“Charlie.”
He swallows and slowly wipes the corner of his mouth. “You look like the American flag, that’s all.”
“Nice. Thanks for your support.”
“You know I’m right.” He shoves his barely touched bowl of cereal away and slouches back in his seat, closing his eyes.
“You’re not even going to eat that?” I ask.
“Why do you care? You worried Mom’s going to be disappointed again?” he asks, eyes still closed.
Dad strolls into the kitchen then, straightening his tie, and heads to the coffeemaker. “Good morning, guys. You ready for today, Dr. McCullough?” he asks.
Not for the first time, I wish I could tell him I miss the days when he called me by my first name. But ever since I got into Harvard, he’s been downright giddy about my future plans, and I can tell he enjoys the nickname way more than I hate it.
“As ready as I can be,” I reply.
“Do you think you’ll see any patients today?” Dad asks.
“She’s just doing an internship,” Charlie answers.
“It’s not just any internship. You know that, Charlie. And I bet you can still see patients in an internship,” Dad starts, but Mom comes in before any of us can respond, giving Charlie and me cheek kisses before dropping her bag on the table and making a beeline for a mug and the pot of coffee.
She leans against the counter, sipping slowly. “Charlie, you’re not eating your HealthWheat?”
“God, can’t I eat what I want for once?” he snaps.
Mom flinches, a look of hurt crossing her face, and Charlie immediately slumps back in his chair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“No, you’re right,” Mom says carefully. “Besides, one little day without HealthWheat can’t hurt, right?” She forces a smile and turns to me, and I can tell she really thinks one little day without HealthWheat could indeed hurt, but she’s trying very hard to pretend otherwise. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see Em and Matty last night. When do they leave for Europe? I bet they’re getting excited.”
“Sunday,” I say, realizing I only have a couple of days left with my best friend before she leaves for the summer.
“They’re going to have such a good time,” Mom says. “Phil, remember the first time we went to England?”
“Yeah, that was pretty amazing. But Europe is nothing compared to your summer, Dr. McCullough. This is pretty much the first day of the rest of your life.”
“No pressure or anything,” Charlie mutters.
“I guess—” I start before Charlie interrupts me.
“Don’t forget my summer, Dad. Tutoring and support group every day. Now, that’s amazing,” Charlie says.
“Charlie, we all have responsibilities we don’t want. You know I don’t love my job. But I go,” Dad begins.
I brace myself for the speech, the one about how he hates his job copywriting but does it for all of us.
“Fuck that,” Charlie mutters.
I look up, shocked.
Dad stops midsentence, the confused look on his face evidence he didn’t hear exactly what Charlie said. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Charlie replies.
Dad seems placated, but I shoot my brother a look, wondering why he’s being extra unpleasant today.
“Hey, Mom,” Charlie says. “Don’t forget I need your keys.”
She points toward her bag, holding her coffee mug close, like it’s the only thing currently giving her life.
I straighten. “Wait, what? No. I need the car today, remember?”
Charlie digs through Mom’s bag and pulls out the car keys. “Got ’em. Thanks,” he says.
“But, Mom!”
“You are my beautiful, smart, grown children. I trust you can figure it out between yourselves,” she says, heading toward the stairs again.
Dad follows her out of the room, pausing only to give me a corny Dad thumbs-up before he leaves.
“Charlie. I need the car.”
“So do I.”
“Since when? Your tutoring doesn’t even start until next week.”
“Mom said I can drop you off today.”
“But that wasn’t the plan.”
He shrugs. “It is now.”
“But, Charlie, I need the car. For job stuff,” I add, trying to sound reasonable.
“But, Parker, I need it for life stuff,” he says, shoveling in more cereal.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Got a comic book thing,” he responds, but with the cereal he’s just jammed in his mouth, it sounds more like “Cottacommaboothig.”
“I’ll drop you off there, then.”
He swallows. “No can do. It’s in Louisville.”
My hand falls on the table. “Louisville! That’s, like, two hours from here! How are you going to get back in time to pick me up at two?”
“It’s actually an hour and a half,” he says. “Besides, you’re done at five.”
“No. I’m done at two.”
He shrugs. “Mom told me five. That’s when I’ll be there.”
“But it’s orientation! I’m done at two. What am I supposed to do during those three hours, just sit around in the lobby? I was planning on hanging out with Em this afternoon.”
“Can’t you hang out with her tonight?”
“She has plans with her mom,” I say, trying to stay patient.
“Maybe she can pick you up this afternoon instead?”
“No! Her mom’s using the car today! That’s why I need our car, so I can go to her house when I’m done today at two,” I say, my voice breaking in frustration.
“Geez, Parker. Relax.”
The knot behind my chest tightens more.
I try again.
“See, here’s the thing. You know Em’s leaving on Sunday? And I’m not going to see her for, like, ten weeks? And then I’m leaving for Harvard and she’s leaving for John Carroll? So if you have the car, at least maybe you could try to get there earlier?”
“But here’s the thing,” Charlie says, mimicking me. “This is one of my last free days? Because on Tuesday I start weeks and weeks of tutoring? Because I missed school this year?”
“Why are you being so nasty today?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I HAD CANCER?”
I flinch. “Fine. You take the car,” I say.
Something flashes across his face, and I could swear he looks guilty, disappointed even. But then he breaks eye contact and nods. “Cool.”
I focus on my bowl of HealthWheat, blinking hard, trying to push the disappointment of losing my afternoon with Em down deep inside.
Dad and Mom both come back in the kitchen then, and I wonder if they were eavesdropping, waiting to reemerge until we figured out the car situation.
“Everything settled?” Mom asks.
“Yeah. Charlie’s going to drive me to my internship,” I say.
“Good. Charlie, do what you can to pick your sister up as soon as you can today. Maybe you can get there a little earlier?” Mom leans down to kiss the soft new hair on Charlie’s head, and like every other time she’s done it since it started to grow back, I can see her marvel at its softness, its presence.
He ducks out from under her.
“Maybe I can get there by four thirty,” he offers.
“That would be so thoughtful, thanks,” she says.
Thirty minutes isn’t nearly enough to salvage my afternoon with Em.
Dad hugs me so hard my shoulders wilt. “I can’t wait to hear all about your first day. Remember, Dr. McCullough, you only get one chance to make a first impression,” he says.
I force a smile.
He chucks Charlie’s shoulder while Mom grabs her bag.
“Hon,” Dad says, stopping her and leaning down to pick up a paper that’s fallen onto the floor. Even from across the room, I can see her neat red handwriting all over some poor college student’s essay.
“Thanks. Dinner at six tonight, guys,” she calls over her shoulder as she shuts the door behind them.
Charlie stands abruptly, dumping his cereal in the garbage and placing the bowl in the sink. “Leave in ten minutes?” he calls over his shoulder before jogging upstairs.
I make myself eat more of the HealthWheat, despite the fact that it might be the worst thing I have ever tasted.