I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE FUNNY | ✓

▬ 26

BET YOU DIDN'T THINK MY BAGGAGE IS A CARGO BOAT

            We've not turned into Cleavers Grove before Iya is out on the sidewalk. She's still wearing her scrubs, though I'm uncertain of the specifics of still — how long ago did she come home? Ten minutes or five hours? Baba hangs onto the door handle.

Instead of halting at the curb to let me and Miles out and driving off, Dal turns into the yard to park between Iya and our Volvo. He climbs out too as if to hand me over to my mother in case I die in the three metres it'll take for me to circle the car.

I start to drag my feet but Iya doesn't wait for me. She storms around the bonnet, grabs both me and Miles by the arm as if he's her son too, and pulls us toward the house. Though the thing I want most is to be held by her, I rip myself free. I'm not sure why. I can't think. I can walk on my own, or something...

Her glare scorches the bruises on my face, pouring hot wax onto aching skin. Faster than my clogged brain can process, she leaves me and stalks instead to Dal. 'You. You stay away from my son.'

The crack of her palm against his cheeks echoes in the muddy hills that surround East Trough.

Everything stills for a moment. As if I'm the one who's been slapped, I wake up from whatever semi-consciousness I've been in, though all I do with my newfound alertness is stare. She's never hit anyone before.

Dal doesn't mirror my shock. Contrarily, not only does he seem to have expected it, but to think he's deserving. Forget nearly two metres of height and hard muscle built up over years of restless nights, he surrenders immediately. His head remains twisted to the side long after the imprint has faded.

'You never come near him again. I don't know why I've ever let you around him for a second.'

She latches onto my arm, harder this time. I twist myself free one step closer to the door, only for her to grab the other and we repeat the routine.

I pant through my exhaustion. 'He had nothin to do with it. He's never done anythin but help me. Things you don't know.' I'm unable to put into words what I need him for and what he means to me. The ache in my chest as my heart tears is only a hindrance. 'All he did was pick me up. None of it's his fault.'

'I don't care. I don't want you around this.' With the hand that isn't clutching my wrist, she gestures at Dal and his car. 'I didn't raise you to become this!'

'No, you didn't raise me, cause all you've ever done is work.' No sooner have the words left me than my face screws up. 'I didn't mean that. Désolé.'

Not bothering with my apology, she takes advantage of my distress to continue dragging me to the house. She's much stronger than I am and my resistance does little. In front of the doorstep, I take my last resort: sit down on the cement. Unprepared, her hands slip from me. I wrap my arms around my knees to wind myself into a ball that will be much more difficult to drag inside, a technique I learnt in childhood manic episodes when everyone still thought they were tantrums.

'I'm eighteen. You can't tell me who to hang out with.'

'As long as you live in my house, I can tell you whatever I like.'

'Then I'll go live with him.'

Before Iya can respond, I bolt for the car. Dal still stands at the driver's side and turns around at a glacial pace to watch me latch to the handle of the passenger door. It's locked.

'Open the door.' I rattle the handle. 'Open the door.'

Lips flattened and shoulders hunched, his gaze sweeps across the car roof between us. There's something watery about him, and though I know it's not possible for a person to shrink over a few minutes, he's smaller. Even his voice has thawed. 'She's right.'