dropped again. I saw in them the mirrored reflection of my own, along with an anger, a cool helplessness, and my gut was surrounded by dread. Call it a twin connection, intuition, whatever—I didn't need to ask my parents to know he'd had a bad day.
"You okay, buddy?" I asked.
"He's fine," Mom answered for him, exhaustion evident in her tone.
"We had a bad morning," Dad added. "Mickey got sick, and Jake—"
"Mickey's not sick!" Jake wrenched his hands from mine and grabbed the orange from the bowl, throwing it across the room. "Mickey's fine! He's not sick!"
"Really, Paul, you had to get him started again?" Mom hissed. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to catch her palms laying over her face and her shoulders hunched forward.
Jake was on a rampage now. He was squeezing another orange in his fist, breathing heavily and close to tears. Ignoring his mood or what he might do to me, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. I hugged him tightly, felt his body's tension drop, before his arms went limp at his sides and he shuddered with a sob.
"M-Mickey's not sick, Blake," he cried against my shoulder.
"No, he's not, buddy. Mickey's fine."
"He threw up, but he's not sick."
I nodded, rubbing my hand in small, soothing circles between his shoulder blades. "I know, Jake. It's okay."
Mom and Dad sat, silent and staring, as I calmed my brother down. It's how it'd always been. Dad would pretend everything was fine, while Mom would get frustrated, and it'd be up to me to fix it. And sure, they hadn't purposely dropped the responsibility into my lap. But maybe it was simply that I was the only one who could settle his mind and bring him back to reason. I did wonder though, if it pissed them off that they were rendered so useless by me, of all people.
I asked Jake if he was ready to eat, or if he wanted to take a moment to breathe in his room. He chose to be alone, to find his happy place with his blocks, and I let him leave, much to my mother’s disapproval. Now, alone with Mom and Dad, I sat at the table and resumed the motions of dinner, taking and cutting my food, as they kept their eyes on their empty plates.
"Aren't you guys hungry?" I finally asked, stuffing my face with a heaping forkful of potatoes.
"He's out of control," Mom blurted, and my eyes darted to bore into hers.
“Huh?”
“Your brother!”
"He's no different than he's always been," I defended him in a way that also felt like I was defending myself.
"And what does that tell you, Blake?" she snapped, instantly heated and vengeful.
"You tell me, Mom. You're the one bringing it up."
"Well, it tells me he's not getting any better! You wanted him in that damn school, and what good is it doing?”
"You want him to hear you talking about him?" I gritted out bitterly.
"Come on, Blake. He doesn't even understand what we’re saying," Dad brushed it off, shaking his head.
"Oh, no?" I laughed darkly. "He's not a fucking idiot, Dad."
"Blake, watch your mouth," Mom snapped, her tone cracking like a whip, and I slumped against the back of my chair, shaking my head and wishing I hadn’t come. Wishing there was some way, any way, for the two of them to leave the two of us alone.
Dad sighed, folding his hands on the table. “We’ve just been wondering if we’re shelling out the money for this place for nothing. That’s all. No reason to get so defensive.”
Defensive ... The good doctor had accused me of being defensive, and hell, maybe I was. But Jake was being attacked, and shouldn't I defend him?
"He's fine," I replied with finality, turning back to my food. I popped a piece of pot roast into my mouth and chewed, but I wasn't tasting it. The only flavor in my mouth was the bitterness of accusation, because between the lines, between every one of their words, was the reminder that I had failed my brother.
"Well, we're not sure he is," Mom said, her tone cold.
I dropped my fork, submitting to my anger as I turned my attention back to her. "Why? Huh? Why all of a sudden? It's been almost ten fucking years, so why now?"
Mom shook her head and turned to my father as she shoved away from the table. "I need some air. I can't talk to him when he gets like this."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Mom." I