My dad moves into the kitchen, and I hear the back sliding door open and close a second or two later. He likes to sit at the edge of our property, where it’s dark and he can hide. It’s where he goes when he loses, usually. At least, after he’s done stewing in his office…which…isn’t his office anymore.
I’m hit with dozens of tiny realizations. My dad’s office, his job, his life and identity—gone. I turn to Nico, and he steps toward me, pulling me in his arms and pressing his lips on the top of my head. He’s still dressed in his perfect shirt, his collar loosened, but only a little, his tie the same. I hold it in my hand, righting the knot to face the front.
“I’m going to go talk to Noah. You…you don’t have to stay. Really, it’s…”
“I want to,” Nico says, cutting me off. His eyes level me, and I breathe in and out hard.
“I can’t believe they fired him,” I say.
Nico shakes his head, his gaze never leaving mine alone.
I lead him down the hallway, and we step cautiously through my brother’s doorway. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his leg out in front of him, his crutches on the floor. My mom is sitting next to him rubbing circles in his back. He’s twice her size, yet she’s still Mom, and he’s still a little boy, all of eighteen.
His head is in his hands, his fingers pushing deep into his forehead. My mom steps up, running her thumbs under her eyes as she stands.
“Where’s your dad?” she asks. Noah looks up, his eyes taking in me and Nico.
“He’s in his spot,” I say, looking from her to my brother.
She nods, then steps past me.
“I’ll go join him,” she says.
“He said he wants to be alone,” I say as she leaves the room.
“He always says that. Stubborn man has been wanting to be alone for years,” she says, her voice trailing off. I hear her open the fridge in the distance, the sound of a bottle clanking into glass, and I chuckle.
“Back to the wine, it seems,” my brother says. I look him in the eyes and offer a pathetic smile. “I ruined her pot access,” he chuckles.
I move to sit next to him, and we both lean forward with our elbows on our hands. We used to sit like this when we were kids and both were in trouble. I can remember every time—the spaghetti we stuck on the ceiling…the Kool-Aid we poured on the white carpet…the dog we tried to keep hidden in Noah’s closet…the party we tried to throw our sophomore year.
“I won homecoming king,” Noah says, reaching toward his pillow. He picks up a plastic crown and tosses it to Nico. “Here you go, man.”
Nico rolls it in his hands and lifts a brow at my brother.
“Just figured you usually end up with everything that’s mine,” my brother says.
“Noah!” I scold him.
“I’m kidding,” my brother says, but I think part of him still isn’t.
“Don’t be a prick. Not now,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says, looking up to Nico and holding up a hand. “For real, man. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Nico says, spinning the crown in his hand and placing it on his head. His eyes look up at it, and I chuckle because he looks ridiculous. “Hey, maybe I can wear this at the Hungry Hill.”
“You working there?” my brother asks.
Nico tosses his crown back to him.
“Yeah, on Sundays,” he says.
“Isn’t that place, like…where truckers get blow jobs and stuff?” Noah says, and Nico and I both laugh at the inside joke.
“That’s,” Nico pauses, pushing his laughter down, “that’s not what I’ll be doing.”
Noah nods, then joins our quiet laughter. Soon, it’s silent again in his room. We all stare at the space on the floor between us. I’m searching my mind for something to say, something that will make the last few hours disappear, only leaving behind the good parts with Nico. But I can’t. I can’t just have the good and leave out the bad in life. I have to take it all, for what it’s worth. It’s how people learn, I guess. Those bad things, they teach us stuff. My dad’s job, and the loss of it? That taught me a hell of a lot about people, and the kind of people I want to be around.
“If Cornwall were in West End, they wouldn’t treat people like this,” I say.
My brother and Nico are quiet for a few seconds, then Nico breaks the silence with a laugh.
“If Cornwall were in West End, you wouldn’t go there,” he says.
“Not true,” I lie.
Nico tilts his head and purses his lips.
“Fine, but still. You know what I mean,” I say.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. People are allowed to make mistakes where I’m from. We have forgiveness,” he says.
I hear Noah swallow next to me, so I move my hand over to his leg, nudging him.
“You all right?” I ask.
He’s looking down, his hands folded over his knees. His face is more somber than I’ve ever seen it.