Class Favorite by Taylor Morris Page A

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    â€œGod, Sara. Grow up,” Elisabeth had said. “They’re fighting. Again.”
    After that, I noticed how often their bedroom door was closed. At first, it was only once every couple of weeks. Then every week. Several times a week. Then one day, Dad was gone. We never saw him leave, never even saw him packing his things away, not one box. Mom had taken us to visit our aunt andcousins in Cedar Hill, and by the time we got home late that evening, all of Dad’s stuff was gone. I didn’t even realize right away that he had left for good.
    Mom had sat at the kitchen table drinking tea, and I had snuck in their room to look around. It was weird; Dad had chosen this house in particular because the master bedroom faced west. He didn’t want the morning sun to disturb Mom’s “beauty rest—not that she needs it.” When I went in their room I saw that pictures from their dressers were gone—ones of me and Elisabeth, some of Gram, one of the whole family hiking at Big Bend two years ago. I started to realize Dad wasn’t just gone on a long hunting trip—he was really gone. There was a blank spot on the wall, and it took me a moment to remember that it was once covered by a picture of Gram on her wedding day. In the bathroom, Dad’s side of the dual sinks and mirrors was completely cleared of razors and shaving cream, toothbrush, comb, the pocketknife he kept in the drawer with his wallet and watch, all gone. The toothpaste marks were still in the sink, from brushing his teeth that morning and the days before. I looked at it, thinking, Once it’s washed, it’ll never get dirty again . I stood looking at the cream-colored countertop, imagining Dad standing there, shaving with the old-fashioned shaving cream and brush I bought him as a Christmas gift when I was in fifth grade and that he’d used ever since.
    Look, it’s not a big deal. Most kids I know don’t live withboth their parents. The point is, on the most horrific day of the school year, in the most horrific semester of my life, I came home and the door didn’t squeak. With the squeak gone, it felt like part of my family’s past had been erased, and I didn’t know how to handle that.
    â€œHello?” I called out.
    I dropped my bag in the entry hall and walked through the living room, where the heads of three of Dad’s prize bucks still hung on the wall, black glassy eyes staring into vacancy. I don’t even remember Dad bringing them home—that’s how long they’d been there. I usually didn’t even notice them, but with the door now silent, I felt hyper aware of the house. I heard the back door click shut and heavy footsteps on the linoleum floor in the kitchen.
    â€œHello?” I said again.
    â€œSara? It’s Dad,” he called back as I turned the corner into the kitchen. He carried a box marked camping equip, and his cheeks were pink from the warming spring air, making his smile brighter and seem friendlier. “Hey, baby girl,” he said, setting the box down and spreading his arms out to me. I stepped into them tentatively, mindful of my little breasts touching his chest.
    â€œHey, Dad. What are you doing here?”
    â€œOh,” he said, dropping his truck keys onto the counter. “Just getting a few things out of the attic.”
    â€œMom will be mad if she sees you here.” I regretted it instantly, even if it was true.
    â€œI know,” he said, eyeing me closely. “That’s why I came now, when I thought everyone would be out.” He scratched at the day-old stubble on his cheek—he actually hated shaving and only did it for Mom. She used to refuse to kiss him until he’d shaved off the prickly hairs. I wondered if he still had the old-fashioned shaving set I gave him or if he had discarded it, no longer needing to bother. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s school?”
    I let out