“Yeah. I mean, he was a good dad. We had a good life. Seeing him become a different person, it messes with ya.”
“I hear you. I get it. My dad, he had some issues too.” I pick up the knight piece and like Mitch, roll it between my fingers. I hadn’t planned on revealing anything about my past, but sitting here with him letting me in, it flows out.
“He an addict too?” Mitch pauses, waiting for my confirmation.
“No, but he had some pretty hard knocks,” I tell him, not sure how much I should reveal.
“He kill your mom?” The question is laced with a challenging tone, so I give it to him straight.
“No, he killed himself. In front of me,” I add, maybe to get his attention, maybe because it feels good to tell someone who won’t judge or pity me.
“Fuck. That’s brutal.” He sits a little straighter.
“It is.” I ignore his language, knowing if I try to educate him on manners right now, I’ll lose him.
“How old were you?” His voice drops along with his eyes.
“Thirty.”
“I was nine.”
Fuck, this kid is killing me.
“It stays with you, Mitch. Always will, you know?” His head rises at my honesty.
“How do you deal?”
“Honestly? Some days I don’t. Some days it’s all I see. The blood. The fucking mess. It can play over and over in my head. But I still have to make a choice, you know?” I watch as he nods, taking in everything I am giving him. “I choose to get up, and go to work and do good. Like you have a choice. You can choose to do better. Not walk down the same path as your brother, you know.” My dig about his brother may be a low blow, but I’m still pissed we haven’t been able to get him on anything.
“What if I don’t have a choice?” he asks, amplifying my concerns.
“There is always a choice, Mitch.” His Adam’s apple bounces twice before he asks his next question.
“What if there is no right choice? What if no matter what I choose, someone gets hurt?”
“Then you choose the best one for you. The one that keeps you safe. The one you can live with. You get me?” I want him to know he doesn’t have to worry about Liberty. That I have her back, but something tells me if I say it aloud right now, I’ll lose him.
“I don’t know what’s best for me.” He places the chess piece back on the board, setting it back up for another game.
“I think you do, Mitch. I think you know what’s good for you, but you’re scared.”
“He’s my family, Hetch. I walk away from him and I have nothing.” The words gut me, but not because I feel for him, but because hearing him say them hurts for Liberty. She loves him. Jesus, anyone can see it. “Seems to me you have a good family here too, you know?” I look around the backyard, seeing the tight knit group they have here. It’s evident as they stick close together no matter what they’re doing. “They might not be blood, but when they’ve dug their way so deep in here,”—I pat my chest, covering my heart—“you can’t get them out. They’re the family you hold onto, son.” He nods, before holding out his hand for the knight. I don’t give it right away, taking a moment to word my next sentence carefully.
“Just promise me, Mitch, whenever you decide to make the decision, you make it for you. And if you can’t make the decision yourself, then you call me. Any time. Any place. I’ll be there. No matter what. And we’ll make it together. You think you can handle that?” I ask, hoping like hell I’m getting through to him.
“Yeah, I can.”
“Good.” I hand over my knight.
“So, you want another game?” he asks, and even though I’ve been here for over an hour and am so fucking over chess, I still say yes.
“Yeah, but go easy on me this time. My rep is at stake here.”
“Dude, I have been,” he says, and for a brief second, I see the carefree teen he should be, right before he laughs loud enough to gain Liberty’s attention. She smiles, then waves, and like every other time she looks at me, I’m sucked back into her hemisphere.
Twenty
Liberty
“Can I get a double cheeseburger with fries and a strawberry milkshake?” Mitch looks over the top of his menu to gauge my reaction.
Boys.
“I’ll get the same, but no milkshake. I’ll have a diet soda, please.” The waitress smiles as she takes our menus, and tells us she’ll be right back with our drinks.
“Snack, huh?” I ask Mitch, sitting back in my chair.
It’s a Saturday afternoon, and after spending a few hours at the library with Mitch so he could get some studying in, we decided we would stop in for a drink. Which turned into a snack. Which clearly to a fifteen-year-old, means a meal.
“Well, I did work up an appetite with all the work I’ve put into my English assignment.” He shrugs and then moves back to his cell phone. I have to agree. He has been working hard these last few weeks.