Every Other Weekend by Abigail Johnson
FIRST WEEKEND
September 25–27
ADAM
The pigeons blanketing the parking lot took flight into the setting sun when we pulled up to Dad’s apartment building. I kind of envied the little flying disease bags for escaping until Jeremy killed the engine and they settled back down behind us. As though in sync, my brother and I leaned forward to peer out the windshield and get our first look at Oak Village Apartments, aka Dad’s new home and the place we’d be forced to stay every other weekend until we turned eighteen.
Forced wasn’t the word Jeremy would use, but it was exactly how I saw the situation.
“Huh,” Jeremy said, his blondish brows smoothing out as my reddish-brown ones drew closer together. “I thought it’d be worse.” Mom’s piano teacher salary and Dad’s handyman business might have been a great combination for summers spent slowly restoring our old farmhouse, but it didn’t leave much for Dad to live on after he decided to move out last month.
Built just over a century ago, the six-story apartment building looked as if it was one bad day away from being condemned. Water stains from window AC units ran down the walls, and several windows were covered with warped and weather-beaten boards. Describing the green paint on the doorframe as peeling was like saying a tornado was a windstorm.
I could only imagine that the inside was equally inviting. No wonder the owner, an out-of-state friend of Dad’s, had been eager to trade a rent-free apartment in exchange for Dad fixing the place up.
I turned slowly to face my brother. “I think it’s perfect for him.”
Jeremy jerked the key from the ignition and pushed his door open. “We’re staying with Dad for two nights, Adam. Cut the crap.”
Normally, I couldn’t let things go with my brother, even little things, but after the thirty-minute drive from the rural Pennsylvania I’d called home my entire life to the crowded, somewhat congested outskirts of Philadelphia, I was feeling too dejected to bother. As it was, I barely had time to grab my backpack from the trunk before Jeremy slammed it shut. His massive duffel was easily five times the size of my backpack. That about summed up our respective opinions on our parents’ separation.
The full impact of our new residence—however temporary—hit me as we drew closer to the glass front doors. There was a tiny spiderweb-like crack decorating one corner, and the maroon carpet inside was worn so thin by foot-traffic paths that it looked striped. Small metal mailboxes were built into the wall on the right, and unpainted plaster covered the left. Mom wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in here before peeling back the carpet to check for hardwood. Another ten and she’d have been chipping away at the plaster, hoping to expose brick underneath. Dad would have been right there next to her, grinning.
He should have been, only not here, there—home. With Mom.
Two and a half years. Jeremy didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation. Then again, at seventeen, maybe he was realizing that he’d have to hold out for only another year. Not that he viewed the inauguration of these weekends as something to endure. He was looking forward to seeing Dad, whereas I would have sooner slept in the alley outside.
I moved past Jeremy toward the elevator, but after pushing the button for a full minute, I started up the stairs. “You’re right, Jeremy. This place is way better than our dry, clean, not-broken-down house, where Mom is alone right now.”
My backpack wasn’t nearly as heavy as Jeremy’s duffel—unlike my brother, I was carrying only what I needed for the next forty-eight mandatory hours—so it was only reluctance that weighed my steps up five flights of stairs. We stopped at the sixth floor and peered down a surprisingly wide hallway with three doors on each side. One of the light bulbs was flickering in a seizure-inducing pattern that increased my nausea at having to be there.
“Which one is it?” Jeremy asked.
“Does it matter?”
Jeremy checked his phone, then pointed to the middle door on the right, 6-3. He was already knocking by the time I stepped up next to him. Each rap of his knuckles made me wince. I hadn’t seen Dad in three weeks, and that was only when he’d been packing up the rest of his stuff. He’d tried to hug me before leaving, but I’d backed away. It was his choice to leave and mine not to help him feel okay about it.
“He’s not here.” Jeremy frowned at the door.
“Great. Let’s go.”
More door frowning from Jeremy.
“I’m not staying if he’s not here. I’ll call Mom to come get me if I have to.”
Jeremy’s head snapped to mine and he glared. “I’m so sick—”
The door to 6-5 opened, and a pretty Korean woman wearing sky blue yoga pants and a matching sports bra stepped out. “Oh, hi! You must be Jerry and Adam!”
The expanse of midriff on display rendered my brother mute. I was too pissed off by the whole situation to care much. “Yeah, but we were just leaving.” I grabbed Jeremy’s arm.
“Paul asked me to keep an eye out for you. He needed to pick up a few things, but he thought he’d be back by now.” She peered down the obviously deserted hallway. “Anyhoo, come on in.” She turned and called to someone in her apartment. “Jo, come meet the new neighbors.”
Neither Jeremy nor I moved.