There Will Come a Time by Carrie Arcos Page B

breakfasts are one of our family rituals. Even when Dad gets called in to work, Jenny loves making a big breakfast. She’s always trying out new recipes on us.
    â€œFancy.”
    â€œRicotta makes everything better,” Jenny says. She gets up to serve me a plate.
    â€œI can get it, Jenny,” I say, and she sits back down. “There isn’t garlic in here, is there?” I ask.
    Jenny sticks her tongue out at me. “Funny guy.”
    I am only sort of kidding. Jenny uses garlic like most of us use salt. During dinner, no matter what’s cooking, the air is infused with either sautéed, baked, or fried garlic.
    â€œMark, see what I drew?” Fern says. She holds up a picture next to her half-eaten plate of food.
    â€œCool,” I say.
    â€œIt’s our house.” She picks up a blue crayon and begins drawing stick figures.
    I sit next to her and take a bite of my pancakes. “These are great. Thanks, Jenny.”
    Jenny smiles a little too widely and looks at Dad, making me stiffen. I know they are concerned about me, but I’m tired of feeling like a lab rat, like everything I do is being watched, measured, and analyzed. This morning I’m doing well. I can tell by the glances she and my dad keep giving one another. I can hear their thoughts: He’s eating. He’s saying please and thank you. Maybe he’s back to normal. As if there will ever be a normal again.
    â€œWhat’re your plans today, Mark?” Dad asks.
    I shrug and check my phone. Still no text.
    â€œWe’re heading over to the park,” Jenny says. “You want to come?”
    â€œYay!” Fern says. “Can we go to the big one with the swings?”
    â€œYes,” Jenny says.
    â€œActually I’m meeting the guys later to practice,” I say, which isn’t really true. But I was planning on calling Charlie, a guitarist I met at the skate park, and Sebastian to see if they had some time, for our band, The Distorted. Although I don’t really know why I bother. We’ve been together for more than a year and we haven’t played a single gig. Well, unless you count Sebastian’s cousin’s eleventh birthday party. Sebastian told us he booked a paying gig, and I think all Charlie and I heard was “paying,” so we didn’t ask for the details. When I pulled up to abackyard decorated with pink and white balloons and streamers, I considered bailing, but Sebastian met me at the curb with the birthday girl, who was all smiles. She wore a white dress and looked at me as if I were a rock star, so I got out of the car and asked where to set up.
    We got paid $150, which we split three ways. They fed us too. By the end, we had twenty-six eleven-year-old girls worshiping us. Not bad for an afternoon. If you get them when they’re young, you’ll have them as a fan for life.
    â€œWant to help me, Mark?” Fern says.
    I don’t really, but I pick up a yellow crayon and add a big sun to Fern’s drawing. She has five stick figures standing in front of the house.
    â€œOkay. In that case, can you make sure you clean the bathroom and your room today?” Dad asks.
    â€œYep.” I can do this: be the good son, be a good brother. I glance at Fern. I’ve got another sister left.
    â€œAnd your mom called again,” Dad adds. “She says she’s been trying to reach you. She wondered if you changed your number.”
    â€œI might have gotten a text or something. No message, though,” I lie.
    Fern writes DAD and MOM underneath the figures in the middle.
    â€œIt would be good to call her soon,” he says.
    â€œYeah, okay.” I have no intention of calling Mom, but I say what he wants to hear.
    Jenny begins to clear the table. My dad gets up to help her. He places his hand on her shoulder and squeezes, probably because we’re talking about Mom. Jenny smiles at him.
    Fern writes my name underneath a figure, and I