Chapter 16
The echoes of my emotional outburst lingered as I drifted into a tear-stained slumber. Dad's disappointment hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Why couldn't he understand? The weight of his disbelief bore down on me. It hurt that the person I cared most about didn't believe in me.
The sudden intrusion of sunlight, courtesy of Miles wielding pots and pans like an unconventional alarm clock, pulled me from the clutches of my thoughts.
"Rise and shine!" Miles declared, parting the curtains, flooding the room with an unexpected burst of sunlight. "Woah, did you paint the room?"
It was his birthday today, I reminded myself, forcing my groggy self to sit up and rub my tired eyes. Miles, the eternal optimist, saw today as more than just any day – it was the day a future rockstar was born. October fourteenth, the day I entered the world at 11:58 pm on a Sunday night, and he followed at 12:00 am on Monday.
"Happy birthday," I deadpanned. "Now can I go back to sleep?"
"Nope, big plans ahead of us today."
"Why can't you ditch me for one of your lame friends?"
"I've got a whole agenda for today. Starting with a scenic stroll around town."
My face contorted in disbelief. "A walk? Can't we just game in your room or something?" Video games were the traditional Miles' birthday ritual. Most years, we'd verse one another, followed by Dad and me attempting to bake him a cake.
Miles waved a hand flippantly. "We can save the gaming marathon for another year. You need to get up and move around. You can't just rot in bed because..."
"Because...?"
Miles looked awkward and out of place. "What Harry did."
"Since when did you care about me?"
"Come on, Max. I may be a jerk from time to time, but I'm not a Disney villain. You're still my sister." Then, he added, "Also, Dad told me to check up on you."
Dad couldn't stand to talk to me after last night, so he sent Miles up. My chest tightened, but I managed a kind smile, assuring Miles I'd join him outside in a few minutes. I reluctantly joined Miles after a quick shower, but the heaviness from last night's argument and Dad's disapproval clung to me. Leaving the comfort of my bed, my temporary escape, seemed daunting.
I strolled down our yellowing yard to meet Miles on the other side of the street. The air was stuffy and sharp. I should have brought a jacket. My hair was already frizzing up from the dampness.
"You know, I tell everyone I'm the older twin," Miles remarked as we walked along the road. Occasionally, a passing car would wave. In this small town, everyone knew everyone.
"And why's that?"
Miles shrugged. "Just makes more sense. After all, I am the more mature one."
"You? Mature? Aren't you the one who once put a dead mouse in my room?"
"I was fifteen. Lay off."
We quieted down for a little bit. Miles chucked his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his battered converse.
"Mom's visiting tomorrow. You coming?" Mom visited on the fifteenth of every month.
Miles shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a pebble. "Nah, fuck that bitch."
"Miles. She's still our mom."
"Yeah, and she still walked out on us."
"She's trying, is what I'm saying. Give her some credit."
"I really don't care 'bout none of this, Max. I won't talk to her, end of." Miles got especially pissy when talking about Mom.
I told Miles I needed a moment, leaning against a streetlight to catch my breath. Glancing at the quiet street, I spotted Carson's house. Remorse washed over me as I recalled the hurtful things I'd said to him. Deciding an apology was in order, I crossed the street, making my way toward his house.
"Max, what's going on?" Miles called out from behind me.
"This is Carson's house," I explained as we both faced it.
"The guy who passed out in gym class?"
I tensed at the memory; it felt like ages ago. "Yes, that's him."
"Max, is that you?" Claudia greeted me with a gloved hand, busy gardening in the front yard. Her dark hair was tucked under a pink bucket hat, and her floral dress bore the marks of mud.
I waved in response, whispering to Miles to leave.
"Alright, fine," he mumbled as he walked backwards. "This is what I get for trying to be a good brother."
Claudia kept smiling at me. I asked her, "How are you?" and took a step closer.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. "I'm alright. And yourself?"
Awful. "Great. Um, is now a good time?"
"For...?"
"Is Carson home? I need to talk to him for a bit, it's about a school project we're both working on." I added the last part hastily, noticing Claudia's frown.
"Oh." Claudia picked a leaf off her dress. "I'm afraid Carson's sick, honey. Maybe come back some other time."
I was unable to hide my disappointment. "Oh, that's okay then."
"What's going on?" a third voice joined.
Both Claudia and I looked towards the door where Carson was standing. He was topless, and dressed only in basketball shorts. I could see the faint outline of his tattoo — it disappeared down the side of his rib.
"Hi," I said. He didn't look that happy to see me.
"Carson!" howled Claudia. "You're sick, you shouldn't be walking around the house. Go back to bed right away!"
Carson looked at me, then at his mother, sharing a quick exchange. I felt like an outsider witnessing their unspoken conversation through glances.
Then he turned and stomped inside.
"My son's lazy," Claudia said, wiping the back of her damp brows with a gloved hand. "He likes sleeping."
"Don't we all?"
She smiled, but her silence left me feeling like a mere observer on the street. She returned to her gardening and hummed a song. Embarrassed by the rejection, I contemplated leaving when Claudia spoke up.
"What're you doing just standing there? You can go and talk to Carse, but make it quick. He needs his rest." She smiled shortly at me, but it did not reach her eyes.
"Sick with what? Sounds serious."
Claudia's smile wavered. "He's got the flu, but his asthma makes it worse. I've been taking good care of him though. I used to be a nurse." Claudia was an oversharer — nothing like her son.
"Oh, I'll just be quick then."
I walked up the front porch and inside the front door. As soon as I stepped inside, I was hit with a strong scent of lavender. The hallway was empty, so I turned and went inside the room to my right.
Never had I seen a room so vibrant. Pumpkin orange walls, rustic yet eccentric furniture with brightly colored pillows, and flower pots and crystals adorned the lime green coffee table. Behind the television, funky paintings hung on the walls, and a collection of framed photographs lined the fireplace. I walked over to inspect a particular photo where Claudia and Carson's father held a baby Carson, clad only in a diaper, with a large scar halfway down his chest.
This was more than a house; it was a home. Claudia must have worked as an interior designer in a past life.
Something whizzed by my leg and barked. Over the soft, white rug, I gasped and staggered back. Before me stood a tiny puppy. When he cocked his head to the side and wagged his fuzzy tail at me, he had a childlike innocence about him. His fur was brown — scraggly and scruffy and he had long claws.
I almost jumped when I heard Carson's hoarse voice come from behind me. "That's my dog, Taco."
"Your dog is called Taco?"
"Yeah." Carson managed a faint smile as he knelt down to pet Taco. The puppy yelped and darted out the front door, his soft paws hitting the ground.
Carson, now standing, towered over the room. Shirtless, he wasn't bulky but had a slim figure with slightly muscular arms. A warmth, almost scalding, crept through me. I quickly looked away.
"Can we go to your room?"
His response was hesitant. "Uh, yeah, I guess."
He led me down a narrow hallway in the direction of his room. He first walked in and then let me. It was a small room with white walls. A thin green rug beside his twin sized bed, and a desk by the window. It looked like a hospital room — lifeless and dull, nothing like the rest of the house.
Carson noticed me staring at the boxes. "I'm still sorting out most of my stuff," he admitted, looking sheepish. "That's why my room's looking a little bland." I didn't notice how pale he was until he stood in the sun. His eye bags looked more prominent than usual. I felt bad to interrupt his rest.
I ventured further inside, spotting a guitar propped against a full-length mirror. Running my fingers over the dusty strings, I asked, "Do you enjoy playing?"
"Occasionally."
"Are you all right?" I only asked him because his mother had told me he was sick, and there was a shit ton of medicine in his room.
He sniffed. "I'm fine. Just have the sniffles, is all."
A framed quote displayed above Carson's bed drew my attention. Following my gaze, he coughed and explained, "Sorry, got it when I was fifteen and artsy. Mom made me choose a quote for 'motivation.' She has no idea what it means." He spoke rapidly, as if eager to move past the topic.
media vita in morte sumus
"You know, I used to have one of those in my room before I painted over it. What does yours mean?"
"In the midst of our lives we die," he said absentmindedly as he rummaged through his belongings in his drawers. The first had sweatpants and hoodies, the second had miscellaneous goods (cigarettes, lighters, a skateboard), and the third one I couldn't see, but I assumed contained more personal items.
"I came to apologize for going off at you," I began, voice soft.
"Don't worry about it."
"But I do. I shouldn't have said what I said."
"It's fine," Carson mumbled, sitting on his bed and pulling a shirt over his head.
"I still want to say sorry. You've been nothing but nice to me, and I treated you like crap."
"You don't have to apologize, really. I've been called worse."
I paused, staring at the old carpet. "Still. I want to." I glanced back up at him. "I was out of line."
He continued to scrutinize me, silence stretching between us. I wasn't sure then why my face got hot all of a sudden. It was the intensity in his gaze that made me feel like he knew something I didn't. Finally, he spoke with a hint of scepticism, "Why the sudden change of heart?"
I took a deep breath. "I realized I was wrong, Carson. You didn't deserve how I treated you, and I want to fix it."
Carson looked away, scratching his jaw, and sighed. "Alright, apology accepted. Anything else?"
I wasn't prepared for that. "Well, um, no. Not really."
He nodded. "Alright then."
I looked about the room. Pills, essential oils, thermometers, vitamins, medicine bottles — you name it. I'd never seen so much medicine before in my life.
"What did you say you were sick with again?"
"It's nothing. I have a bad case of the flu."
"That's a hell of a lot of medication for just the flu," I said. "Dad just gives me vitamin C tablets and takes away my phone." I cracked a joke to ease the heavy tension in the room.
A stiff laugh escaped Carson, abruptly stopped by a violent coughing fit. "Could you..." He reached out, wheezing, "My inhaler. I don't know where it is... it's such a mess in here."
I was worried because his words were beginning to slur together. I did not want a repeat of what happened a couple of weeks ago in gym class, so I hastily browsed through the myriad of bottles on the nightstand beside his bed. I found his inhaler hidden behind some shirts on the floor and gave it to him. Carson took several puffs, then settled back in bed.
I stood idly by his bed just in case. He attempted to maintain calm breaths, crossing his arms behind his head.
"You should leave," he said.
"Oh."
"I'm no use to you anymore. This medication, it knocks me out cold."
I was intrigued. "What medication?"
He smiled then, and it was a rare yet remarkably captivating smile. "Flu medication, remember?"
I broke eye contact, his stare was just too intense. I looked about the room and said, "Do you want me to help clean? It's a mess in here." Stress cleaning was my go-to habit.
"If you want." He rolled over so he was lying flat on his back.
I jumped into action immediately, gathering the scattered items on the floor—sweatshirts, band tees featuring Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and the Rolling Stones—and tossing them into the laundry basket. Carson had already dozed off behind me, breathing heavily and raspy, like he'd just run two miles. He also snored a little. That made me laugh out loud.
I flung open the windows and let in a few rays of sunshine. Then I looked at the medication bottle on his desk, about to stow it away, when something caught my eye.
Zoloft. Xanax.
I looked over my shoulder. Carson lay in bed, his elbow draped across his eyes. There was a funny, sinking sort of feeling in my stomach as I looked again towards the bottle of pills, and put them all back.
"You meeting up with your mom today?" Dad said your mom like she wasn't his wife once upon a time.
"Yeah, I am so don't wait up for me," I said as I bent down to tie my shoelaces.
"Do you want me to drive you there?"
"I can just walk." My responses were succinct. I despised arguing with him. I felt awkward and guilty about it all.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw him adjust his glasses. "If that's what you want, kiddo."
"It's not what I want, it's what I need."
"All right then." We both recognized the double meaning in my words. "Guess I'll get going to the store. Tell your mom I said hi."
I skipped down the yard to the cafe where Mom and I used to meet. She never once took me to her place or wherever she was staying at. Maybe there's a small part of me that knew if she did, I would never leave.
By the time I got there, Mom was waiting for me at a table. She was sipping on a cup of tea when she saw me waiting by the doorway, floundering over what to say and do. Her face lit up and she rose from her seat.
"Maxine, hello." Her heels clacked against the tiles. She pulled me into a brief hug, she smelled like floral perfume.
There was a lump in my throat. "Hi, Mom."
"Miles?" she asked hopefully. I shook my head. Her face dropped. She made a falsely bright smile after only a moment and gestured behind us to the table. "Come sit down, I ordered your favorite. Coffee cake, right?"
Carrot cake. "Thank you, yes." I took a seat in front of her. Erik with a K behind the counter looked questioningly between Mom and I. Nobody in Belle Haven liked Mom.
"Is that your brother's shirt?" Mom fidgeted with her bracelet, a nervous tic of hers. "Montgomery?"
"Yeah, it is."
"Honey, you need to stop dressing like a male. It's a good thing I got you this..." Mom knelt near our table, rummaging through the shopping bags. She reached inside her bag and pulled out a black pinafore dress. "Thought you could use a couple of dresses."
I muttered, "Great," and took the dress from her. Mom refused the fact that her one and only daughter was a tomboy. "Thanks, Mom. I love it."
She smiled. "I'm glad you do. You should start wearing more clothes that flatter your body."
I'd always been blown away by Mom's home life. It struck me as odd as to how she's so adjusted and independent; but she told me she used her parents as an example of how not to be. Her mother snorted more coke than she ate food, a narcissistic racist who went on and on about how backwards the country is becoming because of 'the gays and the Jews'. Grandpa spent half his life in prison because he sexually abused a three year old and got life in jail without parole — so Mom basically grew up without a father and a sociopathic mother.
She married Dad because at the time it was her only escape from her home life. Mom used to complain all the time about how women in those days had to 'settle for less', which had angered me, because Dad tried his best to give her everything she wanted. The notion of her settling for him left a strange, sinking feeling in my stomach, making me wonder if I, too, had merely settled for Belle Haven.
Mom had packed her things and left when she realized she had become just another woman who had settled for less. Was she justified in her actions? Certainly not. Is it possible for me to blame her? No.
We were all searching for an escape.
Since she left, my life wasn't that much of a drastic change, but Dad was mopier than usual. I was never close to Mom growing up. She was always rather condescending to me and neglectful. This one time, Mom dropped me off at home after school and then drove off to The Grill for a drink. The front door was locked, and no one was home — I remember I had to wait until nighttime when Dad returned from work and found me sitting alone in the dark on the steps. Mom was always so negligent and unchecked, it didn't come as a surprise to me that she was able to leave us so easily.
"You changed your mind yet?" Mom broke the silence, lifting the cup of tea to her lipstick stained mouth. I got my eyes from Dad, a bright blue, while Mom's were brown. They were as dark as her soul, Miles joked once.
"About what?"
"You know." She gestured around us. "This place. Leaving this shithole behind. Tell ya what, the day I left was the happiest day of my life."
She must have seen the stupefied expression on my face because she quickly added, "you know that's not what I meant, sweetie. It's just, you know how I feel about this place."
"Tell me about it," I muttered.
"What's stopping you then? You're an adult, so you're free to make your own choices."
"I can't just leave Dad behind, Mom." I'm not you, I wanted to say.
"Ah." When Dad was mentioned, her demeanour shifted. She sipped her tea slowly and deliberately. "I hope your father will one day allow you to make your own decisions. He can only have so much control over our lives."
I cocked my head. "Our?"
"How was your birthday?" asked Mom instead. "I'm sorry I couldn't call."
"Same old."
"I'm moving to New York," Mom suddenly announced. "You've always wanted to go there, thought I should mention it."
At first, I didn't say anything because I was trying too hard not to cry. "You're moving states? Like... completely?" It was difficult to speak through the lump in my throat.
"I am. My last visit to you will be next month."
I didn't respond and just glumly stared down at my uneaten coffee cake. Mom went on, desperate to fill in the silence.
"You know, you can always come along with me," she offered gingerly, stirring her cup of tea.
This was it. My ticket out of Belle Haven was staring me right in the face.
"I can?"
"Sure." Mom just shrugged. Her uninterested demeanour irritated me. "Why not?"
I stared at her, but she couldn't meet my eyes. She did not want me to come along. Rather, she simply wanted to compete with Dad, perhaps as a method of coping with her guilt for abandoning us.
"I don't want you guys to hate me," Mom then said. Her smile grew shaky. "I know I say it all the time, but I don't want my own children to resent me. Tell Miles to come along next time, if you can. I'd greatly appreciate it."
I nodded and said okay, but both of us knew I was lying.
And so was she.
After that, Mom's departure felt like an echo of lost hopes and a taxi ride away from everything I once knew. Clutching the dress she gave me, I retraced my steps along the sidewalk, navigating through the remnants of our conversation, wondering if it was for the best that she was leaving for good.
Choosing a shortcut through the town, I stumbled upon an unwelcome encounter. Harry, hands in his pockets, strolled down the street towards me. Oh, great. I had no desire to engage in a conversation with him, not after the chaos that had unfolded.
"Max, hey!" He threw his arms up in the air, a shit eating grin on his face.
"It's a real shame nobody asked for your opinion!" I retorted, unable to resist firing back.
Undeterred, Harry continued walking until he stood right in front of me. "Listen, could you do me a favor?" Leaning in as if divulging a secret, he whispered, "the thing you saw at my party, could you, like, keep it to yourself?"
I narrowed my eyes. "What thing?"
He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Gen and I..."
A sardonic laugh escaped me. "Oh, you mean when I walked in on you balls deep in your cousin?"
Harry grimaced as he caressed my cheek. "Don't be like that. You know I loved you. I did."
"Please don't touch me." Stepping back, I maintained a distance. "You love Genevieve, not me. Why are you so ashamed now?"
"Small town, Max. If words gets out about this..." He shook his head. "Dad will go insane. You know how he's like."
"Maybe you should've thought about that when you were inside her."
"All right, I fucked up. I will admit that. But you can't say anything about this."
"Bye, Harry. I have more important things to do than to discuss this with you."
Attempting to walk past him, he grabbed my arm forcefully, dragging me back like a rag doll. I yelped as his nails dug into my arm. "Ow, let go of me! You're hurting me."
"Listen, here, yeah?" He brought his mouth close to my ear, his breath hot on my face, and hissed, "If you tell anyone about what you saw, I promise you what Bones did to your Daddy's store will be the least of your worries."
"Are you blackmailing me?" The realization of his threat left me appalled. I cannot believe that I ever fell in love with him.
"Call it whatever the fuck you want. But I mean it, Max. Keep your mouth shut or you'll regret it." There was a feral look in his eyes when he let go of my arm and pushed past me.