Loving Elijah McCay

Vol. 1: Thirty-Six

+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

For the first time in days, I've woken up without a headache, thankfully. It's Wednesday morning, as I sit on the living room sofa, a large cup of coffee in one hand, my cellphone in the other. I'd been texting Elijah all evening—all friendly conversation, of course.

I'd made a large promise to myself that I would try and distance myself from him, emotionally. Although, I was beginning to realize that it was a lot easier said than done. The feelings I had for him were building at the surface of my chest, and it took almost everything inside of me to push them down.

     Just as my cellphone chimed with another message from Elijah, my mother was sauntering down the staircase, Toro trailing behind her. I sent her a subtle look of light confusion, wondering what she was doing up so early.

     I hadn't been able to sleep all night, only capable of tossing and turning—until finally, I gave in and woke up for the day. And luckily, Elijah had been awake, too.

     And sure, my mother was an early riser. But she had never been one to wake up as early as now. I watched as she made Toro a plate of dog food, before filling up his bowl of cold water to the brim. She turned to me, raising a trimmed brow.

     "What are you doing up so early?" She asks, taking the open seat beside me on the sofa. I shrug, hands gripping tighter onto my cellphone, wanting so badly to answer Elijah's message. "School doesn't start for another few hours."

     She brings her hand up to her eye, rubbing the drifty flakes of sleep that lie there. I frown, wondering if I'm the reason that she's awake, seeing as I'm sitting there on our living room sofa, giggling to myself over the messages sent between Elijah and I.

     "Couldn't sleep," I begin, "did I wake you?"

     She shakes her head, running a hand through her long strands of straight hair. The other absentmindedly picking at a thread poking out of her t-shirt. "No, I've just been a little restless lately."

     My lips curl into a frown. My mother had always been such a strong, independent woman—and at times, I found myself being so careless about her whereabouts. Emotionally, at least. She doesn't look her best, and it dawns on me that the two of us haven't sat down and talked about her and how she's doing, in almost forever.

     I set down my cellphone, reminding myself to reply to Elijah's message later. "Is everything okay?"

     I can see that she's trying to put on a brave face—trying to mask whatever's going on with her. She goes to open her mouth—and I just know that she's going to try to lie to me. "Mom, you can tell me."

     She looks down at her lap, a piece of hair falling into her eyes, shielding her facial expressions from my view. A moment later, a sniffle echoes through the quietness of the airy living room. Then, another follows shortly after.

     I don't say anything, too afraid that my words will set her off, and she'll start crying even harder.

     Finally, she lifts her head, reddening eyes meeting mine. She brings up a hand, wiping at her tears with the back of it. After collecting herself for a few moments, it seems as though she's ready to begin speaking again.

     "Gage, I . . ." She whispers into the early morning, voice so soft. As though she doesn't want anyone else to be able to decode them. Even though we're the only ones downstairs, and my father is sleeping soundly in he and my mother's shared bedroom.

     My mother takes another shaky breath, a shameful look drowning in her usually happy eyes.

     "It's Abba and I," she starts, eyes glancing up to meet mine. I'm completely invested in whatever she has to say now, since it's obviously concerning my parents' perfect marriage. "Lately . . . Lately we've really been struggling."

     My eyebrows crease together in confusion, lips hanging ajar in pure thought. I had no idea what my mother was hinting at—or I did know, but I'd been trying to push those thoughts aside. I couldn't bare the thought of my parents having issues. Or rather, getting a divorce.

     What would life be like then?

     "W-What do you mean s-struggling?" My heart is beating rapidly in my chest, as the thoughts of Elijah's unanswered message have completely left my train of thought. While clearing my throat, my posture straightens in alert. "L-Like um—financially?"

     My mother laughs lightly, but I know that it isn't genuine because a tear leaves one of her eyes. "No, sweetheart, not financially."

     None of this made any sense. For years I looked up to my parents' marriage as something that I would one day have, too. It was something that seemed so tangible, so easy, so right. And now, here my mother was, telling me that it wasn't as easy as it seemed.

     I reached out for my mother's hands, gripping onto them tightly. Her eyes widened in surprise, as the reddening in her eyes began to waver. "But everything's going to be okay, right? I-I mean you guys can work through whatever's going on—"

     "No," she interrupts roughly, "this cannot be fixed."

     My stomach begins to bubble in anger. Anger because it feels as though they're giving up so easily, without even putting up a fight. "Mom, you can't just give up so easily. You and dad have to try—"

     "We have tried, Gage," she snaps, becoming more and more irritated by the second. "We have tried. Or at least, I've tried."

     Shaking my head vigorously, my eyes snap over to her left hand, where my eyes threaten to water at the sight that's displayed. My mother's wedding ring is gone—and all that lies there is a faint tan line.

     I hadn't even noticed it's absence, and that mere thought has me wondering what else I've missed while being so caught up in my own life. "Then, what happens next?" My voice is just as low as hers now.

     She slumps back against the sofa, hand reaching over for the tv's remote, clicking the power button. I watch as she begins to distract herself from our conversation—drowning in whatever sitcom reruns happen to be playing.

     I stare in wonder and distraught—impatiently waiting for her to answer my previous question. She seems to realize that I'm staring, and grants me her undivided attention once more. "This really isn't any of your concern, Gage. No matter what happens, you will be fine, I will be fine, Abba will be fine."

     I scoff, my eyes beginning to water unexpectedly. "So, that's it? I don't even get any answers?" My voice raises unintentionally, and my mother's head snaps toward me.

     "Do not raise your voice at me, Gage. Abba and I's marriage does not concern you. Your only concern is to go to school, get good grades, play baseball, and don't do anything stupid. You do not ask me or Abba anymore questions about this—do you understand me?" Her tone is rising by the second, and I coil back slightly.

     When I don't reply, her tone rises even higher. "I said, do you understand me?"

     My jaw is clenched as tightly as ever when I utter a bitter, "I understand."

     The conversation had gone left so quickly, that I hadn't even noticed just how embarrassed she seemed about the entire situation. And I wanted to console her, make sure she was okay—even if I had no idea what the hell was going on.

     I clutched at my chest, and ran up my the staircase. It felt as though I couldn't breathe—and there was only one person who I wanted—needed to talk to about it.