Far from the Tree(83)

So Joaquin started pushing back. At first, it was just ignoring Linda the first time she asked him to do something, or pretending like he didn’t hear her when they both knew that he had. He told Mark he would help him mow the front and back lawn on Wednesday evening, but stayed upstairs instead, listening to music. By Friday night, things were tense at dinner and Joaquin disappeared into his room without helping with the dishes. “You want to give Linda a hand?” Mark had asked.

“Nope,” Joaquin said, and they hadn’t answered, which made him even more nervous, out of control, teetering on the edge, bracing for a fall.

By Saturday morning, though, with a stomach full of butterflies, Joaquin felt ready for a fight.

“Hey, Joaq?” Linda said, glancing up from the paper. “Can you take a seat? Mark and I want to talk to you about something.”

Joaquin felt himself roll his eyes before he could stop himself, but Mark just pulled out a chair and patted it, so he sat. “What?”

“You’ve been . . . well, honestly, Joaquin, you’ve been sort of a jerk,” Linda said. “To me, to Mark. Is it . . . did we do something? Did we say something to hurt you? We just wish you’d talk to us about it.”

“Why do you always think it’s about you?” Joaquin snapped. “Why do you always think it’s something that you did? Why can’t it just be about me?”

Mark shrugged, pushing his chair back from the table a little. “Okay, let’s make it about you, then. Why are you being a jerk?”

It would have hurt a lot less if Joaquin hadn’t thought that they were right.

“Do you like the car?” Linda asked. “Or was it too much?”

Joaquin shrugged a little, crossing his arms over his chest. Just thinking about the car made his stomach flip, tossing the butterflies every which way. “I don’t really care,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t even ask for it. You’re the ones who got it for me.”

Mark turned in his chair so that he was facing Joaquin. Joaquin wished that Mark would hit him, push him, send him away. Anything but that soft look of sympathy that was scrawled across his face. “Joaq,” Mark said, “we’re trying here, but you gotta meet us halfway.” When Joaquin didn’t reply, he added, “Talk to us, buddy. What’s going on with you?”

He started to put his hand on Joaquin’s arm, and Joaquin, thinking that this was it, instinctively flinched away. Everyone froze when he did that. Even the clock on the wall seemed to stop ticking, its hands stuck in time. “Joaquin,” Linda said, her voice hushed. “Sweetie.”

“You know I would never hurt you,” Mark said, his hand still frozen in midair. “You know that, Joaquin.”

Joaquin huffed out a laugh. “You think that’s the only way to hurt someone? Seriously?”

“Joaquin—”

He thought that if he heard someone say his name one more time, his head would splinter into a thousand shards. “Just stop it, okay?” he cried, getting to his feet. “Just stop with, with everything! The car, the clothes, the skateboard, just stop!”

Now Mark and Linda were standing up, too, a triangle formed between the three of them. Mark looked confused, but Linda just looked scared.

“You always say you’re not going to hurt me,” Joaquin continued, his pulse fluttering wildly under his skin. “But you don’t get it, do you? Hitting someone is the easiest way to hurt them! You could hurt me so much more than that!”

“We don’t want to hurt you at all!” Linda insisted. “We just want to help you, we want to be there for you, support you. We want you to have the world, Joaq! We want so much for you!”

“Oh, yeah? You think I don’t see how people look at us when we’re out?” Joaquin felt his chest tighten just thinking about it. “These two white people who rescued the poor brown kid?”

“You know we don’t care what people think,” Mark said, his voice low.

“Yeah, of course you don’t, because they look at you like you’re a hero! They look at me like, like I’m . . .” Joaquin forced the words out. “Like I’m trash.”

“Do not say that,” Linda fumed. Joaquin saw that her hands were clenched into fists. “You are not trash, Joaquin. Don’t ever say that.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” he scoffed. “You think you can just adopt me and all of that will go away? What, you can teach me about what it’s like to be Mexican? You can teach me to speak Spanish? You can tell me where I’m from?”

“No,” Mark said, and he sounded somewhere between sad and furious. “We can’t do any of that. But we can help you find people who can! We’re not here to take anything away from you!”

They were saying all the right things, but it all felt wrong. Joaquin felt himself stepping toward the abyss with no boundaries to keep him from falling.

So he decided to leap.

“You think I can make up for the fact that you can’t have babies?” he said.

Linda and Mark stood there, stricken, and Joaquin felt himself smash against the ground, shattering wide open. Mark took a step toward him, and then Joaquin was moving, his feet faster than his brain.

He ran out of the house, Mark and Linda yelling after him, and was in the car and halfway down the street before he realized that he hadn’t grabbed his phone. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, then saw Mark and Linda’s faces again, and he raised his fist and smashed it down on the dashboard.