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“You must be really obsessed with this stepbrother if you talk about him in the third person even when you’re with him.”
“Well, he’s the kind who talks about himself in the third person, so it goes hand in hand.” I turn to give him a quick wink.
“He sounds like a cool guy,” Atlas says.
“I must not be describing him very well, then. He’s the kind who keeps to himself because he thinks everyone else is so beneath him.”
“Oh, that’s why he keeps to himself? You know him that well? At least it’s better than the guy who forms his whole identity around high school and is so desperate for attention that he’s always wearing his jersey in the halls and nabbing acquaintances so he can be voted prom king. I don’t know if I ever told you, but congratulations, by the way.”
“It’s delayed, but appreciated, even though I know you didn’t vote for me,” I say, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
I know why I’m pissed right now doesn’t have anything to do with him, just like he must know I’m not responsible for his dad’s behavior, but as we’ve always done, we take our pain out on each other, using each other as emotional punching bags.
Maybe because all that anger has to go somewhere.
Maybe because the fighting distracts us from how much we’re hurting.
Whatever the reason, it’s working, and I can feel myself calming down.
I turn my blinker on to get off at the next exit.
“Fuck, I knew this was going to happen,” he says.
“What?”
“You’re gonna kill me because I didn’t vote for you for prom king.”
I finally break into a laugh, and when I glance his way, he’s smirking too. Not in that way that bothers me—when his narrow gaze is searching to see how his dig landed. This smirk has a sharper twist, his eyes wide like he’s enjoying how much hemade me laugh. I hate to admit, it’s kind of charming. A side of him I don’t want to strangle.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with us, but it’s clear we both needed that.
I start to explain why I’m getting off at the exit when he says, “You’re going to McDonald’s. You forced yourself to eat a bite at dinner, and now those beefy muscles are hungry and screaming at you to feed them.”
Sometimes he just gets me.
At the drive-thru, I order two Filet-O-Fish, two McChicken with pickles, large fries, and a vanilla shake. Without asking, I order him a ten-piece nugget and fries, something he doesn’t object to because with some things, I get him too. I park, and Atlas hands me a wrapped sandwich, knowing I don’t care which one. As I unwrap it, he dumps the nuggets and fries together into the bag to make his little McDonald’s mix. I take a healthy bite of my sandwich, my tongue excited by the mayo and pickle of the McChicken.
I throw my head back against my seat, cherishing the taste as my body reacts like the first time I ever came.
“Just what I needed,” I say after I swallow.
I notice Atlas watching me as he pops a fry into his mouth.
“What?” I ask as I thumb my chin to see if some sauce dropped onto it.
His expression shifts. “Maybe next time we should ask Ellie what she’s making so we can swing by McDonald’sfirst.”
We share another laugh, and it’s apparent we’re both just happy we survived another dinner night with our fucked-up family.
4
Atlas
“Atlas, you gota shit ton of new materials to sort through. It’s going to be a busy day,” Fred, the lead technician at the metal yard where I work, tells me. It’s not a dream job, but it pays the bills. My plan is always to get the least amount of money from Glen as possible. Mom left me some, but she was never the breadwinner. That was all Glen. This job helps with my goal. Plus, sometimes I do stumble upon some pretty cool finds. One time I saw an old fridge and sink that had been turned into art, the insides painted like scenery. We’d also gotten an old SWAT car from the police department, which was pretty badass.
“I’m on it.” I tug my gloves on and head over to where the new delivery waits for me. I’m the lowest-level yard and wash tech they have, so if there are shitty jobs to do, I’ll always be the one who gets them. Since Troy works as a mechanic, every once in a while when we get old cars, I see something he might want or need. I’ll set it aside for him, which usually includes holding it over his head for one reason or another until we end in a bet about it. We really need to stop playing this game at some point, but I don’t see an end in sight at the moment.
I’m still trying to work through our spontaneous trip to McDonald’s last week. Sometimes our relationship confuses even me. One minute we hate each other, and the next we’re able to bond over the fucked-up situation we’re in because of our even more fucked-up parents. I still have my issues with Troy.I don’t know how to make that go away when he’s tied to the worst shit that’s ever happened to me, but there are moments I remember he has it bad too.
