Something Like Normal(37)

“This Marine is looking forward to pulling out the blues,” Kevlar says. “And watching the panties drop.”

Moss smacks him upside the head again. “Have some respect. It’s a memorial service.”

“Dude, if he were alive, Charlie would be the first person to exploit the situation to get laid,” Kevlar says. “He’d be all Wedding Crashers, Marine style.”

It’s a fair point. Charlie used to joke about how he was going to buy himself a Purple Heart on eBay so he could use it to get sympathy sex.

“I guess I’ll see you guys next weekend, then.”

They leave me standing in the hotel parking lot and I’m tempted to go inside to the bar and get wrecked, because the only other place I have to go is home.

*

My envelope is lying on the kitchen island when I get there. I tear through the expensive paper, even though I already know what it says, and a folded note falls out with the invitation. It’s from Charlie’s mom.

Dear Travis,

I hope you will be willing to say a few words at Charlie’s memorial service. While I was blessed to have him in my life the longest, you knew him best. He called you brother. He called you friend. I know this is asking a lot and I will understand if you would rather not, but please call me when you decide.

Always,

Ellen Sweeney

“Please don’t tell her, Solo.” Charlie stands next to me at the island. “She thinks I’m a hero. Don’t take that away from her.”

“I won’t.” I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes to make him go away, but he’s still there. “But you need to go away.”

When I open my eyes, my mom is watching me from the doorway. “Who needs to go away, Travis?”

“No one,” I say. “It’s nothing. Headache.” Lie. I’m not telling my mom my dead best friend was talking to me. Or that I was talking back. “Seriously. It’s all good.”

I’m not sure she believes me, but she takes a whole key lime pie—my favorite—from the fridge and cuts it into wedges. “I was a little surprised to see Harper Gray coming down my stairs this morning. I hope you’re not—”

“I’m not.” It doesn’t matter how that sentence ends. “She’s really…” I shrug. “I like her.”

It’s a crumb, really, but Mom brightens as if I handed her a whole loaf. She slides me a small plate with a sliver of pie on it. “I always knew you could do so much better than Paige Manning.”

Laughing, I cut my fork into the dessert. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but she moved on to Ryan.”

“What? No!”

“I’m surprised Dad didn’t tell you,” I say. “They hooked up while I was gone.”

She sighs. “I try to be charitable, but I’m sorry. I really dislike that girl.”

“I kinda got that impression.”

Mom gets a resigned look on her face. “Well, I guess if she has to… hook up with one of my boys, I’d rather it be Ryan.”

My eyebrows hitch up. “Oh?”

“I know a mother is not supposed to play favorites, and I love you both, but I’ve always liked you better.” She swipes her finger through the whipped cream on the top of her pie.

At first this surprises me. For all the times she stood by while Dad got on my case about one thing or another, I’d never have guessed I was her favorite. “Even though I’m a disappointment?”

“You’re not a disappointment, Travis,” she says. “You took everything your dad heaped on you and never complained about it.” Tears build up in her eyes. “I could see how much you hated it, but it seemed so important to him that I didn’t interfere. I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“I went to see you play soccer once,” she says. After I quit the football team, I started playing Sunday soccer with the Mexicans out on Kelly Road. It was so much fun to just run up and down a field and not have someone yelling that I was doing it wrong. No game analysis afterward, either. We’d sit on the hood of someone’s car and flirt with the girls. “It was so nice to see you happ—”

“Why’d you take him back?”

She presses her fingertips against the stray bits of graham cracker crust dusting the countertop, then brushes them onto my empty plate. “You’ll be going back to North Carolina soon and Ryan leaves for Pennsylvania at the end of the month,” she says. “I just—I guess I’m afraid of being alone.”

“And being with the guy who cheated on you is better? Jesus Christ, Mom, stop being such a doormat.”

For a moment she only stares at me. Over the years I’ve ignored her when she was nagging at me, but I’ve never been outright disrespectful—even when she pissed me off. “This is not Afghanistan, Travis.” Her voice wavers and I can tell I’ve hurt her. I feel bad about it, but she needs to listen. “Maybe you can speak to your friends that way, but here—”

“This isn’t about my choice of words,” I say. “I know my going to Afghanistan was hard on you and I’m really, really sorry about that, but that’s no excuse for him to step out on you, Mom. I feel like it’s my fault when—”