Page 21 of The Rebel
Mom’s eyes flashed with a bright smile. “Kristin’s been such a good friend. It’s the least I can do,” she said, shifting the cutlery into precise positions on the table. “And I’m sure Valencia will be no trouble at all.”
I nodded in agreement, but a flicker of doubt crept into my mind, and nothing to do with Valencia. It was true that Kristin Reid had been a great support to Mom, especially after Dad died. But you wouldn’t pick Mom and Mrs. Reid as likely friends, Mrs. Reid being extremely focused and serious. We used to hear her barking out coaching orders to Paris and Valencia back in theearly days, whereas Mom was the laidback and relaxed one. To me, Mrs. Reid seemed like she’d make a good school principal; she ran a pretty tight ship as far as Paris’s routine of school and tennis training went, much like a military operation. If he came over to my house, he always had to be home at a certain time, computer or gaming time was severely frowned upon and he never drank soda or ate candy. If we weren’t on the tennis court, Mrs. Reid preferred us to be active outside, kicking a ball or riding our bikes.
But seeing Dad’s clothes had put me into a spin, making me wonder if Mom wasn’t as strong as she’d made out to be.
When Miss Piatti told me about the opportunity for the school exchange to England for the beginning of senior year, I’d originally turned it down. Though it had been on my to-do list, it wasn’t the time to be leaving Mom and Oliver for a whole semester. I worried that three months was too long to be away. But Mom insisted and basically bullied me into remembering Dad’s words.
Yep, Dad had a lot of lingering thoughts and wishes on his deathbed. Ticking off bucket lists, seizing opportunities, living life to its fullest. He wanted Oliver and me to reach for the stars, to live our dreams, his dreams. You see, because of Dad, I was mildly obsessed with the English Premier League, and he’d instilled in me his own love for the Manchester City team—what we called soccer, they called football—and I was desperate for the whole English experience and of seeing my team playing in their home stadium with fifty thousand other passionate fans.
Guilt had wracked me initially, but Mom and Oliver assured me they were coping without me—and I ended up having the best time.
But now the guilt was back. Was Mom’s strength a facade? Even though we knew Dad’s death was coming, it hadn’t lessened the shock when that day finally hit. Fighting stomachcancer had been a rollercoaster ride, the highs of hope when believing he’d beaten it, down to devastating lows when it returned with a vengeance—and a death sentence. And added into all of that had been the conflict with Dad’s parents—my grandparents—who we hadn’t seen since the funeral.
Now I worried that Mom had been faking thisI’m-strong-and-moving-forwardattitude. Was she actually stuck in time and unable to move on?
Because why else would she keep Dad’s clothes?
“Kristin’s dropping over Valencia’s things tomorrow morning. Then they’re driving to Falls Creek airport,” Mom said. “I think it’ll be nice to have another girl in the house.”
“What? You think you’ll be painting your nails and doing beauty stuff together?” I joked.
“Maybe,” Mom said, laughing. “And we might binge watch a few chick flicks.”
I rolled my eyes, but wondered where she’d put Dad’s clothes. In her closet?
“Do you wanna shout out to Ollie now? And wash up for dinner,” Mom said, glancing at the workout gear I was wearing.
I stood at the doorway and was about to yell down the hallway, but decided to go to Ollie’s room. His was just across from Mom’s.
“Hey,” I said, poking my head in, “dinner’s ready.”
“Yep, won’t be a sec,” he called back from his desk where he was doing homework. I hated that Ollie had been so young when losing Dad; he’d been eight when Dad got sick and I worried that he could only remember him that way. I sidled across to Mom’s half open doorway, my arm outstretched to push the door, when I heard, “Can we sled tonight, Jade?”
I withdrew, coming back in Ollie’s room. “What’d you say?”
“Can we go sledding tonight?”
“Don’t think Mom will let us. School night, buddy.”
“Dang it,” he said, but as resilient as ever, closed his laptop and came running at me, arms wide to take me in a tackle. Of course he couldn’t take me down, but I let him have a moment where he thought he could, before lifting him and flinging him over my shoulder like he weighed nothing.
Lifting weights had been a thing Dad and I started when he got sick. Treatment made him weak, so we put together a small home gym. We shifted furniture around in the second living room, Mom’s sewing table and the old computer desk pushed into the corner to make way for a weight bench and a cable machine. Every night we’d pump up the music—mainly heavy metal songs to annoy Mom (who detested that music)—and work out.
When the treatment stopped and he needed surgery to remove his stomach, I started to realize it had never been about keeping up his muscle strength but about bonding, time together. Toward the end, he’d sit on the stationary bike and barely had the strength to pedal, but he’d act as my personal trainer, making me do all the heavy lifting.
With Ollie hoisted over my shoulder, light as a feather, those memories with Dad flashed before me—funny how random memories could just pop into your mind.
“What do you weigh?” I mocked him. “Eighty pounds? Training starts after dinner. In the gym.”
Oliver giggled, waving his feet in front of my face. I screwed up my nose, carrying him into the dining room and deposited him down on a chair.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Mom said, with a laugh. “Did you wash up?”
Ollie and I looked at each other and nodded in sync, causing Mom to shake her head—she knew we hadn’t. Every meal time was like Thanksgiving Day for us, where we’d join hands and express our gratitude, a tradition started when Dad was havingtreatment. He used to be thankful for the silliest things, like he’d lost his sense of taste—while smirking at Mom’s cooking. Now we tried to beat each other to say the most ridiculous things.
“Thank you for this wonderful food,” Mom started, “and for my amazing sons who are going to eat all the vegetables on their plates.”
I sneered at the portion of green beans, carrots and some other green thing on my plate while Ollie’s eyes popped before flashing mischievously. “Thank you for Axe deodorant to cover Jade’s stinky armpits.”
