the dickhead’s way out and you’re not one of those,” he continued. “Do the right thing by both girls. Give it a month or so, and then break it off with Emily and then give it another month before you touch Mackenzie. That way Emily won’t assume she’s been dumped for Blondie. Don’t rush into this, Cade. Take it slowly – Rome wasn’t built in a day, dude.”
Ezra let out a heavy sigh, and I watched as a reluctant smile spread across his face.
“What are you grinning about?”
“I’m happy you got it back, dude.”
Turning to face him, I mirrored his smile when I asked, “Got what back?”
“The other half of you,” was all he replied.
****
Mackenzie
February 28 th , 2006
“How are you feeling, Mickey?” my father asked Sunday night, as he stood in the middle of the bedroom. It didn’t feel like my bedroom, because the girl who used to occupy it didn’t exist any more.
Dad had a look of pure terror etched on his weary, deeply-wrinkled face. And I was to blame, of course. He was worrying about how I was settling in.
Lonely. Isolated. Sad. Distraught. Heartbroken. Disgusted. Tortured. Ill. Agonized. Degraded.
“Alive,” I replied though my voice was thick and raspy. “You?”
“I’m good, sweetie,” Dad replied, continuing to fumble with his cufflinks. “I’m good.”
He walked over to the window, and glanced out for a moment before fixing the curtains. “It’s a beautiful night,” he announced.
“I suppose.”
Wandering over to the closet, Dad inspected some chipped paint on the wall near the vanity table and frowned. “This room could use a lick of paint.” He opened the door of the closet and quickly closed it. “And some new furniture.”
“I guess.” Stretching in bed, I looked around the room that used to be mine. It looked the same as always: a white twin bed and matching nightstand, chest of drawers and wardrobe, and an old oak desk with a matching chair.
Purple and yellow used to be my favorite colors, and the bedroom resembled this, with yellow walls, floral lilac curtains and bed throws. There was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf secured against the wall opposite the bed, filled with books. Nine hand-carved wooden letters spelling M.A.C.K.E.N.Z.I.E were glued to the wall over the bed.
“We could take a trip into the city on Saturday,” Dad offered, hopefully. His green eyes were tired, but his voice was soft and kind. “Pick out some new stuff for your room.”
“We could,” I replied. Dad wanted to talk about something. It was obvious, and I wished he would just come out with it instead of making small talk. I didn’t like small talk anymore. It was pointless and fucking annoying.
“Did you have a nice time with Cade yesterday?” Dad asked me in a tight tone of voice.
“It was okay.” Until his girlfriend showed up and Cade didn’t come within five feet of me.
“So, I wanted to talk to you about school tomorrow,” Dad informed me, finally getting down to business.
I nodded my head.
Dad smiled tightly before continuing, “You’re absolutely certain this is what you want to do?”
No.
“Yes.”
“I’m not trying to get you to change your mind, Mickey. All I want is for you to be happy, and feel safe again”
Dad shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a silver cell phone. “I bought this for you. It’s fully charged,” he told me, flustered and red-faced, before placing it at the end of my bed. “I programmed my number into in for you, and Sharon’s – oh, and Dr. Rosetta’s too.”
“I’m going to be okay,” I told my father, because watching him look so out of sorts was making me feel sad. “I can do this, Dad,” I added in a stronger voice. “I can.”
“Are you sure?” Dad asked, and his voice was unsure and full of concern. “Because if you feel like it’s too much, Mickey, you can always talk to me. We could arrange homeschooling .”
“I’m sure,” I replied, and it was
Ezra let out a heavy sigh, and I watched as a reluctant smile spread across his face.
“What are you grinning about?”
“I’m happy you got it back, dude.”
Turning to face him, I mirrored his smile when I asked, “Got what back?”
“The other half of you,” was all he replied.
****
Mackenzie
February 28 th , 2006
“How are you feeling, Mickey?” my father asked Sunday night, as he stood in the middle of the bedroom. It didn’t feel like my bedroom, because the girl who used to occupy it didn’t exist any more.
Dad had a look of pure terror etched on his weary, deeply-wrinkled face. And I was to blame, of course. He was worrying about how I was settling in.
Lonely. Isolated. Sad. Distraught. Heartbroken. Disgusted. Tortured. Ill. Agonized. Degraded.
“Alive,” I replied though my voice was thick and raspy. “You?”
“I’m good, sweetie,” Dad replied, continuing to fumble with his cufflinks. “I’m good.”
He walked over to the window, and glanced out for a moment before fixing the curtains. “It’s a beautiful night,” he announced.
“I suppose.”
Wandering over to the closet, Dad inspected some chipped paint on the wall near the vanity table and frowned. “This room could use a lick of paint.” He opened the door of the closet and quickly closed it. “And some new furniture.”
“I guess.” Stretching in bed, I looked around the room that used to be mine. It looked the same as always: a white twin bed and matching nightstand, chest of drawers and wardrobe, and an old oak desk with a matching chair.
Purple and yellow used to be my favorite colors, and the bedroom resembled this, with yellow walls, floral lilac curtains and bed throws. There was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf secured against the wall opposite the bed, filled with books. Nine hand-carved wooden letters spelling M.A.C.K.E.N.Z.I.E were glued to the wall over the bed.
“We could take a trip into the city on Saturday,” Dad offered, hopefully. His green eyes were tired, but his voice was soft and kind. “Pick out some new stuff for your room.”
“We could,” I replied. Dad wanted to talk about something. It was obvious, and I wished he would just come out with it instead of making small talk. I didn’t like small talk anymore. It was pointless and fucking annoying.
“Did you have a nice time with Cade yesterday?” Dad asked me in a tight tone of voice.
“It was okay.” Until his girlfriend showed up and Cade didn’t come within five feet of me.
“So, I wanted to talk to you about school tomorrow,” Dad informed me, finally getting down to business.
I nodded my head.
Dad smiled tightly before continuing, “You’re absolutely certain this is what you want to do?”
No.
“Yes.”
“I’m not trying to get you to change your mind, Mickey. All I want is for you to be happy, and feel safe again”
Dad shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a silver cell phone. “I bought this for you. It’s fully charged,” he told me, flustered and red-faced, before placing it at the end of my bed. “I programmed my number into in for you, and Sharon’s – oh, and Dr. Rosetta’s too.”
“I’m going to be okay,” I told my father, because watching him look so out of sorts was making me feel sad. “I can do this, Dad,” I added in a stronger voice. “I can.”
“Are you sure?” Dad asked, and his voice was unsure and full of concern. “Because if you feel like it’s too much, Mickey, you can always talk to me. We could arrange homeschooling .”
“I’m sure,” I replied, and it was
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