Meet Me Here - Bryan Bliss Page 0,5

pull away right then, leaving everything behind. And if I had the money stashed in my duffel bag with me, maybe I would. Instead, I get out and take a few deep breaths before I walk inside the house.

“Hey, honey,” Mom calls.

Dad looks up at me tired, as I enter the kitchen. “I’m surprised you’re back so early.”

I don’t look either of them in the eyes as I grab an apple and take a bite.

“Typical graduation party.”

Mom smiles and Jake stares, his eyes distant and pitted like a Halloween mask. When he shifts, I notice the backpack at his feet—black and always present. I let my eyes linger on it for a moment, trying to guess what’s inside, why he keeps it with him, no matter if he’s going to the store with Mom or to the other room. Did he have it when he first came back? Probably, but I didn’t notice.

“I said good-bye to some people,” I say, forcing myself to look away from the backpack and into my mom’s eyes. “Had a slice of pizza. Listened to some music. Talked to Mallory.”

I know I’ve messed up as soon as I say it. Dad doesn’t react, but Mom perks up.

“Mallory?” Mom asks. “Mallory Carlson?”

For the past few weeks my conversations with Mom have been nothing more than cursory. A simple report of the night, delivering the information I know she wants to hear. I take another bite of the apple.

“Yeah, that Mallory. I gave her a ride home, actually.”

Mom always liked Mallory, and well into freshman year she would still sometimes drop little hints—“Why don’t you give Mallory a call?”—as if it were as simple as just picking up the phone. As if the separation hadn’t been anything other than intentional. Still, in her mind, it was the normal drifting apart that happens as you get older. Something that could be fixed. Would she believe how Dad told me it was time to grow up? That boys didn’t play with dolls or wear pink, so why in the hell would I spend so much time with a girl?

Maybe. But it doesn’t matter because I never picked up the phone.

“Fight with her boyfriend,” I say. More apple. A casual shrug, because what’s the big deal? Just another night, chomp-chomp. Shrug, shrug. Normal.

“You didn’t get involved, I hope,” Mom says, and I shake my head. “Well, good. Do you want dinner? You need more than an apple.”

“Stop babying him,” Dad says, eyeing me. “He should know if he needs to eat or not.”

Nobody says anything until Mom forces a smile.

“It seems just like yesterday that this guy was graduating.” Mom reaches over and tousles Jake’s hair. He doesn’t move, doesn’t meet her eyes when she says: “Remember how much fun we had, Jake?”

I sat at this same table, not knowing what to say—trying to decide if I was excited or terrified. So I kept quiet and watched as my mom cried and Dad told her to stop. When Jake went to bed, he slapped me on the shoulder and told me not to do anything stupid while he was away. That he’d still be able to kick my ass, even from Afghanistan or wherever he’d end up. The next morning he was gone.

I wait for Dad to talk about how proud he was of Jake that morning, how proud he is still. But nobody speaks. Instead, he fiddles with the old kitchen clock. I can hear it ticking as I say, “Okay, I’m going to go finish getting ready.”

“Already? I thought we could sit here and talk for a little longer,” Mom says. Dad turns momentarily, looking me in the eyes before going back to the clock.

“I can’t believe you haven’t finished packing yet,” he says.

“Only a few more things,” I say.

He nods once, more a receipt on what he’s just heard than an affirmation. He pops the back off the clock and picks up the tiny screwdriver sitting on the table. I don’t think he’s going to say anything else until he sighs and says, “One of these days you’re going to figure out your priorities.”

“Oh, stop it,” Mom says, swatting him with a dish towel playfully. “It’s his graduation.”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say anything else. And he doesn’t need to; just mark another one in the disappointment column. I give Mom a quick hug, and she holds my hand as I’m trying to walk away. I pause, letting her tether me to the kitchen for an extra