Page 11 of Eleanor & Grey

“Alright, alright. I see you made a new friend today,” he said, tossing his hands up. “I still think she’s a weird loner, but whatever.”

I guess in a way Eleanor was a loner. She was a professional at keeping to herself, outside of Shay.

Sometimes I wished I could be more like that.

It seemed less complicated.

Landon lived on the same block as me, and when we walked up to my house, his over-the-top chatty persona faded as he took in the howling that was coming from my house.

Mom and Dad were home.

That was always a treat to partake in.

Landon stuffed his hands in his pockets and he gave me a pathetic smile. “You wanna crash at my place tonight?”

I shook my head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll just hurry to my room. I’m sure my dad will find a reason to storm off soon enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Night.”

He scratched the back of his neck, hesitant about my choice, but he started walking away. “All right, night, Greyson.” He paused, then turned back to me. “I’ll leave the window to the first floor guest room open tonight if you need it, okay?”

Even though he was sometimes a crappy human, he was a damn good best friend.

“Thanks, Landon.”

“Yup. Night.”

Once I reached my front porch, I hadn’t gone inside. I knew nothing good would come from walking into that place.

My parents were in yet another screaming match.

That was nothing new. Whenever they were both home, fighting was what they did best. Mom was probably wine-drunk, cussing out Dad, and Dad was probably whiskey-drunk, telling her to shut her piehole.

Though, I was pretty sure whatever was going on was Dad’s fault. He was pretty good at screwing up and making it look like Mom made the mess. I’d never met a person who was so damn good at gaslighting another person. Mr. Handers taught us that word last year in English class—gaslighting—and the moment I heard it, I knew it was my father to the T.

He was a professional manipulator. Both at work, and at home. He was so good at making my mother think she was completely mad. If she smelled perfume on his clothes, he’d say it was hers. If she found lipstick on his shirts, he’d convince her that she placed it there. If he told her the sky was green, she’d doubt her own eyesight.

He once forced her into the hospital to test her psyche.

The tests showcased that she was sane. She’d married an asshole.

Dad stayed eerily calm during Mom’s meltdowns, too. Which was another mind game of his—making her seem as if she was crazed, even though he was the one driving her to the looney bin. Sometimes I thought he left other women’s numbers in places just so she’d find them. I wouldn’t put it past him.

When I was younger, he’d try to get me to side with him—to use me to throw Mom under the bus. But I never did. I’d always known that the only thing Mom had done wrong was fall in love with a monster.

My father was a liar, a cheater, and a messed-up man.

Actually, there was one other thing Mom had done wrong. She stayed.

I never understood that.

I didn’t know if it was because she loved him, or loved the comfortable life he created for us. Either way, it wasn’t healthy. I guess that’s why she was hardly ever home. Maybe she got comfort from seeing the world on Dad’s dime. Maybe spending his money made her feel as if she was somehow winning.

“I know you’re messing around with her, Greg!” Mom hollered as I sat on the top step of the porch. I rolled my hands over my ears, and tried my best to drown out the sounds.

I wished Grandpa was still around. For the most part I tried my best not to think about him being gone, because it really messed with my head, but some nights I just wished I could sneak off to his house and watch old kung fu movies with him and eat insane amounts of popcorn.

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