology as a major or am interested in being a therapist.
“Oh.” Disappointment laces that one word. “Wouldn’t it be easier to come home? Just for a semester?”
Even though she can’t see me do it, I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to drop out.”
“No one is asking you to drop out, Fallyn,” she shoots back. “We’ve scraped together a little money by selling a few antiques from your grandmother. We can help pay for a class or two at the local college.”
They’ve sold off some of our furniture?
That comment only proves how dire the situation is.
I can’t believe this is what it’s come to.
When I remain silent, she continues in a rush, “I just worry about you, sweetie. Will you be working late at night?”
“Um, not too late. But I’ll find a ride home. It’s perfectly safe.” I have no idea if that’s true or not, but if I tell her any differently, she’ll get in the car, drive to Western, and drag my ass back home.
“Hey, Fallyn,” my father chimes in. Exhaustion creeps into his voice, making him sound even older.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Did your mother mention that we’re putting the house up for sale?”
Shock crashes over me as I swing away from the window and resettle on the bed. “No, she didn’t.”
A heavy silence descends. I can just imagine the looks they’re exchanging. Tears are probably filling Mom’s eyes. She’s always loved that house.
We all do.
Even with the ghost that rattles around inside it.
I squeeze my eyes closed and drag a cleansing breath into my lungs before releasing it back into the atmosphere.
“Yeah, it’s time. We need something smaller, more manageable,” Dad adds.
No one dares to mention all the memories that have kept them from moving on. Even though it’s been almost five years since the accident, Mom hasn’t touched my brother’s room. It looks exactly the same as it did the night we snuck out of the house. As if Miles is away at college and will return any moment.
A soft sob fills the line.
I clear my throat, trying to keep all the thick emotion from invading my tone. “That sounds like a good idea. Something smaller would be nice for you guys.”
