As we drive up to our house, Dad’s truck is parked along the curb. My stomach gets that sinking feeling because Mom was always annoyed when he’d park it there instead of the driveway. She takes a lot of pride in our home, and the loon and lake scene she hand-painted on our mailbox is a big part of that. She touches it up at the beginning of every summer.
“It looks so trashy to have extra vehicles parked along the curb. Besides,” she’d say, “I worked hard on that mailbox, Nicholas. It’s like you’re hiding it.” He’d joke and tell her he was hiding it. But only because he didn’t want anyone to steal it.
“Oh geez. Why is he parking in the street?” Mom asks.
There’s a car in our driveway. Sean’s. My heart skips and then sinks again. I don’t want him to see me after I’ve been crying. Sean’s sitting on our step about a foot away from my dad who’s in his police uniform.
“Mom, look at me. I can’t see him like this.”
“Who? Your dad or Sean?”
“Sean. Do I look crazy?”
Her eyes scan me from hair to my one red and one yellow tennis shoe. “If you want, you can go right in through the garage and I’ll get rid of him. Only if you want. You don’t look terrible but I can tell you’ve been crying if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re still cute, though.”
“Thanks Mom.” I flip the sun visor and peek at my reflection. Puffy, blotchy, not great. My eyes flit down to Maisey’s envelope on my lap. I’ve folded it in half so many times that it’s now a fat tiny square. I push it into my back pocket and step out of the car.
My dad and Sean stand up as I walk over.
“Hey kiddo,” Dad says, giving me a big hug.
“Hey Dad.” Trying not to encourage the tears lining back up behind my eyes, I pull away and shrug with a small smile at Sean. “What is this, like a surprise party?”
Sean smiles, “If it’s your birthday, yes. If it’s not, no.”
“A few months early, buddy,” says Dad looking over to Sean.
Mom walks up behind me. “Come on into the house Nick, let’s give them a few minutes to talk.” She smiles at Sean then looks me in the eye. “See you in here in two minutes, all right?”
“Fine. Two minutes.”
Dad shakes Sean’s hand saying it was nice meeting him and follows behind Mom.
Sean rests his hands on my shoulders. “I got worried. I waited by your car after you missed class. No one knew where you were and I kept getting your voicemail.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sorry, I guess my phone’s off.”
“What’s going on? Are you okay? I’m not going to pretend I didn’t freak out when I saw a cop hanging out in front of your door.”
My lips form a tiny smile. “I guess I never mentioned my dad’s a cop. Was he nice?”
“He had a lot of questions, but he was nice. He said your mom called and asked him to meet you guys here and then he was trying to see what I knew and I didn’t know anything. Nobody knew anything.”
“I’m fine, really,” I insist, gently lifting his hands from my shoulders. I press the pads of my fingers into his palms. Resisting the flame that flickers amidst everything else in my chest, I let them go. “I don’t know, it’s all really overdramatic. My dad called my mom about me not calling him lately so my mom was worried and I guess now because of some other stuff, I guess it’s a good time to talk to him. But I really was going to call him.”
He looks down at me, his mouth the slightest curve away from a frown. “But you’ve been crying? Is that really all that’s wrong?”
Sean stares into my eyes and for a second I don’t know where I am. I have to lower my head because a stupid tear forms in my eye. It falls in slow motion, then hits the top of my sneaker, stretching into a tiny splat against the red canvas making me think of blood. Maisey’s face flashes my brain and there’s a barrage of bad thoughts stacked up, ready to push their way in but I push right back and they disappear.
“Can we talk about it later?” I ask. “I want to talk to you. And I’m sorry, but I should probably deal with the two parents behind door number one.” I half laugh, waving my hand toward the door.
Sean wipes beneath my eye with the edge of his sleeve. He leans in, presses his lips to my forehead, and then my eyelid. I pull back and open my eyes, letting another tear run down my cheek.
“Sorry I’m such a baby,” I say. “I better go. Thanks for coming by and I’m sorry you were worried. Thanks for that.”
“Hey, you’re not a baby. You’ve had a tough day. Text me later, okay?”
I nod and disappear into my house before I start crying again. I take a deep breath and make my way toward Mom’s and Dad’s voices coming from the kitchen. They’re talking about Maisey.
Dad steps away from the table and wraps me in another hug. He speaks a few Spanish words, the way he always has when he’s trying to comfort me. “It’s okay, mi hija. Esta bien, esta bien.” This time I hug him back and my shoulders shake as I release all of the tears I have left.
****