Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,50

situation. It wasn’t always like this with Mom, but we both learned to accept this way of life when I was deployed and even when I was just working on the base. I think it was harder for her to accept this way of life than it was for me but she adapted over time and trusts that if something is serious, she’ll know. During our conversation, we were both wondering if I would get a call from the school today, letting me know that Parker isn’t acting like herself or she’s upset and not speaking, but I think we’re moving past those days, slowly.

“Yeah, no call from the school thankfully, so she must be doing okay,” I say.

“Thank goodness. I started to think back on the last few times she broke down. She seems to be handling her emotions a little better now. I think she stayed at school the last time too, didn’t she?”

I think back for a moment, trying to recall the last time Parker had an emotional breakdown, and it was on Abby’s birthday. We went to the therapist and to Church, before stopping to get a cake to celebrate Abby’s birthday. We did everything we could do to make the day survivable, and Parker was so strong all day, almost too strong, and I should have seen it coming, but she went from being a smiling seven-year-old to a traumatized little girl in a matter of seconds, and it took me a good hour to calm her down. I was sure she would even make it to school the next day, but she did.

“Yeah, she’s getting tougher, which I don’t want for her, but it’s better off that she learns how to cope now rather than when she’s older.” I’m speaking out loud for the sake of hearing my voice. Mom and I have had this conversation so many times. My family has been by my side since the second Parker and I moved home and have done everything to make our lives feel normal, which is something the two of us had never felt before.

“Is everything else okay?”

I sigh and clear my throat because I’m not sure I want to bring this topic up to Mom, but I need her help, so I have to be honest. “You know how I told you Melody was the one who asked about Abby last night?”

“Yes,” Mom says, drawing out the word, so I know she’s asking for more details.

“She texted me earlier to apologize for hurting Parker, and then I found out they’re moving Harold to hospice today.”

“Oh no,” Mom says, her words muffled by what sounds like her hand.

“Yeah, I feel helpless right now, and I think I need to just do something for them, Melody, at least. It’s clear she’s having a tough time.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Brett. I’m not stupid, and I wasn’t born yesterday,” Mom says in her deep motherly voice that I rarely hear anymore.

“Okay, well, I think I should reach out and try to be a friend tonight when she gets home.”

“I can feed Parker dinner so you can do what you need to do,” Mom offers.

Normally, I might insist on sitting around and watching Parker like a hawk after a night of breaking down but getting the attention of Mom and Pops when I’m not around is the highlight of her life. They have been exceptional grandparents to her, and I could never thank them enough for what they do and how accepting they have been of our situation. Anyone looking in at our family would not know Parker was not my child by blood.

“Thank you, I appreciate it. I’ll drop her off after she gets through with her homework.”

“Brett,” Mom says, hinting at an incoming mini lecture.

“Yes … ”

“It’s okay to distract someone when they’re hurting inside. It’s okay to be a friend in that way and to be a shoulder to lean on. I know you’re struggling between what’s right and wrong, and what might be too much, too fast, but you might be the exact thing Melody needs at the moment. You’ll know if that’s true, you’re good at picking up on signs.”

I didn’t tell Mom that Melody said she couldn’t talk earlier. That comment should have been a big enough sign that she wants her space tonight, but I’m not convinced she doesn’t need someone to listen to her, or just sit next to her so she isn’t alone.

I might be stupid for