Ms. Shepard sat on her living room couch, the evening light slowly fading away. She looked down at her cellphone, the screen lighting up with notifications, all of them from Mrs. Hendrix. She saw her phone go off again, and she took a deep breath and raised it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Oh, thank goodness you picked up, Daphne. I've been worried sick about you! Where have you been? Why haven't you called me back?" Mrs. Hendrixe's worried voice rang through the speaker.
"I am.... so sorry, Iz. I've been in a rough place and I'm just not feeling like dealing with things, you know?"
"Well, I've been worried sick. I understand that things are difficult with your son, but I am here for you. John is here for you. We will do anything to make Gavin feel more comfortable in his new home."
"You know, I never had the chance to tell you what really happened with Gav. It wasn't just a fight. It wasn't even just this one time. His father had been abusing him, Iz. The neighbours heard this time and called the police. He's been charged with sexual assault and physical assault of a minor and child in his care."
There was silence. "Oh, my god, Daph. That is just horrid."
Ms. Shepard became quiet again, worried that Gavin would overhear. "So that's left him with years worth of trauma. And he wasn't even talking to any of the CPS workers. He never once said a word to me when he saw me. It was that bad. So I apologize if I haven't been texting, and I know I should've called to let you and John know I wouldn't be joining you for dinner, but I..."
"No, no Daphne. Don't even think of worrying. I understand as a mother. It would feel like hell to see my kid go through that. You were caught up taking care of him and that's perfectly okay. Just please let me know if you need any help."
"Thank you, Iz."
"Has he been talking to you now?" Mrs. Hendrix asked.
"He has. It took the few weeks, but he slowly opened up. He's still shaken up. But he's really getting used to this new life. He agreed to go visist a psychiatrist, and apparently he talked a lot. Told this woman a lot about what happened to him. I've got him taking antidepressants as well, which they recommended."
"That's good. Has he been doing anything around the house, or is he staying in his room?"
"He's been eating dinners with me on the couch. We watch movies together, but that's really it. He likes to go to his room and sit by himself. I don't like to bother him much because it seems to help him cope. Oh, and he also likes to sit outside on the porch. He recently started doing that. Surely that must be good for him."
"Well, it is a Tuesday. If you were willing to bring him over for dinner, we'd love to have you both. Unless you don't think he's ready for that. It's totally fine. I can bring you some leftovers later on."
"I'll ask him.... it's most likely not the right time. But I'll let you know."
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"Gavin is coming over for supper!" shrieked Maggie, running around the kitchen.
Emmitt walked in, looking over at his mom. "Mom? Is this true?"
Mrs. Hendrix nodded, still focusing on washing the dishes. "Ms. Shepard as well. But yes, Gavin is joining her tonight. So that means we be extremely respectful and treat Gavin kindly. Maggie, don't ask too many questions please. It's been a hard time for Ms. Shepard and Gavin so we need to welcome them back into our home in the calmest way possible."
"What time are they coming?"
"Same time we always have dinner. Seven," Mrs. Hendrix answered. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Emmitt said, grabbing an apple from the basket on the counter.
"Mom says I'm allowed to date someone older than me," Maggie bragged to Emmitt.
"I said by three years. When you are old enough to date, missy," Mrs. Hendrix sighed.
"You're so weird," Emmitt said to Maggie in disgust. "You bugged Gavin last time on the porch and you're still determined to date him? You're ten, remember?"
"I'm allowed to date whoever I want," Maggie shrugged. "Again, you're jealous."
"Jealous of what? Why do you keep saying that?" asked Emmitt.
"I've already explained this. You think I'm stealing your friend away. I know that you want to be his friend, but if I'm dating him, I'll be spending all the time with him. You can't deal with me dating your friend."
"Stop acting like you're twenty," Emmitt snapped. "I'm not jealous, you dip shit-"
"Language!" Mrs. Hendrix scolded, turning around to face her children. "We've been through this. Now, enough. Set the table please, Em."
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"Someone get the door," Mr. Hendrix yelled from his spot in the living room. Maggie ran to the front door, screaming, "I'll get it!"
When she opened the door, she saw Ms. Shepard standing there, next to her son, who stood behind her to the left. "Hi, Maggie. It's a pleasure to see you."
"Hi! Welcome on in! Hello, Gavin!" Maggie smiled, waving her hand.
Gavin nodded, looking around the foyer.
Once everyone sat around the table, passing around a bowl of salad, and Mrs. Hendrix had given Ms. Shepard hugs and talked out back with a glass of wine, dinner has finally started. Gavin looked across to see Emmitt, scooping salad on to his plate.
"Thank you guys for inviting us over," smiled Ms. Shepard, scooping salad on to her fork. "I've missed these nights!"
Gavin kept him head low, staying quiet.
"So, Gavin," Maggie piped up. "What do you like to do?"
Mrs. Hendrix looked up, alarmed. Ms. Shepard looked slowly over at her son, waiting.
Gavin looked up. He shook his head. "I like to watch movies."
"Me too!" Maggie said excitedly.
Ms. Shepard took a sigh of relief, looking back at her food. "What have you guys been up to?"
"Not much," Mr. Hendrix answered, scooping salad on to his fork. "What have we been doing, sweetie?"
"We've been busy with day to day stuff. I've been looking to sign Maggie up for dance lessons. Emmitt's been- Emmitt, you can tell Ms. Shepard what you've been doing."
Emmitt looked up, confused. "Oh, sure. Well, I've been drawing more. I was actually thinking about drawing what you suggested a while back, that dragon? Yeah, I'm doing that. I've been going on bike rides. Normal stuff."
"Oh, I am dying to see that dragon," Ms. Shepard smiled.
"You play any sports?" Mr. Hendrix suddenly asked, tension building up in the room. He stared over at Gavin, who now hung his head low again.
"No," Gavin said quietly. "No, I don't."
There was silence, until Ms. Shepard said, "He used to play sports when he was really young. We got him into soccer when he was only four."
"That was a long time ago, mom," Gavin murmured.
Ms. Shepard turned to face her son, who sat next to her. She looked worried, and then got quiet. "Gav, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dwell on the past. I was just mentioning it-"
"Well, don't," Gavin said, a little bit louder this time. "Stop doing that."
"Gav, I'm not trying to-"
But Gavin pushed his chair out and stormed off to the front door. Slamming the door behind him, Ms. Shepard sat there, staring into her lap, the Hendrix family looking at each other in disbelief.
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Emmitt ran out his front door, seeing Gavin's silhouette in the dark night, halfway down the driveway. He stumbled over his feet, running down the stairs. He stopped before he could get too close. "Hey, wait!"
Gavin stopped walking, keeping his hands in his sweater pockets. He turned around. "What?"
"Hey, don't worry about back there. I don't really know what it was all about, and I don't know, I just wanted to make sure you are okay. Your mom is crying in the bathroom and I... I just wanted to help, I guess? Are you okay?" Emmitt stood there awkwardly, waiting for a response.
"Forget it. It's no big deal."
"Well, I mean, it certainly seemed like some sort of deal. I'm just trying to make sure you're alright. I can leave if you want, I don't really even know why I came out here. I just thought it was right, seeing as you are a guest, and-"
"And your mom I'm sure told you to act nice for me and my mom. To pretend, right? Like everything is normal? Yeah, I'm sure she did."
Gavin turned around to keep walking, but Emmitt ran down, stopping now in the middle of the road where Gavin was. "Are you okay?"
"Go away."
"I'm just trying to be nice-"
"Yeah, I know you are. I know. Now leave me alone."
"What's your deal? Why do you act like that?" Emmitt asked. "Act like other people don't matter?"
Gavin turned to face Emmitt, anger piling up in his face. "Don't tell me that I act. Don't tell me that I act like anything. You don't know me, and you don't care. So go away."
"Maybe I do care."
Gavin stayed there, back turned to Emmitt. He didn't say anything.
"Look, I know you must be going through things. At least, I can assume since my mom did in fact tell me that you and your mom were going through some things. I don't know why you came here to live with your mom but it doesn't matter, that's not what I'm trying to find out. I'm just making sure you're okay. That's all."
Gavin turned now, seeing Emmitt, standing there with his awkward facial expression, his glasses reflecting the streetlight that pounded down on them. He looked down at his shoes and shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay. You're right. That's good of you, I guess."
"There's ways to cope. Like, ways to find yourself, if you are going through anything."
"Like what? What do you do?" Gavin asked.
"When I bike, and I find places to go sit, sometimes I find these places that are not like here. Places that look like you've just imagined them up in your head. Sometimes you need to leave reality to be able to stay there. I don't know."
"I don't have a bike," Gavin said quietly.
Emmitt looked startled. "A bike? Well, you don't need a bike. I just like to go on my bike. You can walk if you want to. If you plan on going on a walk somewhere."
"When's the next time you're going somewhere?" Gavin asked, looking at Emmitt now.
"Uh, most likely tomorrow, uh... night," Emmitt stuttered. "Why?"
"I'm coming," Gavin said.
"Coming with me?" Emmitt asked, scratching his head. "Okay."
"Yeah," Gavin said nonchalantly. "I am."
Emmitt nodded, squeezing his hands behind his back. "Okay, then. Yeah, sure. I'll see you then. Actually, are you coming back in? To finish dinner?"
"No. I don't think I feel like it. I'll see you tomorrow," Gavin said, turning away now and shoving his hands back into his pockets, walking slowly to his house.