Page 32 of The Way I Used to Be
Her eyes widen as we stand face-to-face. She looks behind her at Dad sitting on the couch in the living room, as if trying to rally some support. But he just points the remote at the TV and the volume bars dance across the bottom of the screen, 36-37-38-39, louder, louder, louder. Rolling her eyes at him, she returns her gaze to me. She inhales through her nose and exhales sharply. “Excuse me?” she finally manages, the words tight and hard. “Icare.Your father cares. We’re supposed to be a family—that means pitching in! Do you understand?”
“And the windows are somehow an emergency all of a sudden?” I snap back at her.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, Eden. And I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but it stops right now!” She takes a step closer, her body blocking my exit.
We stare each other down, volleying this invisible ball of fiery emotion back and forth between us. But there are no words to explain to her what’s gotten into me. I don’t even know what it is. There’s nothing that I can say or do that will be right, anyway. I spin around to face my room. For just a moment I consider whether or not I can make a break for my bedroom window—that’s how bad I want to get away. But she grabs on to my arm before I can decide.
“Don’t turn your back on me when I’m talking to you,” she growls, pulling me back into the ring. “Did it ever occur to you that I might need a little help around here once in a while?”
“Look, I’ll put the damn windows in—I just haven’t gotten to it yet!” I wrestle out of her grasp easily and take a step backward. “I’ve been busy, okay?”
“And tell me, why exactly have you been so busy lately, Eden? Where is it you’ve been spending all your time? Not here, that’s for sure.”
She stands there waiting for an answer.
I roll my eyes, look away. I feel my mouth smiling, somehow, in spite of the tears menacing just under the surface. I shake my head.
She steps inside my room now, fully in my space. “You listen to me. I’ve had it, Eden—your father, too,” she says in that clipped tone of hers that she always uses on Dad to make sure it’s clear she thinks he’s totally useless.
“What’s the big fucking deal here?” I dare her, taking a step forward. And before I can even understand what’s happening, there’s a loud, hollow crack that echoes inside my head. And the side of my face is on fire.
She says something, but her voice is dulled by the ringing in my ears.
And because I feel like I could hit her back, I turn away. I grab anything I can and stuff it into my backpack. I pick the note up off my bedroom floor and shove it in my pocket. “Out of my way,” I mutter, shoving past her.
“Edy?” she whimpers, her voice straining as if she has no air left in her body whatsoever. “Don’t go. Please.”
“I’m sleeping at Mara’s,” I announce with my hand on the front door. I turn around, watch her stand there in my bedroom doorway falling to pieces, watch Dad pretend nothing’s happening, and I say, “I hate this place, I really hate this place!” Then I slam the door as hard as I can. My hot tears steam up my glasses as I walk.
I almost wuss out by the time I get to his street. The only light issuing from the entire house is the dim glow of the TV in the living room, flashing through the curtains. I walk up the front steps and slide my glasses into my coat pocket. My phone says 11:22. I stand there listening for any sign of movement from inside. I try to think of what I could say, about earlier, about last night. I feel dizzy, suddenly, as everything inside of me seems to rush to the surface of my skin all at once. I sit down on his front steps—I just need to collect my thoughts for a minute, that’s all.
At 11:46 his cat prances up the walkway. She runs up to me as if she’d been waiting for my arrival. She presses herself against me, weaving her agile body between my legs, nudging her head into the palm of my hand. She jumps in my lap and just lies there, letting me pet her. Even if I am just a stupid mouse, she keeps me company. Her purring sends calming vibrations through my body, warming my hands up against the bone-chilling night. I look at my phone again: 12:26. He wroteI hope I’ll see you later. I know that’s what it said. I shift my position to try to get the note out of my pocket and the cat looks at me accusingly.
The door screeches open. I turn around.
She leaps out of my lap and is inside the house in one swift movement. I take a breath to prepare an explanation, but the door’s already creaking shut—he doesn’t even see me. He was only letting the cat in. I have to say something. Now.
“Josh, wait!” My voice sounds so small against the vast, empty night.
“Shit!” He jumps back, eyes wide. “Shit,” he says again with an uncertain laugh. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. I was just—hi.”
“Uh, hi.... It’s freezing. How long have you been out here?” He steps out into the cold, letting the screen door slam behind him. He’s wearing sweatpants and a dingy-looking T-shirt, his feet bare. He rubs at his eyes like he had been sleeping. He crosses his arms as the wind picks up a small cyclone of leaves and drops them at my feet.
“Not long,” I lie between my chattering teeth. What’s long, anyway? An hour and four minutes is actually a short amount of time, relatively speaking.
He looks around at the stillness of his darkened street, at the nothing that is going on. He holds out his hand. I take it. His skin feels like fire, but I guess that’s only because I’m so cold.
“Why didn’t you come in or ring the bell or something?” he asks once we’re inside.
I shrug.
“Well, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” But it comes out too fast, too sharp—too obviously a lie.
“Wait, I don’t understand. Why were you just sitting there? I was waiting for you—well, I mean, I stopped waiting a couple of hours ago.”
