JEREMY
I’m sitting in the kitchen, watching Mum struggle to whip pancake batter. It’s quite the amusing sight. I offered to help, but she just waved me off, making it clear this is her fight.
I’m not complaining. I love pancakes, and as long as I get to help eat them, then everything’s cool.
I lunge for the phone on the counter when it rings. I’m expecting it to be Steven.
I’m surprised when I hear Dad’s voice coming down the line. And he sounds . . . well, animated is a kind way to put it. Not like a rabid squirrel on steroids, at all . . .
Mum swears at the electric beater when more batter spits at her.
I shake my head. Between my mum and my dad right now . . . it’s like I’m being raised by animals.
I snigger. “What’ve you been taking, Dad?”
He pauses, and I never should’ve gone for the cheek, because now his Dad-tone is back. “Is Carole there? I want to talk to her. I’m not going to be around for the week.”
There’s the distant sound of an intercom, and it sounds suspiciously like—“Where are you, exactly?” I walk over and peer into the bowl Mum’s huffing over. I avoid the batter splotches and pat the flour off her arm as the rabid squirrel comes back.
“Airport. Luke’s spontaneously organized a trip down south.”
“He did what? Without me?”
Luke must be listening in to our conversation, because his voice suddenly tunnels down the line. “Do well at school next year, and you can come on our next trip.”
Mum’s looking up at me, mouthing Who is it?
Dad laughs down the line as I mouth back to mum. Dad. “Pass me on to your mum now.”
“She’s busy,” I say.
“No she isn’t,” Mum says, wiping a splash of pancake batter off her cheek and snatching the phone out of my grip with remarkable speed and precision.
I slump to the table. I should probably set it, but I can’t be bothered.
Mum murmurs and laughs, and after a word to Luke about making sure Dad gets back in one piece, hangs up. “Swimming with the sharks. Jesus. Your dad’s finally gone bananas.”
Not the phrase I’d use.
“He’s gone batshit crazy, all right,” I say, and stifle a grin as I remember how drunk Dad had been last week. I’ve kept that tidbit to myself, though. I can be the spawn of the devil sometimes, but I’m not all evil.
“So what’s got you making pancakes, and on a Monday, no less?”
“I have the day off.”
“Oh. Why?”
Mum fishes for something in the kitchen drawers, and finally comes up holding a ladle. “Here it is.” She glances at me. “Set the table please?”
I peel myself of the chair and grab the spreads. Jam, peanut butter, and maple syrup.
“I wanted to spend at least one of your holiday days with you. And anyway, I worked overtime last Friday, so this isn’t even using a holiday day.”
When I grab the plates from the cupboard, Mum hums and says. “Three plates, Jeremy.”
That’s when I feel the prickle of my hairs at the back of my neck. “Three?” I say tightly. “Why’s that?”
She looks at me firmly, and I know what’s coming, I just don’t want to hear it. “Greg’s visiting. He’d like to meet you. He’ll be here any—”
I shove the plates back in the cupboard. “Actually, I’m not hungry.”
“Jeremy.” Mum has that listen-to-me tone. It’s one that usually makes me sit up and pay attention. But it’s not working on me right now.
“You two have a nice morning together. I’m heading out.”
“You’ll stay here, Jeremy, and you’ll mind your manners.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t want another Dad in my life. So Greg can just go screw himself.”
“Watch your tongue—”
“You know what I don’t understand? Why can’t you just keep him for the weeks I’m not here? If the most important person in your life can take seeing you every other week, surely he can too.”
My mum’s voice breaks. “Oh, Jeremy, love . . .”
But I ignore whatever she’s about to say. I blink back tears and run up to my room, snag my keys to Dad’s along with my cell phone and charger, and then ignoring my mum’s pleas, I leave, not even bothering to shut the door behind me.