Underneath the Sycamore Tree(10)

Cam grabs her purse from the counter. “I know you’ll love the food, Emery. They have the best nachos. In fact, they make everything from scratch! How many places can say they do that?”

Not many, I admit. Still, the idea of fried, spicy food has my stomach churning already. It doesn’t sound appealing, and I doubt this place has many salad options that aren’t coated in the type of stuff that’ll trigger a bigger flare.

Internally sighing, I get into the back of their car and pull out my cell from where it’s tucked under my leg. No text messages. No calls. Nothing from Mama.

I stare out my window in silence.

Grandma put a lot of money into getting me seen by dieticians to formulate a special diet that would limit any food inflammations. Honestly, it’s not a plan I follow as closely as I should. I limit the amount of dairy and gluten I eat, but cheese pizza is my weakness just like any other person, and carbs are my one true soulmate.

Mama used to make me bland meals with no taste and high iron and protein because that’s what the dietician told her to do. But I know Mama hated the food as much as me, and her on again off again employment made it hard to keep buying the type of foods that were better for me. She lost her fulltime job as a pediatric nurse because she was taking too much time off bringing me to appointments and tending to my every need.

It’s why I told her I didn’t need special organic brands or gluten free snacks or lactose free alternatives. I think she believed me because she was desperate to see the truth in it. She didn’t want to let her unemployment impact me any more than it had, but she didn’t understand my guilt over her situation.

She struggled because of me.

She hurt because of me.

Pain comes in countless forms. The worst is seeing what your suffering does to everyone around you. Mama is my biggest victim.

But I’m also hers.

When we arrive at the restaurant, I paint a bright smile on my face. Maybe I’m an artist after all. The Picasso of the modern era.



The restaurant is dimly lit and playing soft instrumental music from the speakers. It’s a cute little eat-in that’s small and intimate. People talk amongst themselves, some louder than others, and the servers come over donning big smiles and warm welcomes.

Everything is dark wood, like the color of espresso—the chairs, the tables, the booths. There’s no cloth or cushions to soften the seats, which makes my tailbone hurt. Every time I shift, the seat creaks and Dad and Cam stare at me like I’m weird for fidgeting so much.

Kaiden hasn’t shown up yet. Cam insists she knows what he’ll want, so Dad waves over our waitress and they start ordering. I’ve been staring at the menu for fifteen minutes, stalling by ordering water and sending them away to decide between the lightest options. At this point, a taco salad is the best I can do.

A few minutes after we order, Dad and Cam talk about work and school. They ask me how I like my classes, if I made any friends, and if I’ve heard from Mama.

Dad cringes when Cam brings Mama up. I don’t see why, it’s been a decade since he had to deal with her. Maybe he feels bad for me, like digging up my departure will hurt my feelings. I don’t think that’s it though.

Thankfully, Kaiden arrives just before I’m forced to answer. I don’t want to talk about Mama with any of them, especially Dad. He left us and couldn’t even bother to care when Lo got sick. He never checked in when I told him how Mama acted or how bad Lo was getting.

Dad doesn’t deserve to know anything.

Cam’s eyes bulge when she sees Kaiden drop into the only seat available next to me. At first, I don’t know why she looks so freaked. Then I turn and notice Kaiden’s eye is all red and puffy, and his cheek is colored an off blue. It makes the usual tan tone even darker, and his eyes hold a type of smoke in them from a fire he clearly extinguished. Except he did so with his fists based on their puffy nature.

His signature don’t-give-a-shit smirk returns despite his mother’s reaction to the shiner he’s sporting. “What’d I miss?”

Dad clears his throat. “Emery was just about to fill us in on how things are going. How is your mother doing?”

My lips part. Are they really going to ignore his face like they don’t see anything wrong?

I won’t. “What happened to you?”

Cam makes an audible noise.

Kaiden’s smirk vanishes and jaw ticks like he can’t believe I asked. If our parents won’t, someone should. I’m not exactly used to this commonality if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Unlike them, I need answers.

Apparently, so does he. “I wouldn’t want to keep Daddy Dearest waiting on that answer. Tell us, Emery, how is your mother doing?”

My nostrils flare.

His lips twitch upward as if he enjoys my reaction, so I push my emotions away. “I don’t think that matters when you show up bruised after being gone all day.”

He leans forward, crowding my space with his confidence. “Aw, what’s wrong, Mouse? Did you miss me?”

Dad murmurs a questioning, “Mouse?” before glancing between Kaiden and me. Neither of us offers an explanation on the nickname.

“Your eye,” I repeat.

“Had an accident,” he says plainly.

Something tells me it was no accident at all. Fists must have been involved based on the mark it left behind. Part of me wonders what the other guy looks like.