Not After Everything

? ? ?

“So, what’d you get me?” Dad’s on the couch when I get home from school the first day after winter break. His tone lacks its usual disdain. “Or did you not feel the need to get a Christmas present for your only parent.”

I head to the fridge, ignoring him. Why is he home, anyway? Then he starts coughing violently and I realize he’s sick again. Good. I hope he dies.

“Throw me a beer, wouldja?”

Of course, he’s never sick enough not to drink.

When I throw him a beer he actually says “Thanks.”

I pull out my phone and start texting Jordyn while I wait for the pan to heat up.

“Where’d that fancy door come from?” Dad sets the opened beer on the coffee table before slowly trudging up the stairs into the kitchen.

“It was a gift,” I say, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “Want me to make some soup?”

He launches into a coughing fit, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I don’t need soup. I need whisky.”

Yeah, that’ll help.

He reaches out and gently pats me on the shoulder—the way Henry does—as he passes me to get to the cabinet above the fridge. It completely freaks me out. Did he actually miss me or something? I watch him struggle to get the bottle down, too stunned to say anything. I turn back to my cooking before he sees me staring.

“I’m short a bottle of vodka. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He’s standing right behind me at the stove. So close that when he coughs I feel something hot and wet hit my neck.

“I haven’t exactly been here, not that you’d notice,” I say under my breath.

“I noticed.” He says this like it hurt his feelings or something. “So, that dog okay or what? I didn’t mean to . . . I’m . . . I don’t know how you’re able to keep going like you do. Got that from her, I guess. Or, well, maybe not. Definitely didn’t get it from me, though. Anyway, I like Captain, he’s a good dog.”

“Well, he died,” I snap.

He’s very still for a moment. I can’t even hear him breathing. Then he puts his hand on my shoulder and starts crying. “Shit. I’m . . . Shit, Tyler. I’m so . . . I’m—”

I can’t do this. I turn the stove off and throw the pan in the sink, chicken and all.

? ? ?

I call Jordyn as soon as I get into my car. I tell her everything. I tell her how I made him feel guilty and how he sort of apologized and how it only made me angrier. She tells me to come to the studio until he’s passed out. I pick up some burgers for us on the way. Then I spend the rest of the night hanging out with Jordyn and Henry. But instead of working, I do my homework.

“Are you . . . ?” Jordyn feels my forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you feeling okay? Because I’m pretty sure that’s . . . homework. And you’re, like, applying yourself.”

I grin back at her. “What can I say? I actually found this assignment interesting.”

She shoves my hand out of the way to further investigate. “Yep. Definitely sick. Nobody actually finds calc interesting.”

“AP calc,” I say, shoving her aside playfully. “And I do find it interesting.”

“Freak.” She kisses my cheek.

“Love you,” I call out as she bounces through the curtain.

And I actually do find it interesting. In fact, I enjoy all of my classes this semester. I don’t have Mrs. Hickenlooper anymore, so that in itself is a reason to enjoy school again.

Before long, I find myself falling back into my old groove. Almost like I was before I found Mom in the tub. Some of my teachers comment on it, but in a delicate way. And it doesn’t even bother me. Not even when Mrs. Ortiz stops me in the hall to tell me she’s so happy to see me smiling. And it makes me wonder . . . Shit, maybe she actually did want to help me and just didn’t know how. Like Sheila.

How many other people did too?





THIRTY-TWO


Dr. Dave is speechless. And all I did was tell him what I did over break.

“So I guess I’m, like, cured or whatever?” I joke.

“I’m really impressed. I think I need to meet this Jordyn.”

“I can’t believe I’m in love. Like, honest-to-god in love, Doc.”

He laughs. “So are you thinking again about going to Stanford?”

“If they still want me.” I wipe my hands on my jeans.

“I think writing that letter to the admissions department was a really good call. I don’t think you have any reason to be nervous.”

“Jordyn really encouraged me with that, you know. I don’t know that I would have actually been able to mail it if it weren’t for her.”

He leans forward in a mock-serious manner. “Are you sure she’s a real person? Do other people see her, or does she only appear to you?”

“She’s not a hallucination. And if she is, I don’t wanna be cured.”

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