people in general life settings.”
Ian beamed. “Thanks!”
“You’re very lucky, Mitch,” Trisha said as she sifted through the photos. “You have two very intelligent and talented kids.”
“I am lucky,” he said, smiling wide at all of us.
Through the blur of tears in my eyes, Trisha could almost pass as my mom. They were the same build—or at least, Trisha was about the same size as what I remembered my mom to be before she left. This could almost be a typical family night dinner instead of the waste of time it really was.
The one thing I had learned in my sixteen years was that you couldn’t count on anyone to stick around. Opening yourself up only caused trouble in the end.
And tonight, trouble came dressed in a too-revealing sundress.
I stood up suddenly and said, “I’m going to my room. I have some homework I need to work on.”
“I thought you did that earlier,” Ian said. “I saw you at the table working on it.”
Add another item to the list of why my brother would never live past puberty before I clobbered him. “I have other homework I need to do.”
“How much homework does one person have?” Ian shuffled through his pictures again and pulled out another one to show Trisha. “Take a look at this. One of my best shots, I think.”
No one else tried to stop me as I slipped from the room and disappeared down the hall. They were all absorbed in Ian now, having forgotten about me and my bad attitude for the moment.
I headed to my room, feeling more than a bit annoyed. I wanted to slam doors or punch walls or something. Focus, I told myself, closing my eyes and letting out a deep breath.
My footsteps traced a line back and forth across my room as I recited the names of the bones in my hands. “Distal phalanges,” I muttered.
Why did Dad insist on letting his hormones ruin our lives?
“Intermediate phalanges,” I said, moving to the next bone.
Mom left a big, gaping hole when she took off. It had taken a lot of work to begin to repair the damage. We didn’t need someone else coming along and ripping it open again. What we needed were answers to the questions left behind.
I reached the end of my room and spun on my heel, marching back the other way. “Proximal phalanges.”
Ian and I did not need a replacement mother. Hadn’t I done a good enough job taking over that role? What was wrong with the way things were? I had done everything possible to make up for Mom not being here. After Mom left, it had taken Ian almost a year before he was able to let Dad leave the house without him bursting into tears and insisting that Dad would go away too. We hadn’t had a family vacation in years, because there wasn’t ever enough extra money to take one. I dedicated myself to my schoolwork to ensure I’d have high enough grades so I’d get a lot of scholarships and be able to pay my way to college without straining Dad any more than he already was. Then I worked to earn enough money to buy the things I needed and wanted so I wouldn’t have to bother Dad with them. I cleaned and cooked when I wasn’t working, I paid the bills and made sure everything in this household ran efficiently, made sure Ian didn’t walk around in grungy clothes and survive on only pizza and cheeseburgers.
“Metacarpals.”
I was the one who had poured over her old journals, her letters, even the grocery notes she’d left stuffed in drawers, hunting down the most logical places she could be and narrowing the list to the five marked on my map. I was the one who had figured out Costa Rica was the most likely place, the one she talked about the most, the one where she dreamed of living hidden away on a lush mountain.
But it wasn’t good enough. Nothing I’d done had ever been good enough. Not good enough to keep my dad from wanting a new mom in the family, and not good enough to make my real mom want to stay.
“Carpals,” I whispered, letting out a long breath. My mom was the one who had gotten me
Ian beamed. “Thanks!”
“You’re very lucky, Mitch,” Trisha said as she sifted through the photos. “You have two very intelligent and talented kids.”
“I am lucky,” he said, smiling wide at all of us.
Through the blur of tears in my eyes, Trisha could almost pass as my mom. They were the same build—or at least, Trisha was about the same size as what I remembered my mom to be before she left. This could almost be a typical family night dinner instead of the waste of time it really was.
The one thing I had learned in my sixteen years was that you couldn’t count on anyone to stick around. Opening yourself up only caused trouble in the end.
And tonight, trouble came dressed in a too-revealing sundress.
I stood up suddenly and said, “I’m going to my room. I have some homework I need to work on.”
“I thought you did that earlier,” Ian said. “I saw you at the table working on it.”
Add another item to the list of why my brother would never live past puberty before I clobbered him. “I have other homework I need to do.”
“How much homework does one person have?” Ian shuffled through his pictures again and pulled out another one to show Trisha. “Take a look at this. One of my best shots, I think.”
No one else tried to stop me as I slipped from the room and disappeared down the hall. They were all absorbed in Ian now, having forgotten about me and my bad attitude for the moment.
I headed to my room, feeling more than a bit annoyed. I wanted to slam doors or punch walls or something. Focus, I told myself, closing my eyes and letting out a deep breath.
My footsteps traced a line back and forth across my room as I recited the names of the bones in my hands. “Distal phalanges,” I muttered.
Why did Dad insist on letting his hormones ruin our lives?
“Intermediate phalanges,” I said, moving to the next bone.
Mom left a big, gaping hole when she took off. It had taken a lot of work to begin to repair the damage. We didn’t need someone else coming along and ripping it open again. What we needed were answers to the questions left behind.
I reached the end of my room and spun on my heel, marching back the other way. “Proximal phalanges.”
Ian and I did not need a replacement mother. Hadn’t I done a good enough job taking over that role? What was wrong with the way things were? I had done everything possible to make up for Mom not being here. After Mom left, it had taken Ian almost a year before he was able to let Dad leave the house without him bursting into tears and insisting that Dad would go away too. We hadn’t had a family vacation in years, because there wasn’t ever enough extra money to take one. I dedicated myself to my schoolwork to ensure I’d have high enough grades so I’d get a lot of scholarships and be able to pay my way to college without straining Dad any more than he already was. Then I worked to earn enough money to buy the things I needed and wanted so I wouldn’t have to bother Dad with them. I cleaned and cooked when I wasn’t working, I paid the bills and made sure everything in this household ran efficiently, made sure Ian didn’t walk around in grungy clothes and survive on only pizza and cheeseburgers.
“Metacarpals.”
I was the one who had poured over her old journals, her letters, even the grocery notes she’d left stuffed in drawers, hunting down the most logical places she could be and narrowing the list to the five marked on my map. I was the one who had figured out Costa Rica was the most likely place, the one she talked about the most, the one where she dreamed of living hidden away on a lush mountain.
But it wasn’t good enough. Nothing I’d done had ever been good enough. Not good enough to keep my dad from wanting a new mom in the family, and not good enough to make my real mom want to stay.
“Carpals,” I whispered, letting out a long breath. My mom was the one who had gotten me
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