I Wish You All the Best(3)

“Hello?” Hannah’s voice sounds tired, but it isn’t even that late yet. At least, I don’t think it is; I don’t have a watch. And my phone is sitting at home on my nightstand, charging, because the battery is total crap.

“Hannah, it’s me.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me,” I whisper. Of course. She wouldn’t know my voice, not anymore. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even recognize me. “It’s Ben.”

There’s a slip, or noise, or something on her end. “Ben? What are you—”

I cut her off. “Can you come get me?”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Hannah.” I look around. The sidewalk is totally empty, probably thanks to the sinking temperatures. Everyone else is inside, somewhere nice and warm. And here I am slowly losing the feeling in my toes, trying my absolute hardest not to shiver from the sharp gusts of wind.

“Ben, are you still there? Where are you?”

“Outside Twin Hill Pizza.” I tuck my hands under my armpits, balancing the phone between my cheek and shoulder. There’s some more rustling on her end, and the sound of someone else talking.

“What in the actual hell are you doing there? It’s like thirty degrees outside.”

“Mom and Dad kicked me out.”

The line goes silent, and for a second, I think the call dropped without warning. Oh God, I don’t know if calling this way will work a second time.

“What?” Her voice almost seems emotionless, the way it’d get when she was truly, needlessly enraged. Usually with Dad about something that didn’t call for it. “Why would they do that?”

“Can you please just come pick me up?” I try to breathe on my hands. “I can … I can explain everything later.”

“Yeah, of course, just wait for me. Okay?”

“I’m going to the Walgreens down the street.” I can see the bright red sign from here, just a block over. I give Hannah the address, listening closely to whatever is going on in the background.

“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Hannah lives in Raleigh, an hour drive at least, maybe forty-five minutes if she speeds. So I’ll be waiting for a while.

At least no one inside the drugstore seems to care that I’m no longer abiding by the “no shoes” part of their two most basic rules. The cashier behind the counter doesn’t even look up as I weave my way into the farthest corner of the store and take my seat in one of the chairs near the pharmacy waiting area.

My legs ache, and I’ve already torn a hole in one of my socks. I wrestle the filthy, soaked things off my feet, and start rubbing at the numbed skin. I hope I can at least get some of the feeling back. None of my toes are blue, so I’m taking that as a good sign.

At first, I don’t even notice I’m crying. Maybe it’s because my face already feels raw from the wind outside, or because crying is something I’d been doing for nearly two hours straight before I made the phone call. My vision goes blurry as I start to cry again, staring at my naked feet. I try my best to wipe the tears away but the skin under my eyes stings so badly.

Jesus. I’m a fucking disaster.

I felt so numb on the walk over here, trying my best to get to the one place I knew had a pay phone. Everyone at school liked to joke it was probably the last one in the country. Because who needs pay phones anymore, right?

I pull my knees in tight, trying to keep quiet. If any of the employees notice, or see me, they don’t say anything.

“Get out of this house.”

I didn’t even know it was possible for Dad to look at me the way he had, it was …

Terrifying.

At first, it was calm. Almost like they wanted to hear me out. They let me talk, and then I was done. Mom never took her hands off her necklace, the cross, the one she told me Grandma gave her when she was seven.

Dad spoke up first. “That’s a good joke, son.”

Except the way he said it told me he didn’t think it was a joke. His voice was flat, like there was nothing to it.

“Dad …”

“You should take it back,” he added, to pretend like nothing had ever happened, that the conversation was dust that could just be wiped away.

But it couldn’t.

And even if that was possible, I wouldn’t want to.

I don’t think I would at least.

“Mom.” I looked at her, and she kept looking from me to Dad and then back to me, not saying anything. “Please?”

But she didn’t say anything. And Dad kept getting angrier. He never actually yelled at me. Dad’s voice was that scary sort of calm. We all just sort of sat there. “You’re our son, Ben. This just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Dad, I can—”

“Get out of my house, just get out of here.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Please.” I begged them both. “Don’t do this.”

Dad led me to the door, and Mom followed on his heels. I just kept begging and begging, but they never did anything.

“Mom! Please!”

“God doesn’t want this for you, Ben.”

I begged her not to say that, and then I started crying. But that must not have been enough. The door closed, and I wanted it to open back up. I wanted this to be some cruel joke on their part. One I could forgive them for later. I tried the knob, but it was locked, even the spare key they hid under this fake rock didn’t work because they’d locked the dead bolt too.