AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“My sociology classes are great, if anyone cares. I’m considering being a social worker,” I say, and the room goes quiet. I don’t plan on being a social worker, but my mom was one. Glen is always on my case because he thinks the only reason I’m studying sociology is to piss him off since Mom went to college for the same degree.
“Atlas! That’s enough!” Glen warns, his voice hard.
“What the fuck ever. I’m going outside for some fresh air.”
As I’m walking out the front door, I hear Ellie say she’s checking on our food—and confirming that she is indeed making pasta, Glen’s favorite.
3
Troy
After Atlas leaves,Glen gets back to talking about the game.
Before we arrived at our parents’ place, I guessed we might make it ten, maybe fifteen minutes before someone snapped, but Atlas really beat his record this weekend.
Not that I blame him. Atlas only seems like less of a dick when he’s around Glen, who makes a sport out of being an ass to his son. But as far as parenting goes, at least he gets participation points, which is more than I can say for my dad.
Mostly, I’m just glad that Atlas’s outburst kept Glen from going into his usual spiel:“I’ve been talking to my friend, and they could use a guy like you once you graduate next year. Says the job market’s really good right now.”Despite how many times I told him it’s not my dream to go into the corporate world, he’s the kind of guy who can’t imagine anyone wanting anything other than the life he’s got, which, admittedly, is impressive. It’s probably the kind of life plenty of other guys would want, but it’s not for me. I’m perfectly content with working at the auto repair shop, like I’ve done since I was sixteen, but I know that can’t seem like enough for a guy like Glen.
After a time-out in the game, he heads into the kitchen and chats with Mom for a bit, and I check the time on my phone, wondering how long Atlas is gonna need for his breather.
I settle back in my seat, scanning the room—and do a double take at a bookshelf in the corner of the room, where Mom displays some of the awards and certificates her sons earned.
Something’s missing.
I push to my feet and hurry over, my gaze frantically searching before I call out, “Mom?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Where’s Brandon’s stuff?”
Silence, and I’m waiting for her to gasp or say,“What?”in horror, but the next thing I hear is, “Honey, I took them to the basement.”
Youwhat?
He’s my big bro, not an old trophy.
I can’t even manage words as I turn to see her standing in the entryway to the family room, her expression casual, as though she’d said,“Do you think I should make extra garlic bread?”
“Why would you put them in the basement?”
“I was talking to my therapist about it, and it’s been seven years. I thought it might help me.”
Help youwhat? Forget him?
“They’re in one of the bins with the rest of his things,” she adds. “I’m keeping them in case he comes back.”
I’m lightheaded. I can hardly think straight. All I want to say is,Why would you do that? He’s still my goddamn brother.
Dad leaving was hard on all of us, and while Mom and I turned to therapy, my brother looked for anything he could swallow, snort, or inject that might help him forget.
Then he wound up disappearing on us too.
I head through the family room, pass Mom, and start for the basement door, but I stop myself. Do I really want to go down there? Do I really want to see the photos and the stuff that will bring back all the memories?
I imagine dirty-blond locks, bright blue eyes, a wide grin, and my chest constricts.
“Troy, are you okay?” Mom asks, probably because I short-circuited in the middle of the kitchen.
