I’M LOADING DISHES INTO THE dishwasher after dinner on Friday, which is a not so pleasant indication of my current social status. Since there wasn’t a game tonight, Raegan and I grabbed limeades from Sonic after school, but she was spending the rest of her evening developing the Leadership Council agenda for next week. Lin’s parents were dragging her to her cousin’s birthday dinner, and Whitney and Jay went to go see the latest end-of-summer blockbuster. I only know this because at lunch I asked Jay what he was up to tonight and he stumbled awkwardly through his reply.
I tell myself it’s fine. Good for them. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have plans. I need to practice next week’s Wavette routine and start on a paper for AP History.
The only reason I’m not holed up in my room right now is because my dad bribed me with allowance money if I helped with chores around the house. And since allowance money equals gas money, I can’t say no. I’ll have my car back soon, which means I’ll be able to escape whenever I choose.
I can hear muffled conversation coming from the backyard. Short bursts of laughter follow every few minutes. I didn’t make it home in time for the formal sit-down dinner, but Peach saved me a bowl of her stew in the fridge along with a note written in her loopy cursive: Kira! Missed you tonight. Enjoy!
I’d inhaled it before she could see. I didn’t want her to think she was winning me over because I thought her food was delicious.
After I turn on the dishwasher, I creep to the back door and peer outside. Saylor’s doing some kind of arm balance on his yoga mat, his long ponytail flopped into his eyes. Nonnie watches from the hammock—When did we get a hammock?—and cheers him on. In the dim lighting, I can see she’s wearing a multi-colored cheetah print head wrap with a bright-orange muumuu.
“They’re close.”
The voice startles me. I whirl around to find my dad standing behind me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.
I shrug. He holds out a blue and silver bag and offers me a chocolate-covered peppermint square. For as long as I can remember, he’s always had a stash of them hidden somewhere around the house. He hid other things, too, like liquor bottles, but part of me wants to believe he’s done with that. Whenever I was upset over silly fights with Whitney or if I’d bombed a test that was worth a large chunk of my grade, he’d slip a silver-wrapped square under my bedroom door. It meant he was there if I wanted to talk. That simple gesture always made me feel a little better.
I stare at the bag. He’s trying. Step 1 is learning to forgive him, and I can’t do that if I don’t hear him out.
I accept one.
“They met at the ranch,” my dad continues. I unwrap my chocolate and take a small bite. “Saylor’s parents kicked him out when he was in college.”
“For drinking?”
“Among other things.” He stares at Saylor as he twists himself into a backbend. “He started living with Tessa. That was his girlfriend at the time. She’s the one who suggested AA, but when he stopped attending meetings she told him to leave.”
I can’t find the sympathy to feel bad for him. If he wanted to change, to fix the relationships he was ruining, then he’d have to try to do it.
“Anyway, he ended up dropping out of OSU so he could work full time at a grocery store to afford rent.” My dad finishes chewing. “But he was evicted after spending nearly all his paychecks on alcohol. Eventually, his friends wouldn’t let him couch crash anymore, and he was spending his nights on park benches. That was his rock bottom, I think. After that he went to the library to use the wi-fi and found Sober Living.”
I’d expected him to say that Saylor went back to his parents for help, that they were the ones who sent him away. The fact that it was his decision surprises me.
“Nonnie was the first person at the ranch who didn’t go easy on him,” he continues. “On the first day, he cut in front of her in the breakfast line. Oh, man. If there’s one thing everyone learned that morning, it was not to mess with Nonnie. She called him out in front of the entire room, and I don’t think he was used to anyone telling him that he couldn’t get what he wanted.”
Saylor kicks his legs up, going into a handstand. Nonnie waves her hands in the air, her mouth moving as she tries to control her grin. Saylor ends up on his back with his hands clutched to his stomach, laughing.
“Sober Living is a huge support team, and that’s what he needed. He really has come a long way.”
I crumble my foil wrapper into a tiny, silver ball. The chocolate feels heavy in my mouth. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to convince me that his friends are good people. That maybe if I have a little bit of empathy, it’ll make it easier for them to live here. But learning to live in the absence of Grams means attempting to be a family on our own, and that’s not easy to do with three strangers living under our roof.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Then what?”
My dad’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s the next step? Interviewing for jobs he obviously doesn’t want? Won’t that just make him even more miserable than before?”
My dad shakes his head. “He wants to become a certified yoga instructor, but he needs to find a job so he can pay off his rehab first. It’s a step in the right direction.” He stares back out the window. “Now that he has a goal, he’s more positive about the outlook of his future.”
I watch Saylor kick himself up into a handstand. It’s selfish, but I hope he lands a job soon. That way I’ll complete step 11—getting him to leave.
I point to the hammock. “Does he sleep out there?”
“Yeah. Says it brings him peace, being out there with nature and all. The first night he got eaten alive by mosquitos, so I bought him a net. But he says he’s comfortable. I guess that’s all that matters.”
Nonnie struggles to get out of the hammock. After a moment, Saylor stands up and helps her.
I turn away from the screen door. My stomach twists in uncomfortable knots. I can’t really explain why. Maybe it’s because I used to have the same comfort and familiarity with my dad and Grams as everyone here has with each other, and now I don’t have either. They support each other. Trust each other. It’s everything I want with my own dad, which makes step 2—learning how to come together as a two-person family without Grams—all the more important.
I start to head upstairs, but my father’s voice stops me.
“Listen, Goose.” He runs one hand over his dark stubble. “We haven’t had an opportunity to talk about things.”
I grab a strand of my hair between my fingers, but I don’t look at him. “I think things are pretty self-explanatory.”
His eyes widen. “You do?”
“You’re so disconnected from your old life. All of you. You don’t get that this isn’t the way the real world works.”
“Hey now, I don’t necessarily think that’s fair to say.”
I know I’m taking out my annoyances on him, but it’s as if I’m the only one who doesn’t think this entire situation is absurd. “Then why are they here? Because you’re overcompensating for your loneliness? You had Aunt June. You had me. But you think you don’t have anyone but these people who understand what it’s like to feel the same way you did.”
The light is gone from his eyes. “Kira—”
“Now it’s like you’re all hiding out here. You’re not ready to let go of whatever bullshit positivity and rainbows they fed you at that ranch—”
“Kira.” He says my name with more authority now. “I know I’ve let you down in the past, but if I didn’t believe I was ready to be a responsible father figure for you, I wouldn’t be here.”
I stare down at my bare feet. I don’t understand why he couldn’t have been a responsible father in the first place. Everyone experiences grief, sadness, hurt. Nobody can expect life to give you a free pass when it comes to that.
“You have to realize that when adults make horrible decisions, the repercussions are a lot heavier.” He waves a hand to the backyard. “None of them have a support system right now. I’ve been blessed with a house that’s big enough to take care of all of us. It’s a temporary situation.”
“Temporary? Until when? Until you’re sent back after relapsing?”
My father sighs. He looks older, more tired than before. “I promise you that’s not going to happen. I know you don’t understand—”
“Of course I don’t understand!” My voice is a rising tide that swells and swells until it breaks. “I’m not like you.”
There’s a pause. He has nothing to say.
I leave. I go into the living room where I turn on a recorded episode of Crime Boss and try and lose myself in the dramatic clangs of the theme song. A part of me almost expects him to come watch in silence, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns and goes back into his bedroom, the sack of peppermints sitting like a white flag on the counter.
When the episode ends, I get up and dump the entire bag into the trash.