Page 179 of Tangled Like Us
Instead of making it right, he just withdrew. Became distant. He never showed me how to seek forgiveness, ask for it or accept it. Just to take fault for my mistakes.
To carry blame.
I’m good at that. But I’m not him. If I were, I would’ve never walked over to Jane on the beach in Greece and tried to right what I’d wronged.
“My mom wasn’t doing well,” I explain, a pit in my ribs. There’s not a word to describe my mom around this time. Eviscerated seems too light. “But we were all lucky.”
She hands back the whiskey without taking a sip. “In what way?”
“We had my grandma.” I tell Jane how Carol Piscitelli, my four-foot-eleven grandma, packed up our small, one-bedroom apartment and found us a row house to live in.
She moved in with us.
She got my mom back on her feet.
She made sure that we kept our heads up. “We didn’t have a lot of things growing up,” I tell Jane. “But we had family.”
At a time where we were starved for anything but emptiness and grief, our grandma gave so much love.
“She sounds like a beautiful person,” Jane tells me, her soft smile so genuine. “I’d love to meet her and your mom one day—if appropriate. I know it may not be possible for security reasons, but I just…” She takes a measured breath. “They seem quite lovely, is all.”
My chest rises. “They’d like to meet you.”
She smiles more. “They would?”
I nod and I put the rim of the bottle to my mouth. Taking another swig. I watch a thousand other questions rush through her eyes.
She smooths her lips repeatedly. Contemplating what to ask.
She’s quiet for a while, and I almost move closer. I almost brush a strand of frizzed hair off her cheek. I almost pull her onto my lap.
Don’t touch her.
My muscles tense, and I look her over. “What are you most curious about?”
She’s wary. “That’s an incredibly dangerous thing to ask, you realize.”
“I’m good to go.” I nod to her. “Shoot.”
“What did your dad tell you that night?”
I figured this could’ve been on her mind. And I’ve never told this to anyone. Never repeated it. But I just let it out now. “He said I should’ve biked harder.” Off her confusion, I explain the rest.
How my brother died.
He used to bike out to a quarry. He’d sneak a few beers to drink, throw rocks, and swim. Sometimes alone, sometime with friends. Always to let off steam.
Occasionally he’d let me and Banks tag along. One night, I heard him sneak out, and I knew he was probably headed there.
I asked my mom if I could go with Sky. She said yes. I followed on my bike.
I was slower up hills. I left probably fifteen minutes after him.
When I got there, I dropped my bike and ran straight in the water. Skylar had jumped off a common diving point. But it was dark. No moonlight. The water was too shallow, and he hit rock.
He ended up unconscious in the water around ten minutes before I showed up.
There wasn’t anything I could do. But I tried.
