Every Other Weekend(36)
I laughed, because that was exactly the kind of thing I could imagine Mom doing. “Our dining table?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“It took her less than twenty minutes to convince the owner to sell it to us for the money we were going to rent our cabin with, and we spent that night back at the house eating pizza and drinking cheap wine while I stripped the table and she tore the ripped caning out of the seats.” He smiled again. “We didn’t have any other furniture yet, and the upstairs was missing a good chunk of its roof, so we slept on blankets in front of the fireplace. One of the best nights of my life.” Then his voice cracked. “And nine months later we had Greg.”
And just like that my chest felt too tight, like there wasn’t enough room inside me. I didn’t like seeing my dad get choked up. It felt like he was betraying something by showing me his weakness, like he was robbing me of the anger I still held so close. All he had to do was tell one story, let me hear the pain that he felt even as he smiled, and the glare I normally graced him with was gone. Instead I rotated my jaw and squeezed the cap in my hand, all my muscles coiled tight so that I didn’t crack with him, for him, as I watched him grieve his son.
He didn’t try to hide it from me the way he had in the past. This time, there was no getting up and going into another room; he stood on the stepladder and clapped a hand on my shoulder, tight, like it was the only thing in the world keeping him upright when my eyes flooded and I’d never felt weaker in my life.
I couldn’t cry in front of my dad—that would have felt like an intrusion. More than that, I knew that if I did cry with my dad, I wouldn’t be able to hate him again in the morning.
IN BETWEEN
Adam:
You didn’t text me with a million exclamation points so I’m guessing the finals didn’t go your way.
Jolene:
Is that your diplomatic way of asking if my team lost?
Adam:
Yeah.
Jolene:
We lost.
Adam:
That sucks. Sorry I couldn’t be there.
Jolene:
My own parents weren’t there. Trust me, you’re off the hook.
Adam:
Was it close?
Jolene:
I’d like to be able to say yes, but lies are unbecoming, aren’t they?
Adam:
Must have been up against a good team.
Jolene:
Nope. We beat them early in the season and by all accounts we should have won today.
Adam:
What happened?
Jolene:
No one played great, least of all me, which means if you keep texting me I’m gonna slip and say something mean.
Adam:
It’s okay. Lay it on me.
Jolene:
No, it’s no fun when you’re nice about it.
Adam:
I can be mean. I’ll just imagine what you’d say.
Jolene:
This ought to be good.
Adam:
I’d get it if you were upset about losing in a cool sport, like basketball, but soccer is the most tedious sport ever. Like, there are entire games where no one scores. I mean I guess it could be worse, like lacrosse or something. So there’s that.
Jolene:
That is not bad. I mean, soccer is everything awesome, but I shouldn’t expect much from the guy who thought FIFA had something to do with French poodles.
Adam:
You win. At insults at least.
Jolene:
Now that was a solid burn.
Adam:
I feel like a jerk.
Jolene:
And yet somehow you made me smile.
Adam:
Yeah?
Jolene:
Yeah. Want to feel like a bigger jerk?
Adam:
Not really, no.
Jolene:
I play lacrosse in the spring.
FIFTH WEEKEND
November 20–22
ADAM
“You’re not doing it right.” I stood on the side of the road, shivering as the moon started its slow ascent.
“What do you know?” Jeremy said. “And will you please stop shaking the flashlight all over the place?”
“I know it shouldn’t take half an hour to change a flat tire.” But I added another hand to steady my grip.
“Adam?”
“What?”
“Could you shut up for a minute so I can finish?”
I clenched my jaw at the gust of wind that cut right through the coat I wore. It was Friday night, and we were heading to Dad’s. Even though my teeth were beginning to chatter, signaling my impending hypothermia, I was grateful for the delay in seeing him. Our last weekend had been... I’d acted like things might be okay, or at least like we more moving in that direction. Helping him with the lights, talking a little, letting him choke up in front of me and never once reminding him that his actions meant Mom was grieving all alone at that exact moment.
When the tire on Jeremy’s car blew, I’d half convinced myself it was wish fulfillment. Thirty freezing minutes later, I was rethinking that conclusion. Jeremy clearly had no idea how to change a tire, and I wasn’t much help. It was a skill I’d planned on learning, but hadn’t gotten around to. Jeremy obviously had a similar plan.
“Dammit, Adam! If you don’t stop moving that light around, I swear—”