happens every time there's a family get together," Tina says and rubs my arm. "I'm sick to death of it. Though usually we at least get to finish dinner first."
My lips curl into a smile to match her own, but there's no sentiment behind it. She leaves me get more plates, and I go to the sink and start piling the dishes in the washing machine. I hope Scott comes back soon, so we can leave. Only I won't be able to ask any questions, because I promised I wouldn't.
Scott and Andrew are standing on the porch, just to the side of the kitchen window, talking softly. The window's cracked open and I step closer, hoping to hear something. It might be the only way I can get some answers.
"Mike's been taking unnecessary risks all year," Andrew says, the anger gone from his voice. "I'm sick of it too. Me and Tina are leaving."
"What do you mean, leaving?" Scott says.
"You can go too," Andrew says. "And you probably should, if what you've been saying is true."
The way he says it, like all Scott said before about being gone is a certainty, makes bile rise up in my throat.
"What about Dad?" Scott asks.
"What about him? He's a grown man, I'm sick of babysitting him," Andrew spits.
"You can leave that out. I'll wash it by hand," Tina says, and I nearly drop the pot I'm holding.
Scott comes in a minute later, looking at me like he wants to apologize, but I can't meet his eyes, afraid all he'll see are the questions.
He pours a glass of water and drinks it.
"I told you not to expect too much," he says and grins.
His eyes are clear, and dark blue in this light, and all I really want is to hold him, tell him everything will be alright. But I can't, because I really don't think it will.
Andrew comes in, carrying the turkey.
"Go be with Dad," he says to Scott. "We'll finish clearing up."
I brush past Scott and wait by the door while he gets another beer.
"Maybe you should stop drinking," I whisper as he passes, but he ignores me.
In the living room, his dad is sitting on the sofa, gazing at the cold fireplace, clutching a tumbler of vodka. A row of picture frames is arranged on the mantle, a tall woman with long blonde hair smiling at me from the center. It's Scott's mom, I'm sure of it, because he has her eyes. She's wearing a long white dress that's dancing around her legs in the wind.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Scott says, but his dad is still just staring at the mantelpiece like we're not even in the room.
I walk closer to get a better look. In the picture next to his mom, a younger Scott's got his arm around the shoulders of a bulky kid. In the next one, Janine and a blond woman and standing are either side of a tall man, holding one of his arms each, while he squints at the camera. The last picture is of two cats, looking away from each other.
Scott joins me by the fireplace. "I see you found my dad's shrine."
I turn to him sharply. "Can you stop talking like that, please?"
But his dad didn't seem to hear.
"Why? He's really proud of his mantle of grief over here," Scott says, loud like he wants his father to hear. "See, I'm even already on it."
"What's with you?" I smack his arm as he points to the photo, adding, "Who's that with you?"
"That's David, Janine's boyfriend."
"Really? I expected him to be better looking somehow," I say. "Janine being so hot and all."
Scott takes the photo and gazes at it. "This was taken right around the time they started dating. Back when David lived with us for a while."
His voice is distant like he's not here with me, but stuck all the way back in the day this picture was taken.
"He lived with you?" I ask, because I want him to come back.
His father clears his throat. "Yes, David stayed with us for two years, while his mother dealt with her own issues."
"She never stopped dealing with them," Scott adds and places the photo back, whispering to me, "She was a crack addict."
"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Gail," Scott's dad says, and motions for me to sit down in
My lips curl into a smile to match her own, but there's no sentiment behind it. She leaves me get more plates, and I go to the sink and start piling the dishes in the washing machine. I hope Scott comes back soon, so we can leave. Only I won't be able to ask any questions, because I promised I wouldn't.
Scott and Andrew are standing on the porch, just to the side of the kitchen window, talking softly. The window's cracked open and I step closer, hoping to hear something. It might be the only way I can get some answers.
"Mike's been taking unnecessary risks all year," Andrew says, the anger gone from his voice. "I'm sick of it too. Me and Tina are leaving."
"What do you mean, leaving?" Scott says.
"You can go too," Andrew says. "And you probably should, if what you've been saying is true."
The way he says it, like all Scott said before about being gone is a certainty, makes bile rise up in my throat.
"What about Dad?" Scott asks.
"What about him? He's a grown man, I'm sick of babysitting him," Andrew spits.
"You can leave that out. I'll wash it by hand," Tina says, and I nearly drop the pot I'm holding.
Scott comes in a minute later, looking at me like he wants to apologize, but I can't meet his eyes, afraid all he'll see are the questions.
He pours a glass of water and drinks it.
"I told you not to expect too much," he says and grins.
His eyes are clear, and dark blue in this light, and all I really want is to hold him, tell him everything will be alright. But I can't, because I really don't think it will.
Andrew comes in, carrying the turkey.
"Go be with Dad," he says to Scott. "We'll finish clearing up."
I brush past Scott and wait by the door while he gets another beer.
"Maybe you should stop drinking," I whisper as he passes, but he ignores me.
In the living room, his dad is sitting on the sofa, gazing at the cold fireplace, clutching a tumbler of vodka. A row of picture frames is arranged on the mantle, a tall woman with long blonde hair smiling at me from the center. It's Scott's mom, I'm sure of it, because he has her eyes. She's wearing a long white dress that's dancing around her legs in the wind.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Scott says, but his dad is still just staring at the mantelpiece like we're not even in the room.
I walk closer to get a better look. In the picture next to his mom, a younger Scott's got his arm around the shoulders of a bulky kid. In the next one, Janine and a blond woman and standing are either side of a tall man, holding one of his arms each, while he squints at the camera. The last picture is of two cats, looking away from each other.
Scott joins me by the fireplace. "I see you found my dad's shrine."
I turn to him sharply. "Can you stop talking like that, please?"
But his dad didn't seem to hear.
"Why? He's really proud of his mantle of grief over here," Scott says, loud like he wants his father to hear. "See, I'm even already on it."
"What's with you?" I smack his arm as he points to the photo, adding, "Who's that with you?"
"That's David, Janine's boyfriend."
"Really? I expected him to be better looking somehow," I say. "Janine being so hot and all."
Scott takes the photo and gazes at it. "This was taken right around the time they started dating. Back when David lived with us for a while."
His voice is distant like he's not here with me, but stuck all the way back in the day this picture was taken.
"He lived with you?" I ask, because I want him to come back.
His father clears his throat. "Yes, David stayed with us for two years, while his mother dealt with her own issues."
"She never stopped dealing with them," Scott adds and places the photo back, whispering to me, "She was a crack addict."
"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Gail," Scott's dad says, and motions for me to sit down in
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