In an Instant(80)
My mom’s jaw slides forward, and I’m worried she might slam the door in Mrs. Kaminski’s face. But she doesn’t. Instead she remains remarkably still as Mrs. Kaminski finishes her unintentional lashing. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner and that it has taken me this long to acknowledge it.” She slides the sheet of paper and phone back in the envelope and reaches past my mom to set it on the table beside the door. Her eyes drop as she steps back. “Thank you,” she mutters, the words completely inadequate for what she feels. My mom forces a stiff nod, and Mrs. Kaminski turns.
The door closes behind her, and a second later, something crashes against it. She looks back, her chin quaking as she realizes it was the sound of the package being hurled against the wood.
93
My dad watches from the shadows of the kitchen as my mom races up the stairs and closes their bedroom door behind her.
His expression is dark, and I watch as he walks to the entry and retrieves the envelope. He carries it to the kitchen, pulls out the phone, and tries to activate it, but the battery is dead.
He plugs it in, and as he waits for it to charge, he looks at the sheet of paper. His eyes run over the words, and I watch as their meaning registers, his expression changing from curiosity to shame as he realizes what my mom went through while he was unconscious.
Setting the sheet down, he picks up my phone and powers it on. The screen saver shot is of me hanging from the mouth of the enormous lion statue in front of the San Diego Zoo. He was the one who hoisted me up and then darted back to snap the photo as I dangled. Security ran out and yelled at me to get down, and my dad, Oz, and I hurried away, laughing hysterically, the photo priceless.
He smiles and glances again at the sheet, reading the lines carefully, and I know he is considering each article of clothing, deciphering which belonged to me and which were Mo’s.
He returns to the phone, opens my photos, and scrolls through them, hundreds and hundreds of images from my remarkable life. Mountains and forests and rivers. The ocean and the beach. Parks and sports fields and the thousand other places I’ve been. Family and friends and teammates. Laughter, love, and fun—so much it is impossible to be sad when you look at them.
When he hears my mom walk from their room, he powers down the phone, stashes it in his pocket, then crumples the envelope and paper and buries them deep in the trash.
She sticks her head through the door. “I’m going into work for a bit,” she says, her eyes not meeting his and betraying the lie.
He pretends not to notice.
I do not know where she is going, but it is not to work. My guess is she will go someplace where it is crowded and noisy, someplace where she can sit and pretend she is a part of it, where she can forget who she is and pretend she is the person she used to believe she was.
My dad stands and takes a step toward her, but she steps back.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll take care of dinner.”
She nods and shuffles away, and as my dad watches her go, his muscles twitch. As soon as her car pulls from the driveway, he walks to the garage.
He starts with the sports equipment, unceremoniously throwing everything that belonged to Oz and me in the back of his truck. I wince when he tosses my skateboard onto the pile and need to stop from crying when he grabs my surfboard from its rack.
“Time to get this mess cleared out,” he says to Bingo, who follows him around, sniffing at each item and thumping his tail as he remembers our scent.
It’s amazing how much people talk to their pets when no one else is around. Chloe talks nonstop to Finn the Mighty, my mom and dad both talk to Bingo, and Eric yaps all his secrets to whatever animal he happens to be taking care of.
“I should get you a dog tuxedo for the wedding,” he says. “If I need to wear a monkey suit, so should you.”
He stops for a minute to wipe the sweat from his brow, thinks of something, touches his pocket where my phone is, then forces his hand away.
“Ah, hell, if it makes Aubrey happy,” he says, “I’ll wear the damn tuxedo.” He grabs Oz’s collection of Nerf footballs and throws them into the truck. “Bet they end up pregnant quick. Aubrey’s not a patient one. Poor Ben—he has no idea what he’s in for.”
Tennis racket. Golf clubs. Bicycle.
“You know we’re gonna be watching the kid,” he says. “We’ll need to get a crib, a changing table, one of those swing things. For being so small, babies take up a hell of a lot of space.”
I smile as I listen, understanding that this is how it needs to be for him, a task—a responsibility and an obligation to do what needs to be done to protect those who remain, spurred on by that thin sheet of paper and what it revealed. I feel his resolve and his blinding love, his willingness to do anything for Aubrey, including letting us go.
“Chloe’s got herself another damn boyfriend,” he says. “Hope he’s better than the last one.” He hesitates. “Ah, hell, Vance wasn’t all that bad. Damn kid had balls—I’ll give him that.”
Bingo tilts his head and thumps his tail on the ground.
Only when he reaches for my jersey does he hesitate, his grip tightening around the satin before he forces his fingers open to release it on top of the heap.
I drive with him to the thrift store and watch as he dumps the load into the donation bin, each item like a weight lifting, until finally the last remnant is tossed away, and I am free. Released like a balloon into the sky, the brightness so close I feel it, warm and magnetic as I float above him, watching as he climbs back in his truck to drive back to the single thread that remains.