16
beth
Laurie came barreling through the house, Meg stuck to one of his sides. His T-shirt was bunched into her fist as she hobbled. Jo was holding her up from the other side, and I checked for blood. I didn’t know why, but I guess living in an Army town will give you different instincts from your average person.
I didn’t see any blood and Meg wasn’t crying or screaming, so I rushed over to help. Meg’s face was gray and she was wearing a beautiful maroon dress that now had green grass tracks down the side of it. I dropped to my knees and gently lifted the bottom of her dress up to check her ankle before I moved it.
“It’s broken, Beth. Isn’t it?” Meg cried.
Laurie stood awkwardly over Meg with his hands stuffed in his pockets, bending at his knees.
“No, Meg. It’s just sprained. Let me get some ice. Don’t move,” I told her, and climbed to my feet.
When I got to the doorway of the kitchen, I called back to Jo, “Don’t let her move!”
Meredith walked into the kitchen, her hair in pins and her dress dragging on the floor. “What’s going on?”
I pulled open the cabinet drawer closest to her and grabbed the plastic bags. “Meg sprained her ankle at the Kings’. Looks pretty bad.”
My mom pulled the freezer door open and helped me fill a bag. “Is that the Laurence boy?”
I nodded. “He seems nice.”
She closed the freezer door and leaned against the counter. “I think so, too.”
Meredith followed me back into the living room and thanked Laurie for helping Meg. Jo said the same to him and disappeared upstairs. She never came back. Laurie kept looking up at the staircase over and over for the next hour before he finally gave up and left. I didn’t think Jo knew how to handle boys, especially tall ones with long hair like Laurie. It probably never occurred to her to even say goodbye to him.
That was Jo; she was always in her own world. It was one of her best qualities, but she had to learn when to check back in.
The next morning, I woke up before everyone else and started the coffeepot, fed the fish, and watered the plants. It was only eight, but I figured I should make breakfast. I didn’t know if we had everything I would need, so I searched the cupboards and the pantry for ingredients.
Eggs—check.
Milk—check
Toast . . . I moved a bag of tortillas and found a loaf of wheat bread behind it. I thought a pack of bacon was somewhere in the freezer so I investigated. Underneath a bag of frozen chicken breasts, I found a pound of bacon. I turned the hot water on and let it run over the meat to thaw it. I missed my dad and how he always woke up early with me and helped make breakfast. We would talk about music while we folded laundry, and it felt so deserved, that time with my dad. Looking back, I realize I thought those hours would never end. They seemed so infinite during the year he was here, even though they shouldn’t have. I should have been used to him going; we all should have eventually gotten used to it. But it was the opposite.
As I waited for the oven to heat up, I flipped the bacon over. My dad used to tell me about the concerts he and my mom would go to. They were Bob Dylan fans in the nineties, and I remember one year I heard them stumble into the old house in Texas, and my mom was laughing so hard that I thought she was crying. I hid by the doorway and watched my dad lift her off her feet after he chased her around the kitchen. I remember how tightly he hugged her to his chest when he finally caught her. The parents in my memory are so different from the ones I know now, but that’s life. I was lucky to even have both of my parents under one roof.
Amy strolled into the kitchen when the bacon had begun to smell up the whole house.
“Yum.” She took a seat at the table. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and didn’t say another word. Mentally, I kept coming back to the fact that Amy’s pajamas were too small; the pant legs stopped at least two inches above her ankles.
After a while, Meg hopped into the room and poured herself a cup of steaming coffee as I pulled the pan of bacon out of the oven. She hopped over to the table on one foot and sat down.
“I think I spilled some,” she whined when her butt hit the chair.
I told her I would wipe it up, and she smiled at me and told me thanks, that her ankle was killing her.
Jo and Meredith were the last to join us, and by the time everyone was sitting down, Meg’s face was turned into a grimace and Amy’s finger was still scrolling.
“Man, isn’t it weird how now we are supposed to just go on with our lives after the holidays? Everything will go back to normal when you guys all go back to school,” Meg said through the eggs in her mouth.
“I wish it was Christmas and New Year’s all the time. Everyone would be even more stressed and have even less money,” Jo sniped.
“Jo. Stop it,” Meredith said, but smiled when she turned away.
We all ate breakfast, and Amy talked about some food trading thing she was doing at school when they returned from break. I offered her whatever I could, and she blew me a lip-gloss kiss from where she sat. Meredith said she had sent Dad an email last night and hoped he would be able to Skype today. I felt like the calls were coming less and less lately, and I had read the emails between him and my mom about his upcoming mission. I knew that his platoon was being sent on a mission because he said that he would be gone for over a week.
I liked it much more when he stayed on the FOB. I wasn’t like Jo, who read every hashtag, or like Amy, who was blissfully unaware of most current events. I was in my own lane right between, and when you added taking care of my mom and sisters on top of that, I would say I had a toll road or two on the three of them. I was worried sick over Dad, and I hoped that he would call Mom soon.
“Meg, I need a ride to work tomorrow. I can’t take any more days off this month. My manager will kill me,” said Jo.
She was picking at her plate. Her veggie omelet had to be cold by now. I made it before I made the French toast. Jo was the only one in the house who didn’t fight over my French toast, except when Dad was home. My dad’s mom taught me how to make it, using wheat bread and a little extra nutmeg and a dash of sass—I heard the last part in her voice. She had a Midwestern accent, even though she said there was no such thing. There was that voice again.
Jo and my dad were the only people who could be trusted around a plate of warm chocolate-chip cookies. Yet the two of them would eat an entire bag of chips in one sitting. Jo and her Bugles were best friends forever. The omelet I made sure as hell wasn’t. Something seemed to be wrong with her.
“I can barely walk, Jo. How can I drive you anywhere?” Meg pointed to her propped ankle.
It was definitely much less swollen than last night.
“I can’t miss work again, and the bus takes so long to get anywhere.”
Meredith left the room, and I was going to follow her soon. Jo and Meg needed to figure this out on their own, and my mom seemed to be a little spaced out, anyway. She was probably exhausted with worry.
“Meredith!” Jo said in a calm voice. “Are you busy Tuesday? I can get a ride there but not home.”
Meredith popped back in and asked what time she got off and told her that she may have to wait an extra twenty minutes before she could get her.
“I have to pick up Aunt Hannah from work, too,” she explained.
“Thank you.” Jo smiled at Meredith.
When my mom left again, Amy turned to Jo and said, “It’s not her fault that she can’t drive you. She’s hurt.”
Jo seemed to consider what Amy was saying. She spun herself in the chair to face Meg. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. I’m tired and finishing that piece. It’s stressful.”
Meg couldn’t even try to hide the surprise on her face. She was always so collected, and I could tell that Jo’s honest apology shook her a little. Me, too.
“Th-a-a-a-nks,” Meg replied, drawing out the word, sounding confused. “It’s fine. I know you have a lot going on.”
Meg’s shock transferred right on over to me, and something occurred to me. Meg and Jo had been spending a lot more time together than they ever had before. I had been hearing their voices at night lately, chatting away while everyone was in bed. I hadn’t heard that sound since we were kids, when Meg used Jo as her cosmetic guinea pig after bedtime. Jo’s pillow was always covered in makeup the next morning.
“And why don’t you just have Laurie take you, since he’s your boyfriend now?” Amy touched Jo’s arm, and Jo slid her hand away. “Who would have thought Jo would have such a hot boyfriend. He’s almost too hot.” Amy touched the screen of her phone and looked back up to the three of us.
Jo’s response was flat. “Shut the hell up.”
“Just sayin’.” Amy smiled and looked at Meg for approval. She worshipped everything about Meg.
A few seconds passed, and Jo stood from the table. “I’m out,” she announced, and left the room. I was next. I needed to finish my History assignment on my mom’s laptop before midnight. I knew I would regret working on a World War Two assignment right before bed. It was one hundred percent going to give me nightmares, but I was behind on my schoolwork because of lazy Holiday Fever.
When I walked into the living room, Meredith was sitting in Dad’s recliner with her eyes closed. I bent down over her to grab the laptop from the side of the chair; she opened her eyes, scaring the hell out of me.
She started laughing when I gasped.
“Sorry, baby,” she said with a smile.
She always looked so young when she smiled. My mom was beautiful, but sometimes it seemed like she had aged five years in one. I was worried about her and couldn’t wait for my dad to be home.
“I have an assignment to work on. I’ll bring it back before I go to bed,” I told her. She smiled at me, looking a little sleepy.
“That’s fine. You can do it down here if you want. I’ll be quiet. I’m just going to watch Criminal Minds.” She lifted the lever on the recliner, and the footrest sprung to life.
I laughed. “No way you’ll be quiet if you’re watching Criminal Minds.”
She talked through every scene, constantly trying to guess who the killer was and shouting at the TV.
She laughed and shrugged. “I still think the FBI should have a watch on the writers of that show. It’s some seriously twisted shit.” She said that every single time we watched the show together. I was the only one who could stand to watch it. Amy was too squeamish, Meg was too big of a chicken, and Jo was too literal. She would pick apart the plot holes and legalities of everything.
I loved this time with my mom, when she was happy and distracted.
“Come on, Beth, stay down hereeee,” she whined, and pressed her hands together like she was praying.
I tried to hold a straight face as I sat down on the couch and tossed her the remote. “Only talk during the commercials. Promise?”
She dragged her thumb and index finger along her lips like she was zipping them and pretended to toss me the key.