Page 128 of I Wanna Text You Up

“Thesausage, notyoursausage.” His brows pinch in confusion and I point to the stove. “For the Bs andGs.”

“Ooooh. Well that makes moresense.”

“Yeah, so scram. I can’t have you near me right now. I want a clear head when you explainyourself.”

He bobs his head up and down. “Right. Okay. You’reright.”

He takes a seat at the bar and lets out another ragged breath before bringing his hands together. He rests his fingertips under his chin, and it almost looks like he’spraying.

“My mom hasn’t always been the bestmom.”

I hop off the counter and head toward the stove, thinking giving him the illusion of privacy while talking willhelp.

“She’s a stripper—whatever pays the bills, right—but as you can imagine, working in an environment like that doesn’t bring the best people into her life, especially since the town I come from is full of nothing but crime and filth and hungry kids. She’s so…stuck there, and she’s dragging my brother down right along with her. It’s a damn miracle I gotout.”

I chop at the sausage with the spatula, still not turning around. “But did you really,Caleb?”

“Huh?”

“Did you really get out? You’ve been so stuck between the two worlds that I don’t think you’ve escaped as much as you think youhave.”

I hear his hands hit the countertop, not in an angry way, but more like he’s defeated. “It’s so hard…so much harder than you canimagine.”

“What’s so hard aboutit?”

“They call, all the fucking time. They want me there—theyneedme there. They’ve run out of groceries, run out of booze, run out of money and cigarettes and everything else. And me?” He lets out a sardonic laugh. “I’ve about run out of fucks togive.”

This is the first time he’s spoken so freely about his family and it pains me to hear his words, to hear how broken and defeated he sounds. There’s an underlying tone of panic too, and I sense that Caleb feels like he has to be the safety net that keeps his family afloat, forgetting to live his own life in themeantime.

“I threw away my shot at the majors for them.” His voice strains, and I nearly drop my spatula to run to him. “I fucking threw it allaway.”

“Whathappened?”

“My brother owed some deadbeat guy money. He came looking for it, tried roughing him up, and I wasn’t having any of that. The kid’s only sixteen. So, I took care ofthings.”

“Took care ofthings?”

“With myfists.”

“Oh,” Isay.

“It gets better.” He pulls his lips back in disgust. “The cops were called, and my momandbrother said I provoked thefight.”

I spin around at his words, stunned. “No.”

“Yep.”

“That’s… I-I can’t even find the proper words for how messed up thatis.”

Moments of silence pass by. The food sizzles on the hot stove, and I don’t bother to turn my attention back toit.

“Why do you keep goingback?”

“My grandma. She lives in the local nursing home.” He slides his eyes my way. “She’s who I go see everySunday.”

“I thought you went back for your mom andbrother?”

“I go back to give them money or whatever it is they want. I meet them at the bus stop because I refuse to go over to their traileranymore.”

---