Eleanor & Grey(9)

Piss off, Dad.



I pinched the bridge of my nose and walked past him and straight into the house. He hollered that we weren’t done talking about the internship, and we’d pick it up at a different time, but I wasn’t too worried about it. He never stayed home long enough to really hammer into me.

As I walked inside, I saw Mom picking up the shattered pieces of glass from the bottle.

“Mom, here, let me get that before you cut yourself,” I said, watching her sway drunkenly back and forth.

“Back off,” she said, pushing my arm away. She looked up at me, with mascara cruising down her cheeks, and frowned. She placed her wine-soaked hand against my cheek and parted her lips to speak. “You look just like your father. You know how angry that makes me? It makes me hate you almost as much as I hate him.”

“You’re drunk,” I told her. She was the kind of drunk where she didn’t even look like herself. She looked wild in the eyes, and her hair was tangled. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No!” She pulled her hand back and slapped me across the face, muttering, “Fuck you, Greg.”

My eyes shut as my cheeks stung. Her eyes watered and she placed both of her hands over her mouth. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry, Greyson. I’m so sorry.” She began to sob into her hands, shaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t do this.”

I wrapped an arm around her, and squeezed lightly, because I was pretty sure if I didn’t hug her, she wasn’t getting any hugs at all. “Yeah, it’s fine, Mom. You’re just tired. Just go to bed. Alright? Everything’s okay.”

I gathered the large pieces of glass and tossed them into the trash can as she wandered off to bed. She’d probably be gone before I woke the next morning, off to catch a flight to her next adventure. But we’d cross paths again when she needed her monthly fight with Dad, and a bottle of wine to toss.

I headed to the bathroom to wash the wine from my hands and face, and when I glanced in the mirror, I hated what I saw.

Because I did look like my father, and I kind of hated myself for it, too.

When I went to bed, I tried to shake my parents from my mind, but when I did shake them, Grandpa entered my head, and that just made me sadder.

So I thought about Eleanor Gable.

The girl who read books at parties, and really liked dragonflies.

Those thoughts weren’t as heavy as all my others.

So, I let them stay.





3





Eleanor





It had been two days since the party, and I hadn’t even finished reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. My focus was shot, and I couldn’t shake Greyson from my mind.

It wasn’t even the way he looked or the things he said. It was just small things about him.

I didn’t talk to a lot of people, but I noticed them well enough.

I noticed the way he became uncomfortable with certain things, the way he’d tap his fingers against his legs and never stood still.

I noticed the way he kind of smelled like red licorice.

Thinking about him was like a bad daydream I couldn’t wake up from. A part of me wondered if he thought about me, too.

This was a whole new concept for me.

I didn’t do crushes, unless we were talking about fictional characters. I always found guys my age to be idiotic and shallow. Everything about high school was the worst kind of cliché.

To me, everything seemed so contrived and fake. It was all based on superficial things like looks, popularity, and how much money your parents made. I just didn’t want any part of it.

Until Greyson and that stupid grin showed up. Now I was one of those girls, wondering about him when I shouldn’t have been, and reading one too many articles about having a crush.

“Hey, Snickers,” Dad said, popping into my room while twirling a pencil between his fingers.

“What?! Nothing. Stop. Huh?” I huffed quickly, hurrying to close the internet browser on the desktop computer. My breaths went in and out as I tried to cover up my nerves. “Hi, Dad,” I said on an exhale, giving him a wide, toothy grin.

He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing. What do you need? What’s up?”

He rubbed his hand against his stomach and narrowed his stare. My father had a nice gut on him, and he called it Doritos, after the cause of the creation of said gut. Mom was a vegan and she always tried to get him to go down that line with her, but he was completely against giving up bacon—which I understood.

For the most part, Mom was good at keeping Dad’s diet in check. He’d been pre-diabetic before she’d gotten him to somewhat follow her eating plan. She’d tell him it would make her happy if he had a salad with dinner, so he’d have the salad, because making her happy was his favorite activity.

I always giggled a bit when he’d rub Doritos as he tried to figure something out, as if his belly was a magic lamp with all the answers.

“I just wanted to let you know it’s just you and me for dinner tonight. Your mom’s not feeling great.”

My gut tightened as worry took over. “Oh? Is she okay?”

“Just a little tired.” He smiled. “She’s all right, Ellie. I promise.”

He called me Ellie and not Eleanor, so I believed him.