sweaty. Most of the time I slept at Sam’s because his feet poked out the end of my twin-size bed. My mom was usually asleep by the time I drove over there, but I could tell it bothered her anyway. I knew because she’d mention breakfast foods I might like around nine. I think my dad found the whole thing vaguely inappropriate; he was uncertain how to respond to his daughter wrapped up in something serious. But he liked Sam okay and whenever he came by I made sure they had at least ten minutes to talk about hockey. One night when Sam was staying over, my dad walked in while we were watching Planet Earth . It was episode two and our interests were shifting from vampire squids to my bed, but my dad asked if it was okay if he joined us. He was drinking and had a bowl of sugar-free Jell-O.
“Sure,” I said, shifting up so Sam’s arm was merely around my shoulder.
“Cool,” he said, and sat down on the opposite couch. This kind of thing never happened at Sam’s because his parents were usually doing work or downstairs. We started episode three and our thoughts turned back to the weird things that glowed in the bottom of the ocean. But my dad fell asleep after ten minutes, snoring loud enough that I would have laughed if I were still in high school. Sam and I shut off the TV and I placed a blanket on my dad, throwing away his bowl of Jell-O when we walked upstairs. There was an awkwardness to the way he’d asked to join us that I couldn’t get out of my head. Some kind of cafeteria-table solitude that made me want to throw up. I thought then about how most things are not really anyone’s fault. I almost shared this with Sam but he was already in my room taking off his shoes. It was nearly two but I could see the glow of Kyle’s monitor as I passed by his door.
Sometimes we’d take a day off and I’d spend time alone or with my family. My mom and I went shopping a few times at the mall in Hammond Bay and I helped her make a cheesecake with lemon and ginger. On a cold Tuesday, my older brothers lumbered home in a carpool from Chicago and we all went out to buy a Christmas tree. Toby and Zach were older and immune to the islands they’d left floating in our house. So they laughed and teased and Kyle and I lurked behind them, refreshingly reduced to our attempts to impress. The holiday came and went like it seemed to every year since I was thirteen. We slept till a depressing 9:30 on Christmas morning, though I suspect my little brother woke up earlier to look at the stockings before creeping back upstairs until the rest of us woke up. Sam bought me a necklace with a tiny silver acorn that my mother held off my neck more than once that afternoon. I gave her a crème brûlée torch and a fleece jacket that felt both perfect and stupid the moment she gasped with gratitude.
My anxiety came back on the twenty-sixth and I started dreading the idea of phone calls every time I saw Sam. The vacation had seemed an eternity, but something about the other side of Christmas made college slip back into my consciousness. Once, when Sam was at school, he’d texted me that he couldn’t talk because his roommates were sleeping. Smiling to myself, I’d called him anyway—speaking one-way for a whole eight minutes. This is what happened today. This is how I’m feeling. This is why I love you.
Toby and Zach went back to the city and my house returned to its hidey-holes. I went to this horrible yoga class a few times with my mom, but we giggled about the instructor’s adjectives afterward, which made us feel like sisters. My dad would accidentally fall asleep on the couch a few times a week and I cringed to think what kind of clichés this spawned in Kyle’s head. Dad and I would talk sometimes after I’d driven home late in my smoky sedan. There wasn’t much to say but we could get at least ten minutes if I asked him to fill me in on the episode that was on. Once when one had ended and we’d finished a bowl of popcorn, he
“Sure,” I said, shifting up so Sam’s arm was merely around my shoulder.
“Cool,” he said, and sat down on the opposite couch. This kind of thing never happened at Sam’s because his parents were usually doing work or downstairs. We started episode three and our thoughts turned back to the weird things that glowed in the bottom of the ocean. But my dad fell asleep after ten minutes, snoring loud enough that I would have laughed if I were still in high school. Sam and I shut off the TV and I placed a blanket on my dad, throwing away his bowl of Jell-O when we walked upstairs. There was an awkwardness to the way he’d asked to join us that I couldn’t get out of my head. Some kind of cafeteria-table solitude that made me want to throw up. I thought then about how most things are not really anyone’s fault. I almost shared this with Sam but he was already in my room taking off his shoes. It was nearly two but I could see the glow of Kyle’s monitor as I passed by his door.
Sometimes we’d take a day off and I’d spend time alone or with my family. My mom and I went shopping a few times at the mall in Hammond Bay and I helped her make a cheesecake with lemon and ginger. On a cold Tuesday, my older brothers lumbered home in a carpool from Chicago and we all went out to buy a Christmas tree. Toby and Zach were older and immune to the islands they’d left floating in our house. So they laughed and teased and Kyle and I lurked behind them, refreshingly reduced to our attempts to impress. The holiday came and went like it seemed to every year since I was thirteen. We slept till a depressing 9:30 on Christmas morning, though I suspect my little brother woke up earlier to look at the stockings before creeping back upstairs until the rest of us woke up. Sam bought me a necklace with a tiny silver acorn that my mother held off my neck more than once that afternoon. I gave her a crème brûlée torch and a fleece jacket that felt both perfect and stupid the moment she gasped with gratitude.
My anxiety came back on the twenty-sixth and I started dreading the idea of phone calls every time I saw Sam. The vacation had seemed an eternity, but something about the other side of Christmas made college slip back into my consciousness. Once, when Sam was at school, he’d texted me that he couldn’t talk because his roommates were sleeping. Smiling to myself, I’d called him anyway—speaking one-way for a whole eight minutes. This is what happened today. This is how I’m feeling. This is why I love you.
Toby and Zach went back to the city and my house returned to its hidey-holes. I went to this horrible yoga class a few times with my mom, but we giggled about the instructor’s adjectives afterward, which made us feel like sisters. My dad would accidentally fall asleep on the couch a few times a week and I cringed to think what kind of clichés this spawned in Kyle’s head. Dad and I would talk sometimes after I’d driven home late in my smoky sedan. There wasn’t much to say but we could get at least ten minutes if I asked him to fill me in on the episode that was on. Once when one had ended and we’d finished a bowl of popcorn, he
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