The Inheritance: A NaNoWriMo Novel

Where Are They Now?

2008-12-02T16:58:00.000-08:00

As promised: Where Are They Now?
A look five years into the future...

Adam is a recent college graduate working as a chemical engineer. He and Chelsea are no longer together. Though he lives far away from where he grew up, he remains close with his mother. He is trying to convince his mother to move out to live closer to him. He has found a church, a girlfriend, and a new life in his new city, and enjoys the opportunity to escape the attentions of his hometown. He is in counseling and regularly attends group therapy for those who have been diagnosed with terminal illnesses.

Chelsea is currently in nursing school, looking to specialize in pediatrics. She and Adam email occasionally, but long ago went their separate ways. She recently moved back in with her parents to save money while in school, but hopes to be on her own two feet soon. She attends Mrs. Larsen's Bible study weekly, and has recently been spotted around town with a young man she met there.

Matt is hoping to graduate from school this year. A little too much partying got him put on academic probation early in his college career, but he's since buckled down and can often be found in the library, studying with his girlfriend, Allie. He is still in contact with Adam. He doesn't want to rush anything, but he admits that he hopes to propose to Allie once they have both graduated this coming May.

Allie is also a college senior, an exemplary student majoring in secondary education. She plans to become a high school history teacher after graduation, and hopes to live close to her mother and Will. She is still extremely close with her sister, and still considers her Aunt Karen a strong maternal figure in her life.

Addie had trouble adjusting to living with her mother, and ultimately moved back in with Aunt Karen in her senior year of high school. Now a college senior in Vermont, she rents an apartment with two friends and has a dog and a boyfriend, both of which are gross at times but both of which make her happy. She and Adam still call each other weekly, and she visits her sister at least once a month.

Karen (Adam's mom) struggled with her faith for a long time after her husband's death, but ultimately turned the experience into a positive, starting a program through her church to raise money for widows (and widowers) to help them with medical expenses. She still leads Bible study every week at her church. She sold the house when Adam went off to college and the twins went to live with their mother, and moved into a smaller house on the outskirts of town near the church. She has not yet begun dating again, but doesn't rule out the possibility for the future, saying she trusts God to tell her when she is ready.

Grandad passed away about two years after Dennis. He had been struggling with minor heart problems for years, but had fought to hide them from his family. He is dearly missed by all.

Will is now a rambunctious seven year old. He's lost the shyness he displayed at a young age, but is generally well-adjusted and happy. He knows Allie as his loving big sister, and that is how Allie has determined it will stay. He has not yet been tested for the disease, a decision his mother (Melissa) chooses to leave up to him when he reaches adulthood.

Melissa has been sober for nearly eight years now. She loves her son and is close with Allie. She and Addie talk infrequently on the phone. She has become good friends with Karen, and the two often attend a widow support group together.

Reverend James divorced his wife three years ago when he discovered she was having an affair. He seems interested in Karen, but refuses to confirm this.

And a couple of things I wanted to share with you all:
1. This was originally, in its very early stages, going to be the story of a girl whose single mother was suffering from early-onset Alzheimers.
2. Chelsea, in the outlines I did, was supposed to abort before anyone found out she was pregnant. I went the super-dramatic route, instead, apparently.
3. Adam's mother was supposed to be a workaholic in the original outlines. I don't know how it morphed into a hyper-Christian, but I'm glad it did -- it was a lot more interesting to write about.
4. Adam's father was supposed to still be able to talk, but then the timeline would have had to have been ungodly long, and I like my NaNovels to take place in the span of a few weeks. Which is too bad, because I had some really good ideas for speeches for Adam's father.
5. Both Adam's and the twins's outcomes were determined with a coin flip. It doesn't seem "fair", but that's about the way genetics work, so I figured that was the "truest" way to do it. I did do a coin flip for Will, if you're interested, and he is negative.
6. Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it, and hope to see you next year. :-)

We're all winners, deep inside

2008-11-30T12:25:00.000-08:00

Thanks so much for reading!

November 30th: Like a spring that fails

2008-11-30T12:23:00.001-08:00

Chapter 12
For I consider that the sufferings
of this present time are not worthy to be compared
with the glory which shall be revealed
in us.
Romans 8:17

“How is she?”

“Sleeping. I don’t know what to do with her. I... I just don’t know what to do.”

She holds out a mug. “I made coffee. Decaf. If that helps.”

“Sure. Why not.” I grab the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, then lean back against the counter. “What time are Will and your mom coming back in the morning?”

“I think about nine.” She sighs, staring down at her steaming coffee, stirring it idly. “I don’t think Addie’s ever gonna forgive me.”

“Of course she will.”

“It doesn’t seem like it. I... I’ve tried talking to her, I’ve tried not talking to her, I’ve tried... I’ve written her a letter and I’ve called her on the phone and I’ve... I can’t believe I did this. I... I was just trying to... I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean for her to hate me. I just... There never seemed like a good time. I mean, I was gonna put him up for adoption, so it was like, why tell her? And then... Then I was seven months pregnant and I had enough to worry about without having to explain to to her. And then I had a kid, and you can’t just call your sister and say, ‘Hey, I gave birth. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to.’ And then it just... There was never a good moment. There was never a conversation where it seemed like it would fit in. I was going to tell her after she and Mom were good again. I... I was gonna tell her. I was. And... Everything just blew up in my face.”

“What have you said to her?”

“That I’m sorry. That I should’ve told her. That... I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it to her that would make her understand.”

I set my mug down on the counter. “I don’t know. She’ll come around. It’s just... It’s going to take time.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I... Never mind.”

“No, what is it?”

“I’m worried about her. My mom. She’s just... I don’t know what to do. I listen, I talk, I... I can’t think... I can’t think of anything else to do. I can’t think of any way to make this easier for her. And I know it sounds weird coming from me, but it’s just...”

“No. I get it. Trust me. But... It’s not your job to keep her together, Adam. Seriously. And it’s great that you’re trying, but she’s just... Grieving. And this is how it happens. It’s ugly and it’s heartbreaking to watch. You just... Don’t stop trying to help her, but you can’t take it personally if it doesn’t work.”

I sigh. “She just... I mean, everyone’s upset, but she’s the one who really seems to be... You know.”

“Crippled by it.”

“Yeah. And then I feel guilty because I’m not the same way, and I feel bad because I can’t seem to help her, and it’s like... This just might be the worst Christmas ever.”

She forces a laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Whatever. I still have gifts to wrap. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“Yeah, any time.”

I top myself off and start toward the living room, turning around abruptly. “And Allie?”

“Yeah?”

“She will come around. I promise.”

“Thanks.”

I head down the hall and up the stairs to my room. I’ve managed to pick up all my bags at once and am shuffling carefully out the door when I hear a noise float down the hall.

I set everything down but my coffee and walk down the hall to knock on her door. “Mom?”

“Come in,” she says feebly.

I open the door. “You want me to turn a light on?”

She shakes her head. “I... I thought I’d get some sleep. In here.”

“Mom.”

“Adam, it’s fine.”

I flip on the lights. She’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing his flannel bathrobe, a box of tissues next to her, her eyes glaringly red.

“I remember when we moved him in here. Your grandfather thought it was a good idea. He wanted me to be able to get some sleep. He just... But I couldn’t sleep. I snuck in every night for a month and a half to sleep next to him. I couldn’t... It was too quiet without his snoring.”

“Mom.”

“I knew what I was getting into when I married him. That there was a chance he would have it. He said his mom’s death had been tough. But it wasn’t until Don really got sick that I realized how bad it could get. I didn’t know. I was twenty and I was in love and he said his mother had been sick. He said she was sick for a long time, that she died of pneumonia eventually. My mother had cancer at the time. I didn’t think... I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t expect this. Ten years of hospitals and symptom after symptom and... Hopelessness. Nobody ever told me that you weren’t supposed to hope. Nobody ever...” She grabs a tissue and dabs at her eyes, shaking her head slowly.

I sit down in the chair next to the bed and cross my legs. “For what it’s worth... I admire you. For hoping.”

She forces a smile. “Honey, you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s true, though. I... I prayed. At first. That he would get better. But the doctors told me he wouldn’t, and the twins told me he wouldn’t, and even he told me he wouldn’t. And eventually I guess I just stopped hoping that he would. I just stopped hoping at all. I... I admire you. For believing, even when nobody else did. You held on when everybody else let go. And that’s... It’s a big deal. We all gave up, but you believed. You say that nobody ever told you that you weren’t supposed to hope, but people told you that every day. And you hoped anyway. And that’s... That’s really admirable. I wish I were that wrong.”

She shakes her head. “I was delusional.”

“We all were.”

“You just said that none of you believed.”

I shrug. “I... I would tell him about things. I would talk to him like he remembered me. And every time he coughed, or his finger twitched, or anything, I convinced myself that it was a reaction to what I was saying. I told myself that he had good days, days where he remembered, even though that’s not even possible... I just wanted to believe in something. We all did something irrational. Because we loved him. And when you love somebody, you have one-sided conversations and you pray for miracles and you sit by their bedside twenty-four hours a day even though they don’t know you from the orderly. It’s just... What you do.”

She picks at her eyebrow, staring down at the bedspread. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

“It’s better now. He was miserable here. It’s... It was for the best.”

“Job.”

“Job,” I agree.

She shakes her head. “I think I understand now why you hate that damn book so much.”

I laugh. “It’s not easy to swallow.”

“But you think it’s right?”

I’ve never seen her look at me like this. Like I know something she doesn’t. There’s something unbearably sad about it: the woman whose confidence in her faith was once so strong, strong to the point that it alienated her own son, looking to that same son for spiritual guidance. It’s not humility, it’s just... Doubt. I don’t want her to doubt. If she doubts, how can anyone else ever believe?

“I think you should go to bed. Your own bed.”

She folds her hands in her lap and sighs, her whole body slumping forward. “Tonight... The sermon. The Reverend said that every time we turn our backs on God, He sits there waiting for us to turn back to Him.”

“Right...”

“And I know that maybe it’s selfish, or weak, but... I think He’s turned his back on me. And I don’t think I... I don’t think I have it left in me to sit here and wait for Him to turn around.”

I bite my lip. “Go to bed, Mom.”

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Try.”

She sighs. “Okay.” She pulls his robe tighter around her and stands, shuffling past me into the hall. “Adam... What’s all this?”

I peer over her shoulder. “Just some stuff I have to wrap.”

“Honey, we don’t even have a tree.”

“I know. But... I... It’s Christmas.”

“And we’re going to spend the day tomorrow exchanging gifts and eating take-out. I didn’t wrap anything. Go to bed.”

“Fine. Okay.” I pick up the bags and push open the door to my room. “Good night, Mom.”

“Love you.”

“You too.”

* * *

“There’s a bunch of wrapping paper in the trash. Did you wrap everything and unwrap it?”

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Why do you keep waking me up?”

Addie shrugs. “You sleep too much. Will and my mom are almost here. You should do something about your morning breath. And seriously, what’s with the wrapping paper?”

I shake my head. “It’s not mine.” I shake my head. Why didn’t I wrap anything? “Oh. Oh.” I laugh, shaking my head. “My mother. I told her I didn’t have anything wrapped and she told me it was fine, she didn’t either. But she did. I bet she unwrapped everything so I wouldn’t feel bad.”

“Your mother is weird.” She sips her tea and sighs. “I’m so not feeling the Christmas spirit.”

“Neither am I. We don’t even have a tree.”

“Yeah, I know. Why, exactly?”

“I think we were just busy.”

Grandad appears behind Addie in the doorway. “Are you still sleeping? It’s almost nine!”

“I’m tired. It’s not even nine o’clock. I think I used to be a morning person, but I’ve recently discovered that the morning is the work of Satan, and I would like to sleep. I think I should sleep more, actually.”

“If you say so.” He arches his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Addie. “You should probably get dressed, don’t you think, champ?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll see you downstairs.” Addie spins away from the door, and Grandad follows after her, pulling it shut behind him.

I throw on jeans and a sweater and rummage through my gifts, pulling out receipts and removing price tags. I’m the last one to make it to the living room. I drop my bags sheepishly onto the pile and settle onto the floor by the fireplace. Will toddles over and plops down next to me. Melissa steals awkward glances at Addie, her lips tightly pursed. Addie and Allie sit miles apart on the couch, their legs crossed in opposite directions. Grandad stands behind my mother’s rocking chair, playing absentmindedly with the piping on the cushion, and my mother pulls at her eyebrow, still wearing my father’s old bathrobe.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” I say, attempting a smile.

But it’s not Christmas. It’s December 25th, two days after my father’s death. We don’t even have a tree. And not one of us, not even Will, is merry.

* * *

“It was epically bad. I have never been so uncomfortable.”

Chelsea sits back on her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It was worse. I’m trying to downplay it. Seriously. My mother is crazy depressed, my grandfather is impossible to read, Addie isn’t speaking to her mother or her sister, both of whom want her to talk to them but neither of whom has the balls to make her listen, and I didn’t even wrap my presents, so I suck. And Will thinks we’re all crazy. We are all crazy. I am crazy. I am crazy to be more upset that Christmas sucked than that my father is dead.”

“Adam.”

“No, seriously. I... I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But anyway. How was your Christmas?”

She shrugs. “My uncle didn’t know that my little brother didn’t know about the pregnancy fiasco, so that was a fun conversation. And my mother keeps pressing me for information about your mother’s church walk-out. Like, seriously? Is it that much of a mystery? People are stupid.” She crosses her arms and sighs. “But all the presents were wrapped. For what it’s worth.”

“I just wonder when we’re going to get back to our lives, you know?”

She shrugs. “It’s been two days. And from what you’ve said, your mom is just... Normal. Everybody reacts differently when somebody dies. I’m pretty sure she’s within the normal scope.”

“I know. It’s just... For all those years he was dying, she was the one who was optimistic and positive and oh, the Lord will save him if He wants to, and now she’s... Broken. She’s just broken. I’m not used to seeing her like this.”

“She’s not gonna be like this forever.”

“I know. It just sucks that she has to be at all.”

“Well, she’s lucky. She has you.”

I shrug. “I’m not much help.”

She rolls her eyes. “Without you, she’d probably still be sitting in the hallway at the hospice, bawling her eyes out. You are helping her. She doesn’t have to make a full one-eighty for you to have helped her.”

“I guess. She just... She’s lost her faith. And I know that... I know that I spent years wishing that she would, but now that she has, it’s like she’s a shell of a person. I hate seeing her like this. I hate it.”

“I know.” She chews on the inside of her cheek and sighs. “Hey, when’s the funeral?”

“Monday. She wants me to give the eulogy.”

“I think that would be sweet.”

“Except I have no idea what to say. Everything I’ve been thinking about him lately... Isn’t shit I can say at his funeral. I... I have two days to write a speech about how great he was and all I can think is that I’m relieved not to have to worry about him anymore.”

She sighs. “You loved him. Talk about that.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing is that easy. It’s not supposed to be easy.”

“Inspirational.”

“But true.”

I sigh. “I guess.”

She leans over the side of the bed and runs her hands through my hair. “I can help you write it, if you want.”

“That’s okay. I can do it. I... I’ll figure something out.” I tilt my head back and look at her, wrinkling my nose. “You’ll be there though, right?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t happen to want to give the eulogy, do you?”

She laughs. “Nice try. You’ll think of something. I promise.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

She sighs. “Adam, you gave up all your friends to hang out with him every afternoon. Seriously. Just because you’re not a crying mess doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. And if you loved him, you have something to say.”

“I just... What am I supposed to say? She’s the one who makes speeches. I just... I don’t make speeches. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just... Something will feel right.”

“I guess.”

She lets her hands fall to my shoulders, resting her chin on my head. “Well, whatever you have to say... I’ll listen.”

* * *

“When I started thinking about what to say here, today, I didn’t think I had anything. Everything that I was thinking about my father was so... So dark, and so uninspiring. The truth is, my father taught me the difference between what it is to be living and what it is to be alive. He went slowly. That’s the nature of the beast, and for him... It took him from us. Not days ago, years ago. I didn’t think that would make a good eulogy. To say, ‘By the time he died, there was nothing I loved of him left.’ You don’t say that at someone’s funeral. But... The more I thought about it, the more it felt right.

“I don’t remember what his voice sounded like. He died four days ago but I don’t remember the sound of his voice. It’s the sort of thing you don’t realize you miss until someone reminds you to miss it, and then it’s all you can think about. It’s been more than a year since I last heard him speak. I don’t remember what he said. His last words. If we had known then, maybe we would have written them down. I don’t know.

“What I do know is that my father didn’t have to use words to teach me lessons. My whole life, there was a catalogue of looks. There was the ‘I will never forgive you for acting like this in front of my boss’ look, and the ‘Be nice to your mother or I will cut you’ look, and my favorite, the eyes in the rearview that said, ‘Don’t think I won’t turn this car around.’ He didn’t have to speak to me to scare me. But there were other looks, too. The ‘I’m not going to embarrass you in front of your friends, but I’m proud of you’ look, and the ‘Thank you for helping me shower even though I know you’d rather be watching TV’ look, and the ‘Please don’t leave, I like the sound of your voice’ look. He didn’t have to speak. I knew.

“It’s been awhile, though. Since I got the ‘I love you look’ when I walked into his room. Since I got the ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Adam’ look. At the end, it wasn’t that pretty or that simple. His looks said, ‘Who are you?’ They said, ‘I’m scared.’ And that’s no way to live.

“So I’m not sad. I’m not crying. I don’t... I don’t feel anything but relief. He’s not scared anymore. He’s not trapped in a body that’s failing him. He’s free. People always say ‘At least he’s in a better place, now.’ Usually they don’t mean it. But for him... It’s true. It’s the truth.

“What’s important about my father isn’t how he died, but how he lived. He didn’t leave us money. I say that not to elicit pity but because it’s the truth. His legacy, and my inheritance, is too big for a trust fund to hold. He taught me that being nice is more important than being successful. He taught me that being nice is being successful. He taught me the importance of holding the door open, and of finishing what I start, and of always having a back-up plan. I learned something from him every day. And everything I need to know to be the man he would have wanted, he taught me. He led by example. And I loved him. In the end, that’s what matters. He was loved, and he will be missed. By me. By all of you. And that... That is his legacy.”

* * *

“I’m thinking about moving back in with my mom.”

I stick my hands in my pockets and let loose a low whistle. “Seriously?”

“I’m trying to get Addie to come with me.”

I raise my eyebrows. “How’s that working out?”

“I don’t know. I told her the whole story last night. From the beginning. I... I think she gets it now. She’s still furious, but I don’t think she hates me.”

“Wow.”

She shrugs. “I just... I mean, you’re moving out this year. It would be us and Grandad and your mom. And I just... I miss her. And I want to be there. She’s different than she was when we lived with her last time. She doesn’t drink anymore and she has Will and... And I want to be there. I want to watch him grow up. And I want her to come with me. I just... I don’t know if she will.”

“She will.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She smiles and nods slowly, looking down at the ground. “Everything is changing.”

“I know.”

She sighs, looking back at the crowd of mourners. “Go talk to your mother, Adam. She needs you.”

“Alright. I’ll see you back at the house.”

She nods, chewing on her cuticle. “You really think she’ll want to move?”

“I think wherever you go, she’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m going to miss you when you’re gone, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

* * *

“Mom?” I reach over and turn on the lamp next to her rocking chair. She looks up at me, her eyes red and shining.

“Hi honey,” she whispers.

“Why are you still up?”

She shrugs. “I... I couldn’t sleep. I...”

I sit down across from her on the couch. “Will you pray with me?”

Her head snaps up. “Adam, you don’t have to.”

“I do.”

She sighs. “I try. I try to believe that this is His plan. I try. But it doesn’t feel like He’s chasing after me, Adam. It doesn’t feel like...”

“I know.”

“I used to think my faith was unshakable. But I don’t know what to do with myself. And all I can think is that... Twenty years from now, I might have to do this again.”

Something inside me breaks. I swallow hard. “Mom...”

“I just... I love you. And I never... I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know.”

She sighs and picks up her Bible from her lap, handing it to me. “Psalm 4.”

I open the book and fumble through the thin, translucent pages. Finally, I find it. I begin to read:

Answer me when I call you,
O my righteous God.
Give me relief from my distress;
be merciful to me and...

“... Hear my prayer,” she whispers.

I close my eyes. “Mom.”

“Jeremiah, 15:18,” she replies. “ ‘Why is my pain unending and my wound grievous and incurable? You are to me like a deceptive brook, like a spring that fails.’”

“Mom...”

“Second Corinthians, 2:2. ‘For if I grieve you, who is left to make me glad but you whom I have grieved?’”

I open my eyes. “Mom...”

She shakes her head. “No. Listen. Matthew, 11:28. ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’”

“Mom.”

“It will get better, Adam,” she says softly, earnestly, pulling at her eyebrow. “It will get better. I trust Him. He didn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave us.”

“Are you okay?”

She nods slowly. “I just... I miss him. That’s all. I really, really miss him.”

“I know.”

She stands and takes her Bible from my hands, shaking her head. “I’m going to bed, Adam. You should, too.”

“Okay.”

“It isn’t easy. Faith. But... Somedays it’s all I have. Faith. And you.”

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

Matt sighs. “I know you already paid and everything, but it’s not too late to just... Back out. You don’t have to --”

“I do, though. I have to know.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I just... No matter what, you’re gonna be fine. Okay? And I know that’s a lame thing to say, but as your moral support for this insane expedition, I feel like I should say that.”

“Thanks.”

The door swings open. “Adam, good to see you. Please come back.”

I swallow hard and stand, Matt following behind me. We follow the doctor down the hallway and into his office. He collapses into his desk chair.

“Have a seat.”

We sit.

“I’m so sorry...”

My breath catches in my throat.

“I know how hard it must be for you to lose your father.”

I breathe slowly, trying to steady my pulse. “Uh, yeah. It was.”

Matt looks over at me, biting his lip.

The doctor pulls a file out from underneath the clutter on his desk. “I understand you’re here for some test results.”

“I am.”

Matt tents his fingers, his eyes closed. I stare at the wall, trying to breathe.

The doctor puts on his glasses and opens the file. “Hmm.”

Please. Please. Please. Do it for my mother. Please. She can’t... Please. Don’t do this to her. Don’t do this to her. Not now. Please... Please give instead of taking, this time. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll --

“Adam, I’m so sorry.”

Word Count (this update): 4104
Word Count (total): 51222

Thanks so much for reading! I'll put up the "Where Are they Now" sometime tomorrow for anyone who's interested.

I flipped a coin way back on November 1st for Adam's test results. So if you don't like them, don't blame me -- blame the coin.

November 29th: The birds that used to fly here come to die here

2008-11-29T19:21:00.000-08:00

I wake up to a shoulder made of pins and needles, my mother snoring softly on my arm. Light streams in bright colors through the church windows. I turn my head groggily. Matt’s head is visible on a pew a few rows back, his mouth hanging slightly open. I flash back to a few weeks ago, standing outside in the freezing cold, arguing with Addie before going to confront my mother about her alleged indiscretions. I’m afraid to leave you alone.

He’s a better friend to me than I’ve ever been to him.

Beside me, my mother stirs. “Adam? Honey?” She picks her head up off my shoulder and looks at me with bleary eyes. Her hair is tousled, her makeup smeared. She looks out of place. She looks nothing like the mother I know.

But I want to know her.

“Hey.”

She rubs her eyes, looking around and stretching. “Matt stayed?”

“Yeah.”

She half-smiles, nodding slowly. “He’s a good friend.”

“I know.”

“I should call his parents and let them know where he is.”

"Probably."

She looks around for a moment more before her eyes settle on me. "Thank you, Adam," she says quietly.

"I didn't --"

“Yes you did. I... Thank you. I'm lucky I have you."

I look down at the ground. "I, uh... I'm lucky I have you, too."

A sudden burst of noise turns both our heads. Matt sits up abruptly, his eyes wide, shaking his head rapidly.
"What the... Oh. Right." He shoots me a sympathetic look. "Sorry. I fell asleep."

"You didn't have to stay, dude."

"I know. But it was late and I was tired. And these pews are super-comfortable. I mean, Jesus Christ, I would totally trade my bed for one of these. And this church is just so... Warm."

I roll my eyes. "You're an idiot."

"I know. I try."

Mom places a hand lightly on my shoulder. "We should probably go home. You too, Matt. I'm sure your parents are wondering what you're doing out of the house before noon."

He laughs. "Yeah, probably. I left them a note, but they like to worry about me. It gives them something to do."

We stand and shuffle out of the sanctuary, our footsteps echoing off the walls. Before we step out into the hallway, I glance back at the cross hanging on the wall above the pulpit.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

* * *

"How are you holding up?"

"Fine. I... Fine. It's really not all that different. I think that's what gets me. It's almost exactly the same as it was before, except... I can't even talk at him anymore. I don't know."

Chelsea nods, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "But you and your mother seem to be getting along."

"Yeah. I guess we have."

"She seems..."

"Depressed beyond all reason?"

She nods. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe it just seems worse because she's not usually... Because she's usually so..."

"Different?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." I crack my knuckles, leaning back against the bedframe. "She just... It's harder for her. Everything's a little bit harder for her."

She studies me for a long moment. "Speaking of being completely different...."

"What?"

"You're not accusing her of being sad just to manipulate people into feeling bad for her. It's like you... It's like you love her."

"Of course I love her. She's my mother. Sometimes she can just be..."

"I know. But still. It's nice." She leans against me, her head on my shoulder. "It doesn't feel like Christmas Eve."

"I know. I still haven't done any of my shopping."

She sits bolt upright. "Seriously? Seriously?"

"I've been busy."

"Are you insane? Going shopping the day before Christmas? Seriously?"

"I don't know. I was just going to buy gift cards or something."

She rolls her eyes. "Just when I thought you were having some kind of breakthrough, you go and say something like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

She pulls me to my feet, shaking her head disbelievingly. "We're going to the mall. That's what that means."

"Seriously? Why? I was going to swing by --"

"I don't care what you were going to do. You're an idiot. I'm taking you shopping."

"Should I be afraid?"

"Probably."

I lean against the wall as she bustles around the room, stuffing everything from one purse into another, changing from sweats into jeans. "I bought your present."

"And that," she says as she jams her foot into a sneaker, "is the sort of adorable save that makes me realize why I stay with you despite your incredible stupidity. But," she hops around on one foot for a moment, trying to pull on her sock, "I'm not going to let your poor family suffer the consequences of said stupidity."

"You don't think they'd give me a pass? Seriously? Recent personal tragedy and all of that?"

"They would pretend to, but would secretly resent you forever. Trust me. Besides. It’s Christmas. And they all bought their shit for you like, months ago.”

“I still don’t see what the big deal is.”

“And that,” she says, grabbing her bag from her dresser and nudging me towards the door, “is why you have me.”

“I’m lucky.”

“No shit.”

“No, really.” I turn around to face her, brushing the hair out of her face. “I’m lucky,” I murmur. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

She kisses me, then steps back, crossing her arms. “What’s going on with you? I mean... You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know. Perspective?”

She nods slowly, looking me intently in the eyes. “You’re going to have to deal with it at some point, you know.”

“I know.”

“I worry about you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

She sighs. “Come on. Let’s go pretend you’re not a ticking time bomb.”

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

“She’s here.”

I lift my head, blinking to clear the fuzzy clouds of sleep from my eyes. “Your mom?”

“My mom. And Will.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Very bad.”

“I thought you wanted them to come. Last night you said you wanted them to come.”

She sighs. “I said that because I was trying to be the bigger person. And I didn’t want to be fighting with her on Christmas. But I’m not a big person, I’m a five year old pretending to be seventeen, and I know it’s petty and I know I should be more upset about your dad than about this but I am upset about this and it’s hard enough to be in a room with my mother without being faced with the nephew I never knew existed and...” She gasps for breath. “This is not the Christmas I was planning.”

“I know. But... Look, Allie messed up. By not telling you. It was a really big, really horrible fuck up that she can’t erase. You don’t have to forgive her for that. But you were ready to reach out to your mom. That’s why you went to her house in the first place. Just... Make this about her, instead of your sister.”

She thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “I mean, I guess I could do that. In theory.”

“It’ll be good for you.”

She looks around, surveying the chaos of my room. “You went shopping.”

“I bought all my Christmas presents. Today. Chelsea helped.”

“Are you... Okay?”

“We’re fine. Things were kind of strained for awhile, but they’re good now.”

She rolls her eyes. “I mean ‘you’ like... You. Just you. You were... You were really good last night. With your mom. I just... I haven’t seen you... React, really. It’s kinda freaking me out.”

“I... I don’t know. It’s... I guess it just hasn’t hit me yet. But then a part of me wonders if maybe it’s just been so long that the... The shock value is kind of gone. Like I already mourned him. Or something.”

“Mmm.”

“You think I’m heartless.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not really affecting me like I expected it to, either.”

"But at least you're upset. I'm just... I mean, I went out shopping today. And I... It just doesn't feel like anything. A part of me is just glad it's over. One less thing I have to worry about. It's not that... I mean, he was my dad, but the past couple of years, he's hardly... I mean, I feel like I barely know him anymore. Knew him. Whatever."

"It's complicated."

"Yeah. I feel like everyone expects me to react like she is. But that's just... That's so not how I am, you know? I don't know. I just... I knew all along there wasn't any hope for him. It's hard to feel blindsided, or enraged, or whatever it is people feel when somebody they love dies. I seriously just... Almost don't even care." I sigh. "That sounds awful. I sound like a fucking sociopath."

She shakes her head. "I didn't even bat an eye when my dad died. I was just mad because I had to go live with my mom."

"Yeah. But you barely even knew him. I mean, my dad is more of a dad... That sounds bad, doesn't it? I probably shouldn't say that."

"But it's true."

"Yeah. It is. I don't know. It makes sense that you didn't get upset over it. You didn't really have an attachment to him. You could barely remember him when he wasn't sick."

"Yeah. But still. I kind of expected myself to be more upset about your dad than I am, too. I don't know. It just seems so... Surreal. Like, really? This is happening now? Christmas Eve, when I just found out about my sister's kid and my mom, whom I haven't spoken to in years, is here, and then all of your girlfriend troubles... It's like, why now? I don't know. I feel like maybe I'm getting more upset than I would otherwise about the Allie situation because I'm trying to keep myself from getting upset about your dad."

"Right." "I mean, I'd feel bad. If I were... If his death, your dad's death, affected me more than when my dad died."

"Makes sense." She sighs, leaning back against the door. "But my mom's here. On Christmas Eve. And there is no alcohol in the house, and for that... For that I am thankful."

"She's sober. I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I don't think Allie would let her even look at Will if she wasn't."

She nods. "How fucked up is that situation, anyway? Seriously? He's going to find out. You know he's going to find out."

"I don't know. I guess they're just trying to make it work while it lasts.”

“Poor kid."

"He's lucky, though."

She raises her eyebrows. "Your definition of 'lucky' is way different from mine."

"No, but really," I reply. "He is. He has a mother who loves him enough to admit that she can't do what's best for him and she has a mother who loves them both enough to do it for her.”

“When did you turn into a fucking after school special?”

I laugh. “I wish I knew.”

She sighs, reaching for the doorknob. “I should probably go make nice with my mother.”

“It’ll be good for you.”

“Maybe.”

“It will.”

“I’ll let you know.”

I roll my eyes. “Just go before you lose your nerve.”

She disappears out the door. I collapse back onto the bed, letting my eyes lose their focus, sinking back into myself.

This isn’t what I was expecting. I thought there would be thunderstorms and knees too weak to hold me up. I thought there would be gnashing of teeth and punching of walls. I thought I would be angry, and depressed, and disbelieving. I thought I would grieve him. I thought I would care.

I loved him. I remember the heartbreak when he entered the hospital for the first time; the fear that kept me up nights; the worry that he wouldn’t be there for my T-ball game, my high school graduation, my wedding. He was my father. He was my father. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want him to suffer. I didn’t want him to fear.

I loved him. But every time he got lost on the way to my Scout meeting, I loved him a little less. Every birthday party he missed, I loved him a little less. Every day that I walked into his room and he didn’t know who I was, that I came home with good news and he didn’t react, that I watched the Patriots game without him cheering beside me, I loved him a little less. The parts of him I loved had been disappearing for years. By the end, there was hardly anything left.

I hated him. Not because I knew he would leave me, but because he already had.

* * *

“For many of us, this Christmas is a bittersweet celebration. We try to remember the love of Christ. We try to remember the moments that He has lifted us up. We try to remember our faith, the joy that only the love of our savior can bring. We try to remember how He has chased after us, time and again, and caught us just in time. The times He has held on to us when He could have walked away. How much our God has given us - ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His. Only. Son.’ We try to be grateful. To be joyous. To be filled with the Christmas spirit. To embrace the love of Christ. We try to rejoice in his plan.

“But for many of us, that is especially difficult, tonight.

“I am not going to sermonize about Dennis Larsen. There will be more than enough time at the service his family will hold in a few days for sermons and lamentations. But it is hard for me to stand here and tell you to rejoice in the glory of God. It is hard for me to tell you to be grateful for all that he has given you. Because it seems today that He has taken something great from all of us. He does not seem so generous, today.

“It is easy to forget, in these moments, all the times He has rescued us. We were lost, and He found us. We were searching, and He showed us. We were lonely, and afraid, and He embraced us. We turned our backs on Him and he waited for us to turn around again. We ran from him and he chased us. He has believed in us even when we have not believed in Him. He has always had faith in us. Always.

“In the end, that is what Christmas is about. We needed to be saved, and He saved us. He gave His son for us. He gave His life for us. On Christmas, we celebrate the Lord who believed in us even though we ran from Him. We celebrate the birth of a savior who knew He would be persecuted, knew that He would be condemned to die, knew that he would suffer an agonizing death, and came to save us anyway. God had faith in us. God chased after us. God did not turn His back on us. God will not turn his back on us. And even now, even when it feels like He gives only so that He can take away, we mustn’t turn our backs on Him. We must recognize the sacrifice that He has made. We must recognize His glory. ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only son.’ If for no other reason than that He has always had faith in us, let’s have faith in Him.”

Mom looks over at me, her red-rimmed eyes connecting with mine. Her lip quivers. I look up at the ceiling, swallowing the lump in my throat.

And then she does something she has never done before. Something that drains the blood from my face, that draws every gaze away from Reverend James and towards her tear-soaked face.

She stands up and walks out.

Addie and I exchange a look. I sigh, then stand and follow after her, my footsteps clunking loudly down the aisle. I burst through the church doors and into the lobby, through the lobby doors and into the freezing midnight air.

“Mom.”

“I... I don’t know if I can do this.” She stares at the ground, her face crumpled, tears flooding her face. “I... I want... I...” She sinks to the ground, burying her face in her hands, whispering quietly into her palms.

“Okay.” I crouch down next to her, resting one hand firmly on her back. “Hey, it’s okay. Shhh.”

“He could have... He could have helped him!” she wails, leaning back against the cold brick column. She yanks at her brow, pulling at non-existant hairs, muddying her fingertips with eyebrow pencil. “I... I, I asked Him. I asked Him and I asked Him and I prayed and I helped people and I asked Him and He didn’t... He didn’t help. He didn’t help me. He didn’t... Help... Me.” Her whole body shakes with her sobbing. She gasps for breath. I rub her back in slow circles, my bare hands aching with the cold, staring up at the starless sky.

“I know.”

“I want to go home.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s go.”

“Everyone is gonna hate me. Everybody... They think I’m... I don’t ever...”

I help her up off the freezing concrete and offer her my arm. “Come on. It’s okay. Let’s go home.”

* * *

Word count (this update): 2950
Word count (total): 47308

I'll probably finish this tonight before I go to bed, and post tomorrow when I get a chance. I do have one more thing planned after the novel itself has concluded, a "Where Are They Now" sort of thing (I always do one in my head, so I figured I might as well put it down on paper). Anyway, thanks for reading. I, for one, cannot wait to have free time again!

November 27th: The only thing I wanna do is be in the arms of someone who believes in me like I believe in you

2008-11-27T16:51:00.000-08:00

“And how’s your mother?”

“She’s good. You know how she is. She likes to keep busy.”

He laughs. “She certainly does.” His face grows serious. “Now, have you talked to her about this?”

I shake my head. “I... I don’t want to freak her out.”

“Understandable. You are eighteen, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And are you paying for this through your insurance?”

“Out of pocket.”

He looks up from his clipboard. “This is an expensive test, Adam.”

“I have the money.” Three summers of lifeguarding money, cash from four Christmases and birthdays, money I’ve been saving for years, money I was saving for the future... All for this. All for a test I’m not even sure I want.

“This is going to run you about a thousand dollars.”

I crack my knuckles. “I... I know. I talked to someone on the phone. I have it. Cash, actually, I...”

He nods. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure you understood.” He studies me for a moment before nodding towards my arm. “Okay. Roll up your sleeve. Let’s draw some blood.”

* * *

“I’d like to meet him.”

Allie looks up cautiously from her dinner. “Will?”

Addie nods. “They should... They should come. For Christmas. If they can, I mean.”

My mother smiles. “I think your mom would like that.”

Addie gives an awkward half-smile and stabs at her pork chop, her foot bouncing wildly under the table.

I clear my throat. “I, uh... Today, I... Never mind.”

My mother sets her fork down. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Um, are we still having Christmas at Dad’s?”

She gives me a strange look, but nods. “I think so. Why?”

“Just making sure.”

The table falls into an awkward silence. Finally, Addie clears her throat. “I have some news.”

Everyone turns their heads to look at her.

“I, uh, got an A. On my physics exam. Thanks to Adam.”

My mother pats me on the shoulder. “That’s awesome, Addie! I told you he could help.”

I didn’t help. It’s been weeks since I tutored her. I shoot her a look. She shrugs. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Cutlery scraping against plates is the only thing audible for the next few minutes. When the phone rings, everyone jumps.

Allie makes it out of her chair first. “I’ll get it.”

We chew in silence as she walks over to the phone and picks it up.

“Hello? Larsen residence. What? Grandad? Oh. Oh. Is he? Yeah, we’ll.... We’ll be right there.”

By the time she slams the phone down on the counter, we’re already in the front hall, pulling on our coats. My mother leads the charge for the car. She struggles to put the key in the lock.

Allie grabs the keys. “I’ll drive.”

“I can do it,” my mother protests.

“Mom.”

She turns her head, her eyes shining, her fingers grasping at her eyebrows.

“Mom, let her drive. Let her drive. Come on. You sit in the back. Come on.” I take hold of her shoulders and gently help her into the car, then run around to the other side and jump in. I know it doesn’t matter, really, how fast we go. Whether he choked or he fell or his heart simply stopped beating, he’s gone by now.

He’s gone by now.

It hits me as I slam the door shut, a crippling blow to the gut. My father. My father. The man who taught me to swim, to ride a bike, to always hold the door open, to live. Right now, at this second, he’s... Gone. The force of it sends me reeling, somehow blown back into myself, my lungs struggling to get enough air.

My mother reaches over and waves her shaking hand over my lap until she manages to find my own.

We ride in silence, our cold, shaking hands gripping tightly to each other. My other hand taps out a panicky rhythm on my thigh; hers pulls frantically at her eyebrow.

“I was supposed to be there!” she whispers as we pull up in front of the hospice. “I was s-supposed to be there.”

No one responds. No one knows how to respond.

Most of my life, I’ve known this moment was coming. There have been days I wished for it, even, just to end the torturous wait. But I never expected it now, the night before Christmas Eve, the rest of my life finally falling into place.

This is not what I wanted.

Chapter 11
I have fought the good fight.
I have finished the race.
2 Timothy 4:7

“Okay. Shhh. Okay. Let’s go home.”

Grandad looks around stoically, his arm draped around my mother. “I... Okay. Let’s go.”

Her lip quivers. “I can’t.”

Addie grabs her hand. “Yes you can. Come on. Let’s go.”

“I can’t.” She stares at the closed door to his room, her red-rimmed eyes shifting frantically back and forth. “I can’t, I —“

My eyes fall shut. I don’t want to watch this. I hate this. I hate seeing her hysterical, grappling for something she’s can never have back.

“Okay. We’ll stay.”

Everyone looks at me. Her free hand pulls at her eyebrow, her other pulling free of Addie’s grasp and reaching out, grabbing my arm. “You’ll stay with me?”

“Adam, we... We should go,” Allie says gently.

“You guys go. We’ll, uh... You take Grandad’s truck. We’ll take the car when we’re ready. It’s fine.”

They fumble through halfhearted pleas for a few moments, but eventually Grandad nods. “Okay. Call if you need anything.”

We’re all on autopilot. Everyone but my mother. We look at her like she’s the wreck, like she’s the one who’s lost it. It gives us something to do. Something to distract us from the fact that our son, or our father, or the uncle who might as well be our dad, is dead.

Dead.

We made the arrangements years ago. He picked out his coffin. We bought the plot. Organizing the service will be easy. The church will make room for us. They always have room for my mother. It will be the payback for her thousand favors.

When they’re gone, I grab her shoulders and steer her towards the door. “But I want to stay here!” she protests, her voice a high-pitched whine. “You said you’d stay here with me.”

“Come on. It’s okay. Come on.”

“You said.”

Her voice has all the rationality of a child begging for ice cream, working itself into a tantrum.

But this is not a child. This is my mother.

“I know. Come on. It’s okay.”

She pulls free of my grip and stands beside the door, crying hysterically. “I can’t leave. He was here. I was supposed to be here.”

“Mom.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t... I should have been here. I have to be here.” She leans back against the wall and slides down to the ground. The woman behind the desk wipes her eyes with her sleeve.

I sink down next to her. “Hey. Hey. He didn’t... He wasn’t alone. He had Grandad there. We couldn’t have been here, not like that, we couldn’t have sat here every second of every day, just waiting.”

“I promised him,” she whispers. “I told him I would be there. I told him I would be the last person he saw.”

“Mom.”

“I promised him.”

I grab her hand and rub my thumb lightly over her knuckles. “Mom, he signed the DNR. Six years ago, he signed the DNR. Do you remember that?”

“Of course I remember,” she murmurs.

“He didn’t want you to be there. If he’d wanted you to be there, he wouldn’t have signed it. He would have wanted them to keep him alive until you got here. Until you could say goodbye. He signed it because he didn’t want you to have to see it. He didn’t want you to have to watch him die.”

She shakes her head. “But I promised.”

“I know. But he never expected you to keep that promise.”

“But... He was... I...”

“I know. But he wasn’t here. And he’s not here now. He hasn’t been here in... In a long time.” I grab her other hand and stand, pulling her up with me. She collapses onto me, her ear pressing into my chest.

“I can hear your heart,” she whispers.

* * *

For the second night this week, I watch the snow fall past the stained glass windows. My mother sits across the aisle, a few pews forward, her head in her hands, her mouth moving silently. I don’t want to know what she’s saying. It would probably break my heart.

“Allie thought you’d be here.”

I stare straight ahead. “You should be with her.”

“I know. That’s what I told her. Then she told me she would break up with me immediately if I didn’t come find you.”

“Here I am.”

He slides into my pew, avoiding my eyes. “How are you?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“How’s your mom?”

“I don’t know what to do with her.”

He bites his lip. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I... She doesn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay at the hospice. It took me forever to convince her to come out to the car. I tried to take her to the house, but she... I don’t know. So we came here.”

He glances over at her. “She’s praying. I guess that’s good.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry. About your dad.”

I crack my knuckles slowly, one by one. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I... I tried to call Chelsea, but she didn’t pick up.”

“Thanks.”

“You want me to try again? I... I don’t know.”

“It’s fine. I... I don’t want to wake her up. It’s just... I mean, we knew he was gonna die, we were just kidding ourselves pretending it wouldn’t happen so soon.”

“Adam.”

“No, I mean... We should be happy, really. He... I mean, he had to have been so miserable. I can’t even imagine.”

“Mmm.”

“Somehow, though I’m just not that happy,” I say softly.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, staring down at his lap. “It’s tough.”

“My whole life, he was at least there. Even these past couple years, when he had no idea who I was... I knew where to find him. I just... I mean, and she’s a mess. I don’t know. This isn’t what I expected, I guess. I don’t know what I expected. I just... This is different.”

“Right.”

“I feel like I should be all crazy and weepy and I should be consumed with... I don’t know, missing him. But there isn’t really anything to miss, you know? What’s to miss? One-sided conversations? Dripping water into his mouth? Waiting for him to die? I don’t miss it. I don’t... And it’s only been a couple of hours, but it’s just like... It isn’t any different. I expected it to be different. But it’s like he was already... It’s like he was already dead.”

Across the room, my mother whispers her silent incantations. Maybe that’s why it’s so much harder for her. She prayed that he would get better. She believed that there was some way, some God out there who could change his destiny, somehow. We gave up on him. Slowly, at first, still trying to hold on to something of who he was, still trying to remember the Dennis Larsen who had once been an active part of our lives. But we gave up on him. She never gave up. For us, he died weeks ago, months ago. The finality of it shakes us, but it doesn’t surprise us. It doesn’t change us in some profound way. But she hoped for him. Not the halfhearted way that we did, but in some awful, painful way that shook her very soul. She held on when all of us were letting go.

He was already dead for all of us. But he was not dead for her. Not then.

He is dead now.

I stand, brushing past Matt and walking slowly down the aisle. I slide quietly into the pew next to here and scoot over until our hips touch. Hoping that I can ground her, somehow, without scaring her away.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She turns to look at me. She looks so old. Feeble. “For what?”

For being the one who held on. For believing he was a person, when the rest of us were just acting like we believed. For bringing him lunches he couldn’t eat, and praying for things that couldn’t happen, and believing in him when we had all given up. For remembering him when he didn’t remember you. For trying to keep your promises. For trying. For being the one who held on. “For everything.”

“His heart,” she murmurs, her voice fragile and quaking. “I... He had such a good heart. I always told people that. I told everyone that. He... His heart.”

“I know.” I drape my arm tentatively around her shoulder. “I know.”

“I think I really thought... I think... I think I thought He would...” Her voice trails off. She takes a deep, shaking breath, a single tear making its way slowly down her face. “I did everything I could. I did everything. I... I spent the past seven years doing His work, hoping that... That maybe, somehow, He would notice... I just wanted Him to... To help...” Her voice breaks. I pull her towards me, her head heavy on my shoulder. With my free hand, I grab her hand and pull it away from her eyebrow.

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

“I think I really thought... I just... I just wanted...”

“I know. Shhh... Shhh, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know what to do without him.”

“I know.”

“He had such a good heart,” she whispers.

“I know.”

* * *

Word Count (this update): 2306
Word Count (total): 44197

Initially, the plan was 1) for Adam and his mother to never really reconcile and 2) for Chelsea and Adam to break up. I think the holiday cheer is pushing me to bring everyone together.

The most important transition for me, in this chapter, wasn't that Dennis died -- it was that Adam started calling his mother "Mom" (something he'd previously avoided even in narration, except when talking about her to his dad). Personally, I'm relieved. Writing "my mother" 400000 times was getting annoying. (The auto-summary for this book is particularly hilarious. Here's an excerpt:
My mother smiles, shaking her head. “Yeah. “Yeah. “Allie?”

“Yeah?” * * *

“Adam.”

“Adam. Addie, Chelsea, Grandad, Matt. “Adam!”

“Adam.”

“Adam.”

Hands down.”

“Adam...”

Yeah. * * *

I shake my head. Allie. “Yeah. “Yeah. “Adam.”

“Adam. * * *

“Adam.”

My mother... “Yeah.”

It is genius. My personal favorite is the names list. The other day when I did this it came up with an entire passage that consisted of "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea" Jesus. ***. Word is crazy.)

Thanks for reading!

November 26th: Thank God It's Fatal

2008-11-26T13:26:00.000-08:00

“Hey, champ.”

“Hey, Grandad.”

He purses his lips and looks me up and down. “You look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

“I went to Bible study.”

“Ohhh,” he says, nodding understandingly.

I collapse in the chair across from him. “Job.”

“I see.” He thinks for a moment. “I always liked Job.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously? I think it’s ridiculous.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s just... Unrealistic, I guess. Nobody’s like Job. And it’s annoying, because God is supposed to be this great, kind figure, but he treats Job like crap.”

“Does he? I remember it differently, but it’s been awhile.”

“Mmm.”

We sit in silence for a moment until he clears his throat, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “Do you think that maybe your real problem is that you feel like you’re failing the test?”

“What?”

“Job had everything but the kitchen sink thrown at him and he stayed true to God. You’ve had a lot thrown at you, too. It’s not easy to be as strong as Job.”

“I’m not being tested.”

“You’re not? I am.”

I crack my each knuckles, one by one, before responding. “You really believe in all that? That God would kill somebody just to test you?”

He shakes his head. “You’re missing the point, Adam.”

“What is the point, exactly?”

“I love them. Your dad, and Don, and your grandmother. I love them. Watching them die, that’s been an awful trial for me. God didn’t design it this way because He wanted me to suffer. And He didn’t do it because He wanted them to suffer. And He certainly didn’t do it just because He could.”

“Then why did he do it?”

“That’s the point.”

“That he killed three people you love and you don’t know why?”

“That I can’t know.”

“So God is making a point.”

“It’s more than that. He knows what He’s doing. It’s not my place to question it. I just have to trust Him. To listen to him. Even when I don’t understand.”

I shrug. “But he... He killed them.”

“Without Him, I wouldn’t ever have had them to lose. I’m glad I had them, Adam. And I’m glad that I have you, and the girls, and I’m glad for every minute that I have Dennis, still. I don’t get to be angry with Him. He’s given me far, far more than I deserve.”

“I’m angry.”

“I know.”

“You really think I’m failing the test?”

He shakes his head. “I never said that.”

“Yes you did. You said I hated Job because I was failing the test.”

“I said you felt like you were failing the test.”

“So you don’t think I’m failing.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“It matters to me.”

He thinks for a moment, then clears his throat. “What I think,” he says slowly, “is that this is exactly the sort of conversation your mom would like to have with you.”

“So you’re not going to answer.”

“Consider it a referral.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance over at my father, lying still in his bed, and stand up. “You coming home?”

“Later.”

“Are you sure? He’s gonna be fine, Grandad. It’s one night. You haven’t been home in ages.”

“I want to be here,” he says softly, staring at the bed. “You go. Talk to your mom.”

“Alright. G’night, Grandad.”

“’Night, champ.”

Chapter 10
My son, forget not my law or teaching,
but let your heart keep my commandments.
(Proverbs 3:1)

I arrive home to a war zone.

“Of course it matters! Are you crazy?”

I stick my head tentatively around the corner into the living room. Addie is in tears, pointing angrily at her sister, who is leaning against the wall looking exhausted.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Why did you go there, anyway? You could’ve at least told me.”

“Oh shut up! You don’t get to turn this around on me!”

“You hadn’t been there in years! You hate her!”

“It’s Christmas! This is what people do at Christmas! They visit estranged relatives!”

I bite my lip, burying my hands in my pockets.

Addie spies me out of the corner of her eye and turns to face me. “She lied to me.”

“Allie did?” It seems like a good time to play dumb.

“Apparently she has a kid!”

“Oh.” I glance at Allie, eyebrows raised. You didn’t tell her THAT?

Addie studies me for a moment. “You’re not surprised.”

“I...”

“You knew?!”

“Addie, Jesus Christ --” Allie says from across the room.

“No,” Addie interrupts. “Seriously? You told him?! Who else knows? Aunt Karen? Grandad? Matt?!”

“All of them,” Allie mumbles.

Addie collapses back onto the couch. “What is wrong with you? I don’t even... What is wrong with you?”

Allie walks cautiously forward and perches on the armchair, curling her legs up under her. “I was going to tell you. I was just... You were happy here. And I was afraid that if I told you, you’d come back and live with me and Mom, and you hated it there.”

“And when you moved back here? You didn’t think that maybe I should know?”

Allie sighs. “I... It had already been so long. And I knew if I told you, you’d be upset that I hadn’t told you sooner.”

“So you didn’t tell me for two years? You’re right, I’m totally less upset now than I would’ve been if you’d said something back then? Are you crazy?!”

“It’s kind of hard to bring up.”

“No. You know what’s kind of hard? Going to your mom’s house for the first time in forever to try to make peace with her so you don’t ruin Christmas dinner and having a kid show up at the door!”

“Addie,” I say softly.

She looks over at me, her eyes wild. “Oh, shut up. You knew, too! You knew!”

“I... Allie took me to see him because Chelsea was freaked out over being pregnant and she thought it would help. It wasn’t like she wanted to tell me, she just wanted to help us understand what it was going to be like. What our options were.”

She squints at me. “How does my little brother help you... Allie, what the fuck?”

“You didn’t tell her?!”

Allie looks up at me, her lip quivering. “I... She just assumed...”

“Jesus Christ, really? Really?”

“Adam.”

“No. Seriously. Addie, it’s not your mom’s kid. It’s your sister’s. Also, she got tested. I don’t have time for this shit.” I storm up the stairs, still wearing my coat.

“Why the fuck would you do that?!” Allie screams after me.

I slam the door to my room and collapse onto the bed. A few minutes pass, their raised voices trailing down the hall, before Addie comes stomping up the stairs and bursts into my room, sobbing.

“Addie...” I sit up, patting the bed next to me. “Sit.”

She sits, burying her head in my hands. “I don’t even know her,” she manages to choke out between sobs.

“I know.”

“I can’t even look at her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know her!” she wails, combing her hair back with trembling hands.

“I know. It’s okay.” I reach over to the bedside table and grab a handful of tissues. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

It takes her a long time, and almost an entire wastebasket of tissues, to calm down enough to say more than that.

“She could’ve told me. She could have just told me. I would have helped her. She’s my sister!” she sniffles.

“Maybe she thought she was doing what was best for you.”

“By lying to me? About this?!”

“I know.”

“I would have listened. If she’d just told me, I would have listened.”

“I know.”

“She could have told me. I would have listened.”

“I know.”

* * *

“Hello?”

“I’m outside your house. And I know that sounds really creepy, but I really need to see you. And I think if I wait until morning, I’m going to lose my nerve. Let me in?”

She appears in her bedroom window. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I don’t.”

“Adam...”

“Just let me in. Please.”

“Fine.” Her curtain falls back into place. A door slams. Footsteps echo down the stairs. The front door swings open. “What is it?”

I snap my phone shut and pocket it. “Can I come in?”

“I guess.” She steps aside to let me in, setting her phone down on the table by the door. “Adam, what are you doing here? It’s like --”

“Two in the morning. I know.”

“Is your dad okay?”

“He’s fine. Relatively. I... Sit down.”

She sits tentatively on the arm of the couch, the distant light from the kitchen bathing her in a soft glow. “What’s going on?”

I sit down across from her in her mother’s rocking chair, cracking my knuckles. “I’m listening.”

“Listening to what?”

“What you have to say.”

Her face softens. “Adam...”

“I steamrolled you. I was freaked out and stupid. I’m not saying I want to get back together. But I want to... I want us to make an informed decision. For what it’s worth.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Okay. Um... Adam, seriously, this is kind of...”

“I know. It’s stupid. Never mind. I’ll just... Go.” I stand, shoving my hands in my coat pockets. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Adam.”

“Sorry to wake you up.”

She leaps up and grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around. “Sit down.”

“Chelsea, you don’t have to.”

“I love you. I’ve told you that a hundred times, once in maybe the scariest speech I’ve ever given, and I... That’s what I have to say. Okay? That’s what I have to say.”

“It’s like you have our whole lives planned out for us. We’re just kids.”

“So you want us to break up just because we’re young and we don’t know what we’re doing? You know why people break up? Because they don’t fit together anymore. You’re trying to do a preemptive break-up. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t break up with me now because you think that when we’re forty we won’t get along anymore.”

“You love me more than I love you.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You want us to get married.”

“When did I ever say that?”

I sigh. “You said... I don’t know. You wanted a family. Like, now.”

“I wanted a father for... For my kid. It’s not the same thing. It wasn’t about you. It was about taking care of...” Her voice trails off.

“I don’t want to commit.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“If it bothered me, I would break up with you.”

I stare at her, her features barely visible in the dark, her face tilted up to look at me. “We break up too much.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I’m a dick.”

“I’m sorry you’re a dick, too.”

I step back, shrugging her hands off my shoulders. “So... What are we?”

“Relationship status? I don’t know. ‘It’s complicated’.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously, though.”

“I don’t know. What do you want to be?”

“I don’t know.”

She smirks. “Maybe we should get married.”

“I think I might officially break up with you for real now.”

She laughs. “You can’t break up with me unless we’re together.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She loops her arms around my neck and kisses me lightly, then pulls away quickly, crossing her arms. “I’m going back to bed. You should go home.”

“Will do.”

“And Adam?”

“Yep?”

“Get some sleep.”

But there’s somewhere else I need to go first.

* * *

“Hi, Adam.”

I manage a slight wave. “Hi. Is it open?”

She nods. “Open and empty. Will you keep an eye on things? I could really use a smoke break.”

“Sure.”

The door is always unlocked. There have been a lot of arguments over the years about whether it’s really wise, to leave it open like that. They compromised. Volunteers sit sentry during the night, supposedly to keep the riffraff out. But would they really turn anyone away? I don’t know.

If they’ll let me in, their standards must be pretty low.

But tonight, I’m not here to break windows or carve expletives in pews. I’m not here to destroy things. I’m tired of destroying things.

I’m here to listen.

I walk hesitantly into the sanctuary, pulling the door shut behind me. The only light on is the one over the cross. I choose a pew near the back, kneeling awkwardly, resting my head on my folded hands.

“You’re kind of a dick sometimes, you know?”

My voice echoes through the sanctuary. Sometimes, like now, it catches me off guard how much it sounds like my father’s.

“I mean, I get it. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it. Listening is important. Job had to listen to you, and Addie would have listened to Allie, and everything was basically fixed with Chelsea when I told her I wanted to listen to what she had to say. It’s kind of heavyhanded, don’t you think? I get the point. I’m supposed to listen to you. You know what you’re doing.

“But it’s not fair. I listened to him. I used to listen to him. And you gave him some fucked up disease that made him mute. The one person who knew how to talk to me. The one person who got me. And you fucked him up beyond all recognition. That’s so incredibly unfair. And yeah, maybe I should be outraged on his behalf, or Grandad’s, or even my mother’s, but I’m pissed off for me right now. This is me being mad on my own behalf. You suck if you think this is doing good things for me. We’re broke, and he’s going to be dead soon, and I’m tired of saying goodbye to him all the time. And you suck. If this is your idea of a plan, you should get a new job. Your plan blows.”

It’s so quiet. Snow casts odd shadows on the stained glass windows as it builds on the panes. I don’t know what I was expecting, coming here. Some kind of epiphany, maybe. More than a one-sided conversation. I have my father for those.

“I’m trying to listen to you. I am. I get that this whole thing seems kind of out of place, that me in a church voluntarily is kind of different, but I’m trying. I’m trying to reach out to you. Reach back.”

“Adam?”

Startled, I turn to face the voice. Grandad stands by the door, eyeing me quizzically.

“What are you doing here?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I could ask you the same thing.”

“I come here when I can’t sleep.” He walks slowly over to me and sits in the pew behind mine. “Why aren’t you at home?”

“I don’t know. Things there are kind of crazy. Addie found out about Will.”

“I know. Your mother called and told me.”

“Chelsea and I got back together.”

“When?”

“About half an hour ago.”

He laughs. “Carpe Noctem, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Your father was always a night owl.”

“Really?”

He nods. “I’d wake up and he’d be down in the living room, just reading. He liked the quiet. Don was always so loud. It drove your dad crazy, sharing a room with him. There was always music, or the telephone, or some excuse to make noise. Dennis just wanted to sit and read.”

‘What did he read?”

“Oh, comic books and stuff like that. He picked up some classics once he got to be about your age, but he only ever seemed to read them because they made him feel important. He liked books without much substance. He was such a serious kid. I think it helped him relax.”

“Did he ever read the Bible?”

I don’t know why I ask. It just seems an appropriate topic somehow, sitting in a church in the middle of the night.

Grandad laughs. “When he met your mother, he stayed up three days straight reading it. He’d told her on their first date that it was one of his favorite books, and he was terrified that if he didn’t have it read through before they saw each other again she would call him out as a fraud.”

“He had it bad.”

He smiles. “He was hopelessly in love with her. He was such a quiet kid, but when she was around he couldn’t stop talking. She made him so nervous. It took him three years to propose because he was so sure she would say no.”

“It didn’t bother him? That she was so religious?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“But he wasn’t. He never was. He never came to church with us when I was a kid.”

“It never bothered either of them. I suppose it wasn’t important.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s all that’s important to her. That’s who she is.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

I shrug. “I mean, it’s the truth.”

“Maybe,” he says quietly, looking at me over the top rim of his glasses, “It’s not that it’s important to her, so much as that it’s important to you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” He looks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You might be right. It’s too late for your old grandfather to be awake. I think I’m going home.”

“Okay.”

“Are you coming?”

“I think I’ll stay here awhile.”

As soon as the door closes behind him, I kneel again, shaking my head.

“You’re a piece of work. Why is it so urgent that I reconcile with my mother?”

Silence.

“Is he going to die? You can tell me. He’s going to die soon, isn’t he? That’s what this is about. That’s why everyone and his dog is on me lately to talk to her.”

Silence.

“Merry fucking Christmas to you, too.”

Word Count (this update): 3003
Word Count (total): 42008

That church scene was rewritten upwards of five times. I still hate it, but for the sake of my sanity and the 8K I have left to go, I gave up on it. I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends, which is an incredibly messy process, and certainly not an enjoyable one. At any rate, I'm very nearly caught up again, and hope to pound out another 3K tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

November 25th (Very late): I picture you in the sun

2008-11-25T22:52:00.000-08:00

“I’ve been calling.”

I stare at her for a moment before opening the door wider and waving her inside. “I know.”

She shoves her hands in her coat pockets. “And you haven’t been picking up.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

I sigh. “I thought we talked about this.”

“You talked. I didn’t get to talk. You did. You talked and then you hung up on me and it’s been four days and you haven’t picked up your phone yet.” She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before continuing. “Look, I’m not trying to be the psycho ex-girlfriend here. But you’re just kind of being a jerk.”

“Okay.”

“’Okay?’ It’s not okay, Adam. Jesus. Did you really think... Look, I know I was a bitch to you that day, and everything, but --”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

I sigh. “Not right now, Chelsea.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Then... Fine. Then stay. But I am. Leaving. So, uh... Whatever.” I open the closet and grab my coat. “Make yourself at home.”

“Seriously? You’re seriously doing this?”

I pull on my coat and open the door. “Yeah. I am.”

“You’re being kind of ridiculous.” She catches the door as it swings shut behind me, following me outside. “Adam. Seriously. We need --”

“We don’t need to do anything. We’re not dating. We’re not a couple. ‘We’ doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Why not?”

I roll my eyes and start down the walk towards the car, not looking at her. She runs to keep up with me.

“What changed?”

I shake my head, unlocking the car. “It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah. It is.” She pulls open the passenger door.

“Jesus Christ, Chelsea, I didn’t say you could come with me.”

“Then talk to me. I’ll get out if you just... Talk.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”

She sits down and buckles the seatbelt. “Then talk fast.”

I climb in and slam the door shut. “Are you seriously doing this?”

“You haven’t given me much of a choice.”

“Oh, God. I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be broken up with. Damn it. I knew I did something wrong.”

She crosses her arms. “You really don’t care, do you?”

“Of course I care.”

“No you don’t. You don’t care. Jesus, we’ve been going out for almost two years!” Her voice breaks. She looks away, shaking her head.

I sigh. “Don’t you think that’s... Long enough?”

“What, there’s a time limit on relationships? Seriously?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Yes you are. That’s not what you mean, but it’s what you’re saying.”

“Okay, fine. What do I mean?”

“You mean that you don’t love me.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

She laughs. “Right. Sure.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Do you?”

I roll my eyes. “I just said --”

“You don’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Chelsea.”

“You used to,” she says earnestly, staring out the windshield. “I know you did. You used to...”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters! Are you stupid?”

“We’re not even together anymore!”

She bites the inside of her cheek, turning to look at me. “Why not?”

“What do you want, a list?”

“A list would be nice.”

I sigh, looking out the window. Snow falls haphazardly outside, individual flakes tumbling to the ground. “I don’t love you as much as you love me.”

“So you’re breaking up with me? That doesn’t even make sense.”

I tilt my head back, inhaling sharply. “We don’t belong together. I feel like you have my whole life planned out for me. Like... You want to be the one who’s there for me in the end, just to prove you can handle it. But that’s... It’s a long time from now. And I don’t want to spend my whole life with you, I don’t even... I just... If I don’t break up with you, I don’t think you’re ever going to be able to convince yourself to break up with me. So, yeah. I’m breaking up with you.” I pause, cracking my knuckles against the steering wheel. “Can you go now?”

“Okay.”

She climbs out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her. She gives me a long look through the window, her eyes bright with tears, before running to her own car and collapsing into the driver’s seat.

I gun the engine and take off without looking back.

* * *

“Chelsea came to see me.”

“Really?” Matt tosses me the bag of potato chips and leans back against the counter, sipping his soda. “She want to get back together?”

“I guess so.”

“And you don’t?”

I shrug. “I mean... I like the idea of having a girlfriend. I like the idea of having a life, period. But she’s... When she broke up with me, she said all these things, and I guess usually when people break up they say mean things because they’re angry? But she just said them like she was too tired not to say them anymore. And they were, I don’t know, true. I mean, her being pregnant wasn’t enough to make me want to commit to her. Seriously? If that doesn’t, then what will? I feel like she’s in this for the long haul and I’m just some chump who somehow got sucked up in her plans.”

He nods slowly, cocking his head to one side. “Makes sense.”

“I love her, I guess, it’s just... I don’t know, she says all these things to me, like I make her head quiet, or some shit, and it’s like... She really loves me. Like, in this big, ugly, intense way that I can’t even imagine. I just... I don’t feel that way about her. She doesn’t make my head quiet. She doesn’t bring out the best in me. Most of the time she brings out something really gross and awful in me. And that’s not... I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with her. Most of the time I don’t even want to spend a night with her. And I guess it’s been like that for awhile, I just haven’t wanted to see it. Because she gets me. And it’s exhausting, to get to know somebody well enough that they get you. And it was just... Convenient. I guess. But that’s not how she feels about me. I’m not convenient for her, I’m messy and annoying and difficult, but she wants to be with me anyway. And it just doesn’t seem fair.”

“But you love her.”

“Sure. I just... I don’t want to be with her forever. And it seems like that’s what she wants from me.”

He nods. “Right.”

“I just feel kind of guilty about the whole thing.”

“You want my opinion?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

“No, seriously. I don’t want you to get all huffy over me meddling.”

“I said sure.”

“Okay.” He clears his throat, shifting his jaw from side to side for a moment before continuing. “I just... It doesn’t seem like you’ve heard much of what she has to say about this.”

“She told me she wanted to be my family.”

“Does she say that now or did she say that when she was pregnant?”

I nod. “Point taken.”

“It just seems to me like yeah, when she was pregnant, she started making plans, and those plans included you being there in the long term. Which obviously scared the shit out of you, and I get that. But it’s like, now that things have gone the way they have, you guys still have a relationship. And it’s not that things are going to be exactly the same as they were before, and it’s not that you have to stay together, even, it’s just... I think if you’re looking for reasons to leave her, you’ve picked all the wrong ones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. It probably came out wrong. Just... You can’t take things she said then and translate them to now. That doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t... It just doesn’t work. It’s like, she was probably rethinking her college plans to some extent when she found out she was pregnant, thinking about staying closer to home so that her parents could help out. Fine. But now that she’s not pregnant, don’t you think she’ll go back to her original plans?”

“I mean, I guess. But it’s different.”

“Yeah, of course it’s different. But you keep talking about what you think, based on presumptions about what she thinks. And you... I mean, you can’t know what she thinks if you don’t talk to her.”

“Interesting.”

He sighs. “You’re not going to talk to her, are you?”

“It’s just... We’ve been dating forever. And I don’t think... I mean, I don’t see the point in going to all this effort to make it work, when we’re going our separate ways in a few months, anyway.”

“The point? The point is that you love each other and you don’t just ditch somebody you love because things suck all of a sudden. Like, what’s the point in visiting your dad? Really? You’ve said yourself that he doesn’t know you’re there. You’ve said yourself that it feels futile and it makes you angry. What good does it do you? But you spend like, hours a day there. Because you don’t just ditch your family.”

“But... I don’t know. I mean, it’s different with my dad. He’s... You know. It’s just different.”

“Jesus, Adam, how long have you and Chelsea been dating?”

“Uh... Like a year and a half. Since the end of sophomore year.”

“She’s basically family. You talk to her more than you do your family. You bitch about her more than you do your family. At the very least you should call her and ask for her side of the story. Her new side. And if you still want to break up, that’s fine, but if you’re going to break it off, you owe her that much.”

I crack my knuckles. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

I pull open the chips and sit down on the edge of the table. “So, my mother told me I should come to Bible study tonight.”

“Doesn’t she tell you that every week?”

“Not really. It kind of caught me off guard.”

He nods. “Are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to... I don’t know, get along with her. She said she really wants me to come. It’s just... I mean, it’s Bible study. And it doesn’t help that I burst in there a couple weeks ago calling her a cheating whore.”

“No kidding.”

“I just... I don’t know. Now that Dad’s having all the heart problems and everything... Or I guess, now that we know about them, there’s this sense that I need to patch things up with her. I don’t even know where to start, though. I mean, seriously? Every time we have a decent conversation it ends in one of us storming out of the room. It’s like... We just don’t know how to talk to each other. We don’t have anything in common.”

“You want my advice?”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

“Dude, she’s your mom. She will talk to you about anything you want. A fifteen minute conversation about exactly how many granules of sugar you like in your coffee would probably be the highlight of her day.”

“I mean, yeah, we can make mindless small talk. But... I don’t know. Things are just really tense.”

“Do yourself a favor?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Just... Go to Bible study. Tonight. She’s trying. You should try back.”

* * *

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.

I crack my knuckles.

“Tonight,” she says, speaking now to the six dozen people crowded into the room, “we’re going to talk about Job. I know that Christmas is next week, and maybe you all were expecting to talk about the Nativity story. To be honest, we could. It would make sense. The Nativity is a beautiful, beautiful story, and if any one of you hasn’t read it, you absolutely should. But tonight, tonight the focus is on Job. My son’s favorite.” She smiles down at me, rolling her eyes and laughing lightly. “This is my son Adam, for anyone who doesn’t recognize him. Adam hates the book of Job. I think a lot of people do. It’s not very uplifting. It’s not a feel-good book. But it’s my favorite, and it’s one I find myself coming back to almost daily, because even though it’s ugly and awful and it doesn’t give us any of the easy answers, it reminds me that trusting God, no matter what happens, is the most important thing.

“So let’s talk! I don’t see anyone unfamiliar in here; is anyone new this week? No? Awesome. Let’s jump right in, then. What do we know about Job?”

A middle-aged woman in the third row raises her hand. “He was cursed by God.”

“Interesting that you would say that. It’s not that you’re wrong, it’s just how you phrase it. Was he cursed? I think so. I really do. But the way we think of curses, or at least the way I think of curses, are as some kind of retribution. As if Job were being punished. But he wasn’t, was he?”

“No,” answers a man, sitting on the end of the front row. “It says in the very first verse. ‘The man was blameless.’”

“Right. So he wasn’t being punished. He had done nothing wrong. So why did God curse him?”

“To test him,” someone offers.

“Exactly. The whole idea of Job, what’s at the very heart of his story, is the idea that anybody can be a good person if he or she is untested. It’s not hard to love God when everything’s going your way, right? God had to know if Job’s faith was real. So He tested him. He killed his livestock, his family. He destroyed Job. He took Job’s perfect, God-fearing existence and turned it upside down. And Job was distraught, but he passed God’s test, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but God was kind of a dick about it.”

My mother looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “He did. He passed. His friends tried to convince him that he should forsake God, and Job looked to God for answers that he never received. But he trusted. And, remarkably, he praised God. He said, ‘The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ Blessed be the name of the Lord. Job is the ultimate disciple of God, isn’t he? It’s not just that he doesn’t forsake God; he actually exhalts Him!”

“That would never actually happen, though.”

She looks down at me. “What, Adam?”

“That would never happen. Nobody’s actually like that. Nobody would do that. Job is just some unreachable ideal of piety. People aren’t like that. People are angry and vengeful and if you kill someone they love, they don’t forgive you, and they definitely don’t praise you. It’s just... It’s bullshit. Job is bullshit.”

Everyone stares at me. No one says a word.

“You’re right.”

I look up at her, startled. “What?”

“You’re right. I’ve never met anyone like Job. I’d like to. I can’t even imagine how much I could learn if I did. But do you think that, just because none of us are like him, his story is worthless? Don’t you think we could, at the very least, become better people just for trying to emulate Job?”

“God is supposed to be benevolent,” I reply. “And they say that free will, that’s what creates all the evil. That it’s man who is his own undoing. But that’s so not true. Yeah, if some guy shoots you, that was a product of free will. It’s bad enough that it’s not your fault, but it fits with the theory. Even starving people, fine, a product of free will. People throw out tons of food in rich countries, and there isn’t enough of it in poor countries. Unequal resources is human will begetting death and hunger. That works. But what about, I don’t know, diseases? How exactly does Dad fit in with all of that?”

She blinks a few times before turning to the group. “He’s talking about his father. My husband. Most of you probably know, but he has Huntington’s Disease. He’s been suffering for a long time.” She turns back to me. “I’m actually glad that you’re asking that. Because that’s what Job is all about. Diseases like Dad’s, or like anybody else’s, they’re not something we really understand. They just seem like malevolence, on God’s part. Destruction for the sake of destroying something. But that’s how it appears to us. We weren’t there! God gives this beautiful speech in Job about how He was the only one who was there when the universe was created, how He is the only one who can possibly understand its complexities. People get sick because God feels, or knows, really, that it’s necessary. It’s not that they’re being punished, and it’s not that anyone at all did anything wrong to make them that way. They just... Are. And it doesn’t seem fair, but justice isn’t something we get to decide. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s God’s plan. We just have to trust Him.”

I roll my eyes. “You seriously believe that? That Dad is dying for some greater good? How can you even say that with a straight face? Oh, God knows that Dad had to get sick. If he’s all-powerful like he’s supposed to be, then why couldn’t he find a way to get the same ‘greater good’ without killing my father?!”

“You can’t ask questions like that, honey. You can’t! That’s... That’s everything that the book of Job was given to us to warn against. You can’t question God, you can’t --”

“Yeah. I can. And... Given to us? What kind of shit is that? Like, thank God, I was just about to be tortured and discontent because my father’s dying this horrible death and I probably will, too, but I have Job and his shining, superhuman example to see me through! I’m so grateful!”

“But that’s what the Bible is all about, Adam. It’s about giving us examples. It’s about showing us people who are just like us, and people who are nothing like us, and giving us something to aspire to. It’s not supposed to alienate you.”

“Too late.” I stand, tossing my Bible onto the chair and picking up my coat. “I tried.”

“I know,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

I pull on my coat and walk out, looking straight down at the ground. It doesn’t help. I can feel them watching me.

Just before the door slams shut, I hear my mother, her voice shaking. “I told you he hated Job.”

* * *

Word Count (this update): 3155
Word Count (total): 38952

Almost to 40K. I'm actually feeling inspired today, and I'm trying to hit 40K before bed, but I decided to post this now. I've mapped out everything, K by K, until 50K, which seems to be making everything much easier. I do believe I might actually finish this thing! There was a whole lot of doubt there, at one point, but today has been a good day. Thanks for reading!

November 24th (very late): I didn't even notice it 'til it fell apart

2008-11-24T22:51:00.001-08:00

Chapter 9
The human spirit can endure in sickness,
but a crushed spirit who can bear?
Proverbs 18:14

“Adam?”

I groan.

“Adam, honey, wake up. Honey. Wake up.”

I roll over groggily and look at the clock. Two thirteen a.m. On a Saturday, no less. I sit up and rub my eyes. My mother sits down next to me on the bed and rubs my back.

“What is it?” I manage, my tongue like a wad of cotton in my mouth.

“Honey, she... Chelsea’s parents just called. She’s back at the hospital.”

I leap out of bed. “Just now?”

“Sweetheart, sit down.”

“They said she was fine. Wednesday. I was there. She said they said she was fine.”

“She was, honey. And she is. But the baby...”

“Gone?”

She doesn’t respond.

I reach over and turn on the light. Sitting there on the bed in her sweats, arms crossed tightly across her chest, she looks so... Old.

“Can I see her?”

She shakes her head. “She’s coming home in a little while. They said you can come by later today.”

I lean against the desk, my head spinning. “They said it was fine. They promised her it was fine. Two days ago! How much can change in two days?”

“A lot. Honey, go back to bed. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you should know.”

“Okay.”

“Adam...”

“No. It’s fine. Leave. Please. I know now. Bye.”

She looks at me sadly for a moment and rises, nodding. “Okay.”

She shuts the door quietly behind her.

I collapse back into bed, reaching over and turning off the light. I lay there for hours in the dark, listening to the thudding of my own heart.

* * *

“I brought these. I... They go with your curtains.”

She takes the flowers and forces a smile. “Come in.”

Her parents are sitting on the couch, pretending not to notice me. We breeze past them up the stairs.

Once we’re sequestered in her room, Chelsea sinks to the ground. “They’re pretty. The flowers.”

“Chels...”

“No. I mean, it’s nice. That you brought them. It’s really thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

I stand awkwardly by the door. “Are you...”

“I’m fine.” She pulls her left knee to her chest and rests her chin on it, staring straight ahead. “I... I didn’t want to be pregnant. Now I’m not. That’s good, right? I guess everybody got what they wanted.”

“Chelsea.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m... Fine. Really. It’s like... I think I just convinced myself that I wanted... I didn’t want it. The baby. Or whatever it was. I just... I don’t know. I don’t know.”

I slide down the door and stretch out my legs in front of me, my toes barely an inch from her thigh. “It’s fine if you’re not fine. Nobody expects you to be fine.”

“I don’t care. I am. This just... I mean, it’s a blessing, really. I’m lucky. I don’t have to be some pregnant teenage whore anymore.”

“You’re not a whore.”

“You really think anyone would be thinking that? Really? Teenage pregnancy doesn’t scream ‘I slept with one guy and we were in a committed relationship!’” She laughs, resting her cheek on her knee, the back of her head glaring at me. “I mean, I guess that makes sense, because I wasn’t in a committed relationship. I’m not in a committed relationship. My boyfriend didn’t even want to commit to me when he knew he was the father of my kid. So I guess they’d be right.”

“Chelsea.”

She picks up her head and looks at me, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “It was kind of a dick move.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’re just kind of a dick, in general.”

“Chelsea.”

She runs her tongue over her teeth. “Maybe... Maybe you should go.”

“Chelsea.”

“Please.”

“Seriously? Is this seriously how we’re going to do this?”

She shakes her head. “Just... Go.”

I stand and leave without saying a word, slamming the door behind me. Mr. Robbins shakes his head disgustedly as I rush past him, whispering something to his wife. I slam the front door and run to my car, my shoes sinking into the snow, my heart pumping.

I barely have the car door shut behind me when I burst into tears.

* * *

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Allie smiles up at him, looping her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Grandad. I love it.”

Addie grabs a gift bag off the end of the table and pulls the card out of the tissue paper. “Aww, it’s from Adam! Nice bubble handwriting.”

“Allie did it. She said she was tired of not being able to tell which one of you my presents were for.”

“Your handwriting does suck,” Allie offers.

“Thanks. It isn’t too late for me to take back the super-awesome birthday present I got you, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Addie holds up a hand. “Everybody shut up! I’m getting ready to open it.”

“Getting ready? What exactly do you have to do to prepare?”

She glares at me and reaches into the bag. “Ooh, it’s... A rectangle! You gave me a rectangle! And it’s shiny!”

“Let me see.” Allie snatches it out of her hands. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

I nod, rolling my eyes. “I try.”

My mother leans over Allie’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“Mary Poppins. Adam’s on a mission to expose me to classic children’s movies.” She wrinkles her nose and grins at me. “Thanks. Greatly appreciated.”

“Sure. Open this one next.” I grab a poorly wrapped box from the end of the table and hand it to Allie.

“Oooh, I hope I get a shiny rectangle.” She tears into the paper as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I excuse myself quickly and walk into the living room. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

I lean against the wall. “Hey.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I glance around the corner. Allie is laughing, holding a book up next to her cheek, smiling for my mother’s camera. I shake my head. “It’s fine, Chels. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

She inhales sharply. “You don’t believe me.”

“I think you... I think maybe... Maybe we should just, I don’t know, take a break.”

“Adam. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did. And as bitchy as a lot of it was, you were right. I... I’m not ready to commit. And if you being pregnant didn’t change that, then now...”

She sniffs, a hollow sucking sound amplified by the phone. “Please don’t do this. I’m trying to apologize. I mean it, Adam.”

“No, you’re right. We’ve been together since what, sophomore year? I don’t think... I think maybe we should see other people. Get to know what’s out there.”

“I don’t want to see other people.”

“Then maybe we just shouldn’t see each other.”

“But...”

“I should go. The twins... It’s their birthday. I... We can talk about this later, if you really need to. Whatever.”

I snap the phone shut and pocket it, sauntering back into the kitchen.

Addie cocks her head to one side. “We waited for you to start in on the cake. Are you good?”

I force a smile. “Yeah. Yeah. Cake sounds awesome.”

In my pocket, my phone vibrates. I pull it out and shut it off without even looking at the display. “Anyone else want milk?”

* * *

“So you and Chelsea broke up.”

I slam my locker shut and stare at him. “I was wondering when you were going to talk to me again.”

“I don’t do the silent treatment. I’m not in second grade and I’m not a girl.”

“You could’ve fooled me last week.”

“Last week I was, indeed, a second grade girl. But I’m older and wiser now.”

I shoulder my backpack. “I see.”

“Seriously, though. That’s rough. You and Chelsea.”

“It was kind of mutual.” I start off down the hall.

He snorts, running to catch up with me. “That’s not what Allie said.”

“Allie doesn’t know everything.”

“Yeah, but I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

I shake my head. “Fine. She broke up with me.”

“Yeah. That’s what I heard. Tough break.”

“It made sense. It was... Fine. One of us was going to have to do it.”

“Because obviously your relationship was doomed to fail.”

I shrug. “It kind of was.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really? I don’t know. I thought you guys kind of... Worked.”

“Matt, stop.”

“Sorry. It’s just weird. It’s been a long time since you were single.”

“It’s good to be single. I like being single.”

“If you say so.”

I drop my backpack and sit down, leaning back against the wall. Matt does the same.

“How’s your dad?”

“Hospice-y.”

“I heard.”

“Grandad’s there like, all the time. He only really comes home to sleep.”

“Must be tough.”

“Yeah.” I crack my knuckles, looking down awkwardly at my lap. “I mean, you can visit. If you want. He likes you. My dad.”

“Yeah, sure.”

We sit in silence for awhile. Eventually, Matt clears his throat.

“Allie’s worried about you.”

“Good for her.”

“I just... She says you’ve been kind of freaked out lately.”

“No more than usual.”

He sighs. “Are you pissed at me?”

“No.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“I’m not pissed at you.”

“Alright. Whatever.”

Silence. Matt stares straight ahead, his arms crossed. I cross my legs and pull a folder out of my backpack, flipping through it idly.

“Look,” he says finally, staring at his watch, “at the risk of sounding like I’ve been castrated, I’m worried about you, too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I used to have friends. There was a whole group of us. We were up to no good, most of the time. But most teenagers are. A couple years ago, when things with my dad started getting bad fast, I stopped spending so much time with them. We still hung out on weekends, went to the odd party as a pack, but somehow, since then, they’ve all dropped off one by one. Matt’s the one who stuck around. Maybe just because of Allie. Maybe because he was the only one who was ever really my friend to begin with.

I visit my dad so much because it makes me feel better about hating my mother. It proves that I am a good son. I am a good son. I’ve given up my life to spend time with a father who doesn’t recognize me as his son.

But I used to have friends.

Sometimes I miss that.

* * *

“Hey, Grandad.”

He shakes his head rapidly, his eyelids fluttering open. “Oh. Hey, champ. Glad you’re here.”

“How is he?”

He shrugs. “The same.”

“He looks thinner. I don’t know why.”

“The light, maybe. He is awfully thin. They’re trying, though. To keep his weight up.” He takes the book resting on his stomach and sets it on the table beside him. “Good day at school?”

“It was okay. Talked to Matt.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He said he might come by. Sometime.”

Grandad nods. “I think your dad’d like that.”

“Yeah. I thought so.”

We all do it. At first I thought it was just my mother. Then I realized it was me, too. Now I see it in everyone. We talk all kinds of shit about him because we’re afraid to tell the truth. That he has no likes or dislikes. That he has no idea who Matt is. That he’s nearly a vegetable, at this point, and we’re still clinging hopelessly to who he was before.

We all do it. We’re all holding on. We all have to. If any one of us lets go, the rest won’t be able to hold him.

“Aunt Melissa is officially coming for Christmas.”

He nods. “Your mom told me.”

“Did she tell you that she wants to do it here?”

“She did.”

“And?”

He purses his lips. “It’s probably his last Christmas.”

“I know.”

“Dinner and all of that could still be at the house. But I think it would be nice to open gifts here. Surround him with family. All of that.” He clears his throat uncomfortably. “They... Um, they seem to think... They’re wondering if there might be something wrong with his heart.”

I cross my arms, cocking my head to one side. “Since when?”

“I... I don’t know. Your grandmother died of pneumonia, Don fell, I didn’t even... No one ever told me it could affect your heart. I never...”

“And they never noticed anything with it before now?”

“They noticed. It just never... It’s gotten worse lately. They think he has heart disease.”

“Does my mother know?”

He nods slowly. “The other day. They called her. You were... I think that was the day your girlfriend...”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head and sighs deeply. “He... He’s fine though. For now. They’re watching him. But they... He signed the papers a long time ago. The Do Not Resuscitate order. I never could imagine he would need to use it. But maybe...”

“Maybe.”

His heart. Until now, it was always his brain. His brain cells are dying, his brain is giving way. But his heart? We never thought about his heart. Heart attacks are the deaths of normal middle-aged men, men who drink too much and eat too much and smoke two packs a day. Heart attacks aren’t something that happen to men who are already dying. There’s something so cruel about it. It’s overkill.

His heart. For years my mother has talked about it to friends, to strangers at her Bible study, to strangers crowded into fundraisers, to strangers in line at the supermarket. He has such a good heart, such an open heart, she knows his heart aches at the thought of missing this, even if this is just another day on the outside.

His heart.

Word Count (this update): 2311
Word Count (total): 35696

November 23rd: Hope is the thing with feathers

2008-11-23T18:21:00.000-08:00

Chapter 8
"For I know the plans I have for you,"
declares the Lord. "Plans to prosper you
and not to harm you, plans
to give you hope and a future."
(Jeremiah 29:11)

“Where are you going?!”

“Home.” She bites the inside of her cheek and sighs. “Look, Adam, they said... They said it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I believe them.”

“I don’t. Are you... Are you sure?”

“I’m not gonna stay here if they think it’s fine. Of course I’m sure. Since when... Since when are you so worried about it anyway? You wanted me to have an abortion.”

“I wanted you... I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She rolls her eyes. “Save it. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“I’m the person you called to rescue you!”

“And I was an idiot to call you! I was an idiot to get pregnant and I was an idiot to... To grovel for you when you just... You just treat me like shit!”

“Whatever. This is... This is... I’m not going to argue with you. Jesus. I’m sorry I tried to do the right thing.”

Her face softens. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know. I’m just... Nervous, I guess. This has kind of been a... A crazy day. My parents... Look, they’re not your biggest fans right now. I guess I just... I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But I... I think I should go home. They said everything was fine. I... I really just want to go home.”

“Okay.”

My mother walks up and puts her arm around my shoulders. I shrug it off. “You headed home, Chelsea?”

Chelsea nods silently.

“Call if anything worries you again, okay? We want updates.”

She nods again. “Sure.” Her eyes linger on mine for a moment before she turns away and joins her parents. Her father puts his arm around her shoulder. Her mother says something quietly into her ear.

I glance over at my mother, crossing my arms over my chest. “My car’s all fucked up,” I say softly, tears springing inexplicably to my eyes.

“We’ll take mine,” she replies, putting her arm around me again.

This time, I let it stay.

* * *

“Is she okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. She’s fine.”

“Are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know.”

Addie sits down on the floor, pushing the door shut behind her. “I’m sorry.”

“Everything’s fine. Everything’s... The same way it was. I’m still... Still gonna be a dad.” I force a smile.

She grimaces back at me. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, it’s not like... I don’t... I don’t fucking want her to...”

“I know. I just... Never mind.”

I crack my knuckles one by one, staring down at my hands. “Why’d you tell my mother to come to the hospital?” I mutter, not lifting my eyes.

“Because she’s your mother.”

“That’s not fair. I called you... Just to let you know where I was. Not because I wanted my mother to come save me.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you call her?”

“Because she’s your mother.”

“It doesn’t make any more sense when you say it twice.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you thought you needed to be called, you would have called her. So I really... This isn’t about what you think you need. This is... This is about what I think. And I think you need your mom. I think you don’t want to, but I think you do. And if something... If she was sitting all by herself in a hospital waiting room? I would call you.”

“So you really just want to play God.”

“I really just want to help you.”

“I don’t try to force you and your mother to reconnect. You see me over here, not meddling? Have you ever tried that? Because I’m kind of getting sick of everyone fucking with my life.”

“Adam.”

“No, seriously. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. My girlfriend almost has a miscarriage and I’m freaking out and I call you because I just... Because I trust you to actually act like you’ve got some sense, and you treat it like some fucked up bonding opportunity. What the fuck, Addie?”

She watches me earnestly for a long moment. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“So why didn’t you come? Why didn’t Grandad? Why did you have to send her?”

“Because I didn’t have a car and Allie was AWOL and Grandad already has enough to worry about and you don’t have any friends anymore!” she says in one breath, the volume of her voice rising with each word. “Maybe you should just be happy that someone wanted to chase after you.”

“I don’t need anyone to chase after me.”

“Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. Whatever. You don’t need anybody.” She rises to her feet, pulling at the hem of her shirt. “You know... Never mind.”

“What?”

“You... Never mind.” She opens the door and steps out into the hallway, then back into the room, pushing it shut again. “I think you pretend you don’t need anybody because then it doesn’t suck so much when everybody leaves you.”

“Get out.”

She shrugs and slips out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

I slump down in the desk chair, eyes trained on the door. Waiting for her to come in and apologize. Trying not to think.

She doesn’t come back.

I’m mustering the energy to go downstairs and grab a sandwich when my phone rings in my pocket. I reach in and pull it out. Chelsea’s name flashes on the display.

I swallow hard and flip it open. “Yep?”

“Come over.”

“I can’t. Your parents are going to castrate me.”

“Come over. I want to... We need to talk.”

“I think maybe we should just... Not talk. For awhile.”

“Adam.”

I sigh. “What?”

“Please.”

“Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

* * *

Mr. Robbins glares at me when I come in, but doesn’t say a word. His wife stares down at her knitting. Chelsea is sitting on the bottom stair, her sweatshirt pulled down over her knees. She waves at me halfheartedly when I come in. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

She adjusts her sweatshirt and stands, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind her up the stairs. She doesn’t say a word until we’re in her room, the door closed behind us.

“I have something to say to you. And I wrote it down, because I always... I always chicken out. Or I change what I’m trying to say halfway through. And I don’t want you to miss this. It’s... It’s important.”

She grabs a crumpled piece of paper off her desk.

“Chelsea, stop.”

She shakes her head, pushing me away, unfolding the paper with one hand. “Sit. Listen.”

I sit.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and starts reading, her voice and hands shaking, her eyes never lifting from the paper. “I love you. I have to start by saying that because if I don’t say it I don’t think you’ll believe that it’s true. But I do. I love you because you’re an idiot and you don’t listen and you take everybody for granted and you’re angry and you’re stupid. And those are probably stupid reasons to love somebody, but... I like being the one who can reign you in.

“But that’s not... I love you for more than that. Those are just the unexpected things. But I love you because you’re a good guy. I really believe that, even if half the time you seem bent on convincing me otherwise. But... I love you because you visit your dad almost every day, even though it breaks your heart, and because the way you look at him when you’re with him breaks my heart. And because... Because you buy the twins birthday presents and Christmas presents even though the two days are only like, a week apart. And because you come running to help me whenever I ask, even though I act like a bitch when you do. And I... I love you because I trust you to do the right thing, and... I do. I love you. And I know that seems like overkill, that this whole speech seems like overkill, but I do. Because you’re... You’re kind of awesome. Even though half the time I hate you and I want to kill you. But you make me happy. There aren’t all that many people out there who do, you know? I... I want to keep you around.”

She sighs, flipping the paper over. “I know you think I don’t understand. That it would be hard. That if you have it, you will... You’ll be like your dad. Someday. That it’ll be me, and our kids, who have to move you to hospice and come visit you even though you don’t remember us and we’ll be scared and lonely and I get that you don’t want to hurt me like that. I get that you don’t want to have kids because you’re barely even eighteen, but also because you’re afraid that they’ll get sick too, or at least that they’ll have to worry about it, and you don’t want anybody to ever have to worry because of you. And I... I understand. I get that you’ve got this ugly, ugly life with all these ugly, ugly worries and I get that you don’t think I know how hard it will be. And I probably don’t. And I get that you don’t want me to have this kid because if you have it, and if the baby has it, then I’ll have to watch him or her die and you don’t think I’m strong enough, or you don’t want me to suffer, or maybe both of those things. I get that. I get that you don’t think I know. And I don’t. I don’t... I haven’t lived what you have. I don’t know what it would be like, what it could be like. But... But here’s what I know.

“I know that I love you. Every part of you. Even the part of you that might die and leave me, and even the part of you that’s stubborn and ugly, and even the part of you that makes me sick with frustration, and even the part of you that doubts that I can do this. I love you. And I’m telling you, because I’m stupid and brave and because I don’t know, I’m telling you that I don’t care. I don’t care that maybe someday you’re going to die and it’s going to break my heart. I don’t care that maybe having kids with you is going to mean that I’m going to have to bury my own children. I don’t care that you’re stupid and stubborn and ugly. I don’t care. I love you and I want to be with you because you make me happy. I walk around all the time with this buzzing uncertainty in my head, and I get tired and scared and lonely and tortured but when I’m around you... You make my head quiet. And I love that you can reign me in like that. I love that you’re the one who can reign me in. And that’s why I love you and that’s... That’s why you’re my first choice.”

She folds the paper and drops it on the floor. Her eyes are shining, tears cascading down her face. “What?” she sniffs. “You’re looking at me all weird.”

I grab her hands, pulling her gently down onto the bed next to me. “I love you too.”

“I know.”

“I think you’re kind of crazy.”

“I am.”

“I don’t want... I mean, we’re just kids. I’m not ready to settle down and get married. I’m not ready to... To make speeches. I just... I’m scared. I’m a stupid, scared kid and I don’t know what I want and I definitely don’t know how to get it and I just... What kind of father is that? What kind of father would I be? I don’t even... I don’t even know how to be me yet, much less a dad.”

She laughs. “Seriously?”

“I like that this is funny to you. I like that you think this is so hilarious.”

She shakes her head, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “No, I don’t, I promise. It’s just... What did you think you were going to be like when you were eighteen? When you were a kid, I mean?”

“I don’t know. What kind of question is that?”

“I just mean... When I was nine, I was sure that by the time I was this old, I would have it all together and I would know exactly what I wanted to do with my life and I thought for sure I would be happy and I would have learned to dance and I would be valedictorian and captain of like, five sports teams and that I would go to some famous and fantastic college and my entire life would just fall in my lap. And then I got here and it was like... I am none of those things. Most mornings I brush my teeth twice because I can’t remember whether I’ve done it already. And I’m pregnant. Which was never, ever the plan.”

“Okay...”

“I’m just saying. If you wait until you’re thirty to have kids? Whether you do it with me or with somebody else? You still won’t know what you’re doing. You still won’t have it together and you still won’t know how to be a dad. Except then it will be even scarier because you’ll know that your kids will still be growing up when you get sick, if you’re gonna get sick and...” She sighs. “I just want you to see this the way I do. And I don’t think it’s a good thing that I got pregnant but I don’t want... I just... I want to keep it. And I can’t really explain why. It just feels like what’s right for me, and I want it to be... I want it to be right for you, too.”

I sigh. “Chelsea, I asked you out sophomore year and yeah, I love you, but we’re... I just... I don’t want to be the guy who ditches his pregnant girlfriend but I also never planned to, I don’t know, marry you.”

“Well I never planned to have your baby, either. And I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“You’re asking me to spend basically forever with you.”

“I’m not asking you anything but to try to understand me!”

“I don’t understand you! I don’t understand why you want to be a pregnant seventeen year old and I don’t understand why you’re so infatuated with my mother that you want to marry me just so you can be like her and I don’t understand why you love me because I kind of suck!”

She crosses her arms. “You think I want to be with you just so I can be like your mom?”

“Well, everything you do is about making her like you. Everything anyone does is about making her like them. It’s like seventh grade politics except it’s my entire life!”

“Are you stupid?” She stands, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want your mother to like me because I think she’s awesome. I think she’s sad and messed up and I have never, not for one second, thought that she was a good parent to you because good parents don’t raise kids that are as fucked up as you are. I want her to like me because I love you and even if you pretend that it doesn’t, it matters to you what she thinks.”

I stare at her, mouth agape. “You don’t think she was a good parent?”

She rolls her eyes. “That is so not the point of this conversation!”

“No, but you don’t? Really?”

She sighs. “I think she tried to be. I think she loves you as much as anything, and I think she tries to do what’s best for you. But yeah, I think she’s too busy helping everybody else to help you, and you need a whole lot of help. So no, she’s not a good parent, not really, but she’s trying to be one, and... I mean, fuck, it’s not like you’re a very good son, either. But she loves you. Even if she makes a lot of mistakes.”

I stare down at the bedspread. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

“Said what?”

“They always talk about how lucky I am to have her and how fucked up I am and how great she is. Nobody’s ever admitted to me that she was anything less than perfect. I just... I just wanted somebody else to see it. How messed up she was. Is.”

“I see it.”

I look up at her. “You do?”

“I see it.” She perches beside me, pulling her hands up inside her sleeves. “I think maybe your mom is really good at being a mom, she’s just not good at being your mom. Maybe because you remind her so much of your dad.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. But seriously, Adam... She’s a good person. And she loves you. That counts for a hell of a lot.”

I look at her for a long moment. “You’re going to be a good mom.”

A smile spreads across her face. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

She grabs my hand and stares at it for a moment, rubbing her fingers over my palm. “I don’t want you to settle down with me if that’s not what you want. I don’t want that to be something that you regret. I just... I want to be with you. For entirely selfish reasons. But I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me. I understand...”

“Of course I want to have something to do with you. I’m just... I don’t know if I’m ready to have a family, you know?”

“I know. But... I’ll be here. When you are.”

Word Count (this update): 3305
Word Count (total): 33468

I've written a little past this and hope to have another big, full-chapter post up tomorrow. We're getting to the part where there's going to be a lot more going on, which is good. I'm getting tired of the big long speeches. Though there are still a few more of those left, so if those are your thing, don't despair! :-P Anyway, enjoy. Thanks for reading.

November 21: And He takes, and He takes, and He takes

2008-11-21T20:20:00.000-08:00

“I was hoping you’d be home.”

Addie pulls out her earbuds and drops her pencil. “Yeah, just working on homework. Tuesdays are the work of Satan. What’s up?”

I sit down on the edge of Allie’s bed, crossing my legs. “I... He... I feel like I’ve been bullshitting myself for months.”

She swivels the desk chair around to face me. “Your dad?”

“I... Yeah. It’s just like, every time his fingers twitch, I think he’s trying to grip my hand. And if he coughs when I’m talking to him? I tell myself that he recognizes me. Or he’s laughing at my jokes. Or he... That he knows I’m there at least. I... I’m just as bad as she is. I’m just as bad as she is, only maybe I’m worse, because at least she admits it.”

She chews on her lip for a moment before responding. “Neither of you is bad.”

“What?”

“Neither of you is bad. You say you’re as bad as she is, but neither of you is bad.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s... You know what I mean. I’m in denial. Or I was. Or I am. I don’t know. I just... This isn’t... He’s my dad.”

“I know.”

“I just... I don’t know when this happened. I don’t... Is it too much to expect my own father to recognize me when I walk into a room? He... He doesn’t even look at me.”

“I know.”

“I miss him.”

“So do I.” She rises, crosses the room, and sits down next to me on the bed, laying her hands in her lap. “I...” she begins, then clears her throat. “I hated my dad.” She sighs, curling her legs up under her. “Not the same way Allie did. She hated him because he left us here, or because he never tried to get to know us. I hated him... I guess just because I knew I was going to miss him, when he was gone. And I didn’t want to miss him. And there was some part of me, I guess, that thought maybe... Maybe if I hated him, that I wouldn’t care so much when he was gone.”

“I hate him for leaving me alone with my mom.”

Her shoulders slump. “Adam...”

“I don’t mean it like that. I don’t think she’s evil or anything. Not really. I just... It’s not about her as much as it is about what he does to her. When he was around... When he is around, she’s different. She’s... And this is really cheesy, but he... He brings out the best in her. And I... I don’t think I know how to talk to her without him there to mediate. It’s like we speak two different languages and he’s the only one in the world who can translate for us. I... We need him.”

“Mmm.”

“I don’t know how to explain it better. I... It’s like when you have two friends, and you’re good friends with both of them, and when you’re around they talk to each other and hang out and stuff. But when you’re not there, they go their separate ways. He’s like... The one thing we have in common.”

Her brow furrows. “You really believe that?”

“I mean, yeah. We’re not... I don’t know how to relate to her at all.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not alike.”

“But we’re not. We’re just... Not.”

She rolls her eyes. “As an impartial witness to all the bullshit that goes on between you two? You are exactly alike. Sometimes she does talk about God just to annoy you. A lot of the time you make cracks about church just to get under her skin. You’re both ridiculously stubborn and you’re both morning people and neither of you ever, ever wants anybody to know what’s really going on with you. And sometimes you both try to make yourselves more miserable than you have to be, because you don’t know what else to do. You just... You’re the same. I don’t know. Sometimes I think you don’t get along because you’re too much alike.”

“Have you met us? I mean, sure, we’re both stubborn, fine. But we don’t have anything to talk about. We don’t have anything... I don’t know.”

“So she likes to spend her time at church and you like to spend your time... I don’t know, I forget the last time you had a hobby. But the point is, you don’t have to like the same things to love each other. And if you can manage that much, you can find things to talk about. I just... As someone who has a legitimately shitty mother? You’re lucky. I wish you’d just notice.”

“Your mother isn’t so shitty.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’ve met her what, twice? What do you know?”

“I...” I pause. Does she not know that Allie took me to see Aunt Melissa? I crack my knuckles. “I don’t know. Allie says she’s doing good. She’s really come a long way or whatever.”

“Or whatever, exactly. You know how many times she’s actually picked up the phone and called me since I moved out?”

“I don’t know. A lot?”

She shakes her head. “No. Absolutely none. It’s been years since she even... I don’t know, since I’ve even heard her voice. Who does that? What kind of mother does that? She’ll give Allie messages to give me. Or she’ll tell your mother, who she’s not even related to her, to tell me something. She just... She doesn’t get it. So yeah, she’s a shitty mother. And I don’t believe for a second that she’s sober. Allie’s a lot more trusting than she should be.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe she just... Maybe your mom’s afraid to call you because she doesn’t think... I mean, I’m not saying it’s your fault, but the last time you two spent time together? It really didn’t go so famously, or whatever. She’s probably afraid to talk to you.”

“And? You bitch at your mother every time she walks into the room, but she still talks to you.”

I uncross my legs. “Wow. That was... Bitchy.”

She looks away silently for a moment. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry. I just... It would be nice if she wanted to know me, you know? I mean, she’s my mom.” She sighs, wrinkling her nose. “I guess.... When I came back here, I kind of expected her to fight for me. Or something. I don’t know. I just sort of hoped she’d put her foot down, and yell at me, and tell me that I had to come home. I... I didn’t ever expect her to just let me go. Completely let me go. I really... I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should call her?”

She shakes her head. “What do I have to say? ‘Hey, Mom, it’s your daughter. No, the other one.’ That sounds good. I just... I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything I could do to fix it, at this point. We’re... Irreparably damaged, or something like that. Maybe it’s better that way. She was always full of disappointments.”

I bite my lip. “My mother’s probably going to invite her for Christmas.”

“I know. I... I don’t know what I’m going to do if she comes. I’m hoping she bows out. I don’t... I mean, it’s Christmas. There’s no way she’d really come, is there?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I doubt it. But... I bet she’d come if you asked her to.”

She snorts. “For someone who never talks to his mother, you’re awfully gung ho to reunite me with mine.”

“For all you know, she’s changed. My mother hasn’t. I promise. I... I don’t know. We actually kind of talked today. At the hospice. But then Dad came in and it was just like... I don’t know.” I stare down at my hands. “I don’t think I realized how bad he was. I guess in my head... I guess I wanted him to remember me, so I pretended that he did, or... At least that he understood what I was saying. But he... I don’t know. I can’t... He’s...”

“I know.”

“And Chelsea... And I can’t be a dad, I barely even have one, and I... I... And she just... She just doesn’t see it. How bad this is going to be. But she... She loves me, I guess. I don’t know. She just... I don’t think she gets it. I don’t think she knows what it’s going to be like, if the kid has it, if I have it, and I can’t... I can’t make her understand. She thinks my mother is so brave and strong and she thinks she can be like that but she can’t, I know she can’t. She isn’t like my mother. She’s like... She’s like her. And she’s super-neurotic and she can barely even handle a calc test, much less a baby, much less a baby who’s going to die while she’s still alive, and...” I shake my head, cracking my knuckles. “I just... Every time I try to tell her, she says it will be fine. She says this is what she wants. But I don’t even think she knows what she’s saying.”

“It’s not easy.”

“She’s seen him. But she never... She never saw him healthy. She never saw him back when he could walk a straight line and... Back when he made jokes, and wrote letters to Senators, and... Back when he cooked, and could talk my mother out of her frenzies, and talked in his sleep, and talked at all, and... He wasn’t like this. I... I don’t think she understands that. All that she could lose.”

“Maybe she does.”

“What?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you don’t give her enough credit. She... She loves you. Your mom didn’t know what she was getting into. Mine definitely didn’t. But... She loves you. Enough that she doesn’t care if she loses you. Enough that she... I don’t know. Enough that it’s enough for her. Maybe... Maybe it should be enough for you. Maybe she gets it more than you think.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sometimes I think my mother married my father because she knew he was going to die. Because she wanted people to feel bad for her when it happened.”

Addie sighs. “You’re an idiot, Adam. What did she ever do to you? She tries. And yeah, she’s had her share of fuck-ups, but Jesus Christ, so have you. Just... She’s not evil. And she tries with you. She tries. You said she even got through to you today, a little bit. I don’t know. Just... Stop turning her into some villain in your head. She’s not. She’s your mother. She loves you. She tries. Don’t do that to her. Don’t talk about her like she’s... Like she’s some monster or something. She’s not. You’re lucky. You’re lucky she’s your mom. You’re lucky she puts up with you.”

“You really think I’m just like her?” I whisper.

“There are worse things.”

But I’m not so sure.

* * *

“Adam?”

“What?”

“I need you to come over. Now.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Please.”

“Why? I don’t want to leave him all alone. I’ve barely seen him all week.”

“Will you just come?”

“Jesus, Chelsea. What? I’ll drop by the store on my way home and bring you whatever. Is that good enough?”

Her breath grows louder on the other end of the line. “Adam, please. I think... I think there’s something wrong.”

“You think...”

“I think if you don’t get here within ten minutes I’m going to have to call an ambulance and I think I’m going to freak out and go crazy and probably never speak to you again and I need you and I’m terrified and please please please come quick.”

“Okay.”

I slam my phone shut and look down at my father. “I have to go. I have to go now. I... I have to go.”

His eye twitches back at me.

* * *

My hands shake the whole drive to her house. I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. I don’t want a baby. But this isn’t what I want. This isn’t what I want. I throw the car into park on the curbside and rip the keys from the ignition, fumbling to lock the door as I climb out of the car. She’s standing on the front porch, combing her hair with her fingers, her foot tapping frantically.

I run across the lawn. “Are you okay?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” I grab her arm and lead her gently to the car, opening the door and helping her inside. She grips her abdomen suddenly as I move to slam it shut.

“Adam!” she yelps pitifully.

I climb in the driver’s seat and gun the engine. “I know. We’ll be there soon.”

“It hurts,” she whispers.

“I know.” I blow through a stop sign. A black SUV honks at me. I slam on my hazard lights, pressing hard on the accelerator. We whip around the turn and come barreling out onto the main road, someone behind me leaning on his horn. I don’t care. I don’t care. This is bad. This is very very bad. This should not be happening. This should not be happening to her. This should not be happening to me.

“Which hospital are we going to?”

I shake my head. “Uh... County. Where my dad was. I... I don’t know how to get anywhere else. I... Is that okay?”

“I don’t know,” she whines, her voice breaking. “I just... I need something to talk about. I need something to say.”

“Okay... Uh... My aunt is coming for Christmas. The one you met. Addie’s freaking out.”

“Not something like that. Something else. Something... I don’t... My parents don’t even know yet, Adam! Jesus, what am I going to do? They’re going to fucking disown me, they’re going to – ow! Fuck!”

I glance over at her, my foot growing a little heavier on the gas. She’s doubled over, hands wrapped around her waist. This is not what I wanted. This is not what I meant when I said I didn’t want a kid. This is not what I meant.

“We’re almost there.”

“I can’t, Adam. I can’t do this. I can’t...” She covers her mouth with one hand, shaking her head, her face streaked with tears. “I’m bleeding all over your seats. Jesus, Adam, I’m bleeding --”

“I know. It’s fine. I... It’s fine.” I can barely speak around the lump in my throat. This was not supposed to happen like this.

“When we get there, can you call my mom and dad?”

I nod. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

“Can you be the one to tell them? Please? I... They like you. They’ll listen to you.”

They like me now. They’ll like me until they find out that I got their daughter pregnant. That she’s in the hospital because of me. That she suffered because of me. I don’t want to tell them. I don’t want to be the one to tell them. I don’t want them to hate me.

“Whatever you want.”

“This isn’t what I want!” she wails.

I swallow hard. “I know.”

“No you don’t. No you don’t. Adam, I can’t. Adam, I can’t. I can’t...” She dissolves into tears.

“I know. Shhh. I know.”

I can’t, either. I can’t do this. I can’t.

This is not what I wanted.

* * *

Word Count (this update): 2601
Word Count (total): 30041

Through the 30K mark. Thank God. I'm about 5K behind. Child's play, given how much time I have to write for the remainder of the month, and how much I have left to write. Thanks for reading! I promise updates will be more frequent from now on.

November 17th: Time of your life

2008-11-17T19:09:00.001-08:00

“Again?”

“He always does this. Always.” I shake my head, sitting down on the bed. “I don’t know. I just... Don’t know.”

Chelsea sighs, pulling out her hair-tie and shaking out her hair. “At least you didn’t hit him this time. That’s a start.”

“Thanks. I admire my restraint.”

She sits for a moment, staring at her hands, spinning the hair-tie round and round. “You know, he’s got a point,” she says softly, her fingers falling still.

“Jesus. Not you, too.” I stand up, running my hands through my hair. “I don’t need this. Can we just... Can we just talk about what we’re going to do or whatever? We need to figure something out.”

“You want to get rid of it,” she says matter-of-factly, looking up at me. “I can tell. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t care.”

“Is that what you want?” I say carefully, leaning against the door.

She shrugs. “I... I’m seventeen years old. I have no idea what I want. I don’t... If you want to get rid of it, then I don’t want to keep it. I don’t want...”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Jesus, Chelsea, just say it. You want to keep it. I know you do.”

“I don’t know what I want! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Her voice breaks. I open my eyes. Her face is nestled in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “I still haven’t told my parents,” she says quietly, her voice muffled by her palms.

“You didn’t seem to have any trouble telling mine.”

She glances up at me, her eyes rimmed in red. “That’s not fair. I apologized a thousand times. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say that you’ll get rid of it, and you won’t blame me if you regret it later.”

She blinks, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I can’t,” she says after a moment. “You’re right. I want to keep it. I... I want to keep it.”

“Even if it has Huntington’s.”

“I... It’s not as simple as you make it sound, Adam. You act like this is some impulsive decision I’m making because I saw some cute kid last night. I’ve tried to want to get rid of it, I have! I’ve tried to want what you want. I just... That’s not what I want. I’ll be... I’ll have graduated by the time it’s born. I can take a year off. Get my bearings. I... You don’t have to be involved. I just...”

“Fine. You’ve decided. Congratulations. I told you it was your decision, then you drew me in, promising me that oh, of course I had a part in it. But obviously I don’t. That’s good.” I pull the door open and stick my foot into the hallway. “I’m gonna see myself out, if that’s alright with you.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Her voice is so pitiful it draws me back in. “Don’t play the victim, Chelsea. Jesus Christ. I can’t... I can’t think about this right now, okay? You do what you want. You just... You do what you want.”

I take off down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The bed creaks as she jumps off to run after me. I’m almost to my car by the time she catches me, taking two steps to my one.

“Adam, wait.”

I pull my keys out of my pocket, my fingers cold and fumbling.

“I just... Wait. Adam. Before you leave, just let me say something.”

I turn to face her, crossing my arms. “What?” I spit.

“I... When Allie... Okay.” She takes a deep, trembling breath, pulling her hands up inside her sleeves. “When you go out there? That real world place? You’re going to tell people, and they’re going to be afraid. And... There’s gonna be some girl who will love you enough to marry you, anyway. She’ll love you even though you have a kid running around somewhere, and even though you’re stubborn and you have a temper and... She’ll love you even though you’re gonna die young. But when you’re gone? She’ll think about how she could have done it differently. How it didn’t have to be you. How she didn’t have to settle. I... I don’t want that for you. I don’t want anything about you to ever be anybody’s even though.

“And? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She mumbles something, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What?”

She sighs, her breath a balmy cloud in the cold air. “I’m saying... I’m saying that you’re my first choice.”

Chapter 7
Now Elisha was suffering
from the illness from which he died.
Jehoash, king of Israel, went down to see him
and wept over him.
"My father! My father!" he cried.
(2 Kings 13:14)

“Where do you want this?”

She shrugs, picking at her eyebrow with one hand, the other frantically scanning the top of the bureau. “I don’t know, honey. Wherever you think is best.”

I set the vase down on a table across the room. “I like the wallpaper in here,” I remark, trying to fill the silence.

Grandad surveys the room for a moment and nods. “It’s nice.”

“Which sheets do you suppose he’ll want? The blue striped ones or the solid maroon?”

I walk over to her and grab both sets out of her hand. “You should sit down. We’ll do it.”

She makes a face, rubbing the hem of the striped pillowcase between her fingers. “I just want everything to be nice for him here. I want him to like it.”

“He’ll love it. Go sit down.” I take her arm and guide her gently towards a chair in the corner.

Grandad grabs the maroon sheets and sets them on the ground. “Stripes look better with the wallpaper.”

I look around. The room is papered in chartreuse and bright yellow stripes, with a white chair rail and white paint beneath it. “Not blue stripes. Navy? Seriously?”

“He’s right, Frank. The maroon would look nice,” my mother pipes up from the corner.

Grandad shrugs. “Maroon it is.”

I grab them off the ground and trade him for the blue ones, handing those to my mother. I busy myself putting on pillowcases while Grandad starts on the sheets. My mother sits in the corner, fingers at her brow, her foot tapping nervously on the carpet.

“Maybe he shouldn’t come here. Maybe he should just stay there. In the hospital. Maybe that’s best for right now. This doesn’t... This doesn’t look right. It just... It just doesn’t look --” Her voice breaks. She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

“He belongs here,” I offer. “The hospital is for... He’ll be better here. It’s more like home. Isn’t that what we want? Someplace more like home?”

She shakes her head, not looking up. “I want him to come home.”

“We tried keeping him at home. We can’t do it. We have... We have friends, and jobs, and school, and lives. We can’t just expect ourselves to sit at home and supervise him twenty four hours a day. That’s not what he would want.”

“I... I just don’t want him to be...” She pauses for a moment, yanking at her brow. “I don’t want him to be lonely,” she whispers.

Grandad looks at her over the top of his glasses. “Karen, you can’t do this to yourself.”

“I can’t do this to him,” she murmurs.

“That’s not fair.”

She looks up at me, her eyes shining. “What?”

I clear my throat. “I... How long has it been now? How many years? And you... Everybody... He’s just been slowly losing his life, but his... His dignity has gone along with it. And that’s not fair. That’s what’s not fair to him. The hospital is all about saving lives. If he chokes, or falls, or... Hell, if he rolls over, the cavalry will rush in to save him. To save him. And that’s... That’s just not fair. Do you think he really wants to live like this? Do you think he wakes up every morning and thinks, ‘Wow, I’m so happy to be alive?’”

“That’s enough, Adam,” Grandad says softly.

“No. Because I’m tired of... I’m tired of her running his life. I’m tired of everybody trying to run his life. You people don’t even... This will never be a reality for you! It’s not fair for you to project your own wants on the rest of us! You don’t get to play God!”

“Adam. Enough.”

“You can’t just bulldoze somebody into living! That’s not how it works! You can’t... You talked to him about this while he could still think, while he could still talk. You guys had a plan! And now you just go back on that? Because of some... Some whim? Some selfish, stupid, motherfucking whim?”

“Enough!”

His voice is like thunder. It nearly shakes the floor. My mother sobs in the corner. I fall onto the bed, exhausted.

“Whatever your problem is,” he says evenly, not looking at either one of us, “with your mother, with me, with anyone else, this is neither the time nor the place. Your father would be furious with you right now. Absolutely furious!”

“Well I’m pretty fucking furious with him, too.”

They stare at me. Silent.

I rise, shaking my head, turning my gaze to my mother. “Jesus Christ, get a grip. He’s going to die. He’s practically dead already. Congratulations on being a widow. I’m sure the nice ladies at the church will send you lots of gift baskets.” I grab my coat off the dresser and pull it on, avoiding their eyes.

“He wanted to name you Isaac.”

Something in her voice makes me turn around.

Her hands are folded tightly on her lap, her knuckles bony and white. All of the frantic energy is gone. “Your father. He wanted to name you Isaac. From the time we started trying, more than ten years before you were born... It was what he wanted. He... He never knew much about the Bible. He knew that Abraham desperately wanted a child. That the child he had, when he finally had him, he named Isaac. He... He knew that I liked old-fashioned names. Biblical names. I... I liked it at first. It sounded nice. But the... The minute I found out I was pregnant with you, I knew you weren’t an Isaac. Because in the Bible... In the Bible, God tests Abraham by telling him to kill Isaac, because Abraham loves Isaac to much and God wants to make sure that Abraham’s loyalties are to God first and his son second. He... He tests him. And Abraham passes the test. He... He takes his son, his only son, the son he tried to conceive for years and years and years, and he takes him up on the mountain and prepares to kill him, just because God told him and he trusts God to tell him what is right. And there’s this whole message to it, about trust and sacrifice, and he doesn’t have to kill him in the end, but... The point is, you weren’t an Isaac. Because... Because the minute I knew you were there, because the second I realized I was pregnant, the second I realized the child I’d wished for my entire life had finally become a reality... I knew I loved you more than God. And if God so much as told me to break your little toe tot save the rest of the human race I would leave it intact. I don’t care who knows it, Adam. I used to. But... I love God more than your father, more than my own life, more than anything I can think of...” She sighs, finishing in a whisper, “Except you.”

I lean against the doorframe, staring at the wallpaper. Grandad stands by the bed, his eyes on the ground. After a moment I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “How did you decide on Adam?”

“What?”

“Why Adam?”

She raises a hand to her eyebrow and poises her fingers, then lets it fall to her lap. She purses her lips and thinks for a moment before responding, like an actress trying to remember her final monologue. “You were... You were my Genesis. I lived before you, but I was never really alive. I was... A formless wasteland, shrouded in darkness. And then, in the beginning, in my beginning, God made you... And I saw. For the first time. I saw that the whole crazy world, everything that had happened in my life, everything that had brought me to that point... That it was good.” She stares down at her hands, picking at her fingernails. “I don’t... I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to lose you. I just... I want you to understand me. I don’t always make the best decisions. But I’m not... I’m not the enemy. I want what’s best for him. I try to do what’s best for him. But I’m not perfect. And... I need you to be patient with me. I’m not always patient with you. But I need you to be patient with me.”

I bite my lip. “I... I’ll try.”

She attempts a smile, her eyes still cloudy with tears. “I love you,” she whispers.

“You too.”

There’s a knock on the open door. I turn to face the hall, wiping my eyes. A woman smiles at me, glancing down at her clipboard. “Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi, sweetheart. Your dad’s here.”

We stand off to the side and watch as they wheel him in. I help hoist him onto the bed, propping pillows behind his back. He stares at me vacantly, his eye twitching. The bed seems to swallow him up.

“Hey, honey,” my mother says softly, approaching the bed. Her eyes glisten, her cheeks streaked with tears. She wipes at her nose with a tissue. “Welcome home.”

“Welcome home, Dad.”

His eyes shift from one of us to the other. No glimmer of recognition. Nothing human left at all.

Is that how Addie and Allie will look at me, someday?

Is it how I will look at them?

I zip my coat, cracking my knuckles. “I... I need to go.” I shrug my mother’s hand off my shoulder and bolt out the door. I’m tired of dramatic exits. I’m tired of fleeing. I’ve run out of places to run to.

I just want to go home.

* * *

Word count (this update): 2428
Word count (total): 27483

November 16th: You get what you give

2008-11-16T08:15:00.000-08:00

Chapter 6
Naked I came from my mother's womb,
and naked I will depart.
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
blessed be the name of the Lord.
(Job 1:21)

“Okay, before we go in, some ground rules. One, you don’t ask questions. I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but not until it’s time. This is important. You’ll understand why in a minute. Second, you pretend you don’t the person who opens that door. Chelsea, that shouldn’t be a problem for you, but Adam, keep your mouth shut. That’s it. No questions, no recognition. If you can keep that down, we can go inside.”

I grip Chelsea’s hand. “Allie, are we...”

“Yes. Which, by the way, counts as a question. But yes.” She sighs, looking back at us in the rearview mirror. “This is my mother’s house.”

“Okay.” I don’t dare say anything else. I want to go home already. I knew I shouldn’t have come.

Allie opens her door and steps out of the car. Chelsea and I follow suit, trailing behind her to the door. She rings the bell. A dog barks inside. A minute later, Aunt Melissa appears in the window and waves. The lock clicks. The door creaks open. There she is – her hair in a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck, gripping the collar of a slobbering chocolate lab. She’s dressed, and her eyes focus on her daughter. The dark circles beneath them are gone. This is not the Aunt Melissa I’ve met before. It shouldn’t be too hard to pretend not to know her.

“Hey, Allie. Thanks for coming.” She bites her lip and looks behind her. “Hey, Adam. And you must be Chelsea?”

Chelsea smiles nervously. “Uh, yeah. I... Uh... Hi.” She gives a pathetic little wave, forcing a smile.

“Will’s down in the basement watching TV. I’m off to my meeting. Numbers are on the fridge, yes? I’ll be back by... Nine-ish, I suppose?” She smiles warmly, closing the door behind us as we shuffle in. “My sponsor is taking me out to dinner. Her cell number is with the others, if you want to check up on me. Is that everything?”

“Bed at seven, still?” Allie asks from behind me, leaning against the wall.

“Seven-thirty. He’s such a late sleeper these past couple of weeks. I don’t really know why. He’s a bear to get up for daycare during the week, but it’s nice on the weekends. Anyway!” She shoulders her purse and pats the dog on the head, grabbing the doorknob. “I will see you all at nine. It...” She looks nervously around again, then directly at me. “It’s nice to see you, Adam. It’s been awhile.”

She’s out the door before I can respond.

Allie crouches down and scratches the dog behind the ears, cooing. Chelsea and I look at each other over her head.

“The basement?” Chelsea suggests.

We start down the hall, Allie leading the way. She takes the stairs slowly, like she’s afraid of what will greet her at the bottom. Rounding the corner coming off the landing, her face breaks into a grin. A little boy peeks shyly around the arm of a sofa, sucking his thumb.

Allie walks over and scoops him up. He lays his head on her chest, thumb still implanted in his mouth.

“Hey, Will. Whatcha watchin’?”

He points to the television. “Dolphins swimmin’,” he replies softly.

She grins down at him, bouncing him on her hip. “These are my friends Adam and Chelsea. They’re gonna play with us today, okay?”

He nods solemnly. “Okay,” he says, voice muffled by his thumb.

Chelsea looks up at me nervously. “Hi, Will. You like dolphins?”

He nods.

She lets go of my hand and walks over to him. Allie passes him almost reluctantly, crossing her arms immediately after letting him go.

“What about whales?” Chelsea asks.

Will shakes his head, his eyes wide.

“Aww, poor whales. But ‘whale’ starts with a w, just like ‘Will’! That’s kind of cool, right?”

He nods.

“Are dolphins your favorite animal, Will?”

He pops his thumb out of his mouth. “Like eagles.”

“You like eagles? Do you know what sound an eagle makes?”

He shakes his head, his mouth hanging open, brow furrowed with a look of deep concentration.

Chelsea proceeds to make bird noises, probably less evocative of an eagle than a ravenous vulture. Will giggles, sticking his thumb back in his mouth.

Allie looks over at me as Chelsea and Will continue their conversation. “She’s good with kids.”

“She baby-sits. And stuff.”

She nods. “Obviously for other bird lovers. That or you are into some freaky, freaky roleplay. She has the raptor impersonation down.”

I laugh. “I plead the fifth.”

“He likes birds. He was Big Bird for Halloween this year. He’s not even two years old yet, but Melissa had me come over and take him around trick or treating. He was adorable. She made the costume herself. I have pictures, if you ever want to see them.”

“He’s big for his age.”

She shrugs. “He was kind of a big baby. He was born early, just under thirty-four weeks, but he still weighed six pounds. They think he would have been easily in the double digits if he’d gone the full forty.”

“He’s cute, though. He looks just like...”

“Melissa. I know.” She examines her nails for a moment and then chews on her thumbnail, watching Chelsea intently. “He likes her.”

“I can tell.”

“He’s really shy. He doesn’t usually warm up to strangers. But he likes her.”

I nod.

“She’d make a good mother, I guess. I feel stupid saying that, but she would.”

“Yeah. I just...”

“I know. It’s complicated.”

I want to ask her a hundred questions. Am I right to think that he’s hers, not Melissa’s? How the hell did she have a baby without me knowing? Why did she come back to live with us if she did? But every time I open my mouth I lose the courage to speak. I remember the rules. Allie likes rules. She’ll tell me when she wants to.

Chelsea sets Will on the ground and smiles down at him. “You guys want to watch Sesame Street? I’m hearing rave reviews over here.”

“I’m game.”

Allie laughs. “He’s indoctrinated you into the cult of Big Bird. Be careful.”

We settle down on the couch. Will settles into Allie’s lap, sucking his thumb. Chelsea lays her head on my shoulder.

“I don’t think I can keep it,” she whispers.

I put an arm around her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Okay.”

Okay. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I don’t believe it for a second. But for this one moment, I have one less weight pressing down on me. I can almost breathe again.

* * *

Allie hugs Aunt Melissa good-bye at the door. “Night, Mom. I’ll be here... Next Thursday?”

Aunt Melissa nods. “Sure. I... I’ll be here. Do you think Addie would mind if I had you bring her a gift?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find out.”

She forces a smile. “Great. You had better get going, then. Take care, okay? It’s dark.”

“I’ll call you when we get back, okay?”

“Sounds great, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, then.” She squeezes Allie tightly and then lets her go, waving good-bye to Chelsea and I. “Good to see you, Adam. Don’t be a stranger, okay? God, you look just like your dad these days.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She bites her lip. “I know how hard it is. Take care of yourself. All of you take care of yourselves.” She shoos us with one hand. “Go on. Go home. It’s late.”

We all pile into the car. Allie turns on the lights and throws it into reverse. In the backseat, Chelsea lays her head on my lap. I run my fingers through her hair, staring out the window.

“So,” Allie begins as we pull out of the neighborhood onto the main road. “Let’s start with the obvious. That was my son. His name is Will, because ‘William’ was my father’s middle name. My mother wanted me to name him after my dad but I firmly believe no child should have to suffer through a lifetime of being called ‘Donald’. He’s two. Not really, but pretty damn close. He was born in January of last year. So he’s what, twenty-three months? He can put together short sentences now. He can walk without holding onto things. He can make it up stairs, but it takes him a long time. He seems to get about three inches taller every time I see him.”

She takes a deep breath, pulling onto the interstate. Chelsea’s hand creeps over mine, her fingers shaking.

“He was a problem pregnancy. In more ways than one. Dad died on April sixth. We came back on what, the fifteenth? I figure I got pregnant about a month after that. I knew by the end of June. Addie was already back with your family, Adam. I... It was just me and my mom. And she was fucked up all the time. I was fourteen. He was older. Not like, creepy older, but he was in high school. Sixteen. He had his own life. We barely knew each other. I was just... Looking for something. I don’t think I found it. I... I wanted to get rid of it. But I called Aunt Karen, because... I don’t know. I think I convinced myself somehow that a baby might be what I was looking for. She put me in my place. Told me to consider adoption. That I was in no place to have a baby. I don’t care what you say about her, Adam, she’s levelheaded. She told me she was glad I’d come to her, but I should talk to my mother, too. So I did. And... She was actually helpful. My mother, who sometimes spent so much money at the liquor store that we didn’t have enough left to buy food for the week. My mother, the crazy drunk. She actually helped me. I... I don’t care what your mother is, Adam. She might be as bad as you think she is. I don’t know for sure. But if my crazy, drunk mother can help me out... Yours can, too.”

Chelsea curls one arm up behind her head. I watch my own reflection in the rearview. I look so... Old.

“We talked to agencies. It went really well. We wanted an open adoption. I wanted to be able to see him, sometimes. Once a year, maybe. Not even that, necessarily. I just... I wanted to know him. Or I guess, I didn’t even know it was a him yet. But... It’s what I wanted. We called prospective parents. Arranged interviews. When we talked to them on the phone, they were always so excited. The wife usually picked up the phone, and she would squeal and tell her husband to get on the line, and they would both flood us with questions. We talked to seven couples, I think. They were all so... Excited. Everyone wanted him. I was... I was thrilled. Mom was thrilled. They were thrilled. Everyone was... Everyone was happy. Everyone.”

She sighs. “By the time they came in for interviews, they knew the whole story. The Huntington’s. They were wary. They tried to pretend they were still enthusiastic, still so ready to welcome him. But you could tell. All the questions they asked, all they wanted to know about, was the disease. Did I have it? Their lawyers – they had already briefed their lawyers by the time they came to see us, always – told them that they couldn’t make me get tested, but would I, anyway? And they looks they gave me... It was like they were offering to take some burden on my behalf. I was their charity case. My baby, the one I was trying so hard to do right by, was just... He was their second choice. It was like they were only even there because they were desperate. Because they were afraid that if they held out for a regular baby, they would never get one. So they had to take mine, because I was offering. I just... It broke my heart.” Her voice breaks on the last word. Chelsea grips my hand. I stare out the window again. Afraid to meet her eyes in the rearview.

“By then it was too late to terminate. So... My mom suggested that I get tested. Because if I didn’t have to, we could tell people there was a 0% chance. She saw what those meetings did to me. I always... You know how I am. I always walked in so ready to meet the perfect couple, the couple that didn’t care, that understood what I was trying to do, that understood what it was to be a parent. They were never there. So... I did.”

“You got tested?”

She sighs shakily. “It was positive.”

“Oh my God.” How did I not know? Does Addie know? She must. She must have heard this whole story. She has to... But then...

“Addie doesn’t know.” She pauses, sniffling. “Please don’t tell her. Please. I will at some point, if... But... I just can’t. I don’t know how. She has it, too. We... When we were kids, she used to cry when I got hurt. When Mom would yell at her to stop fussing, she would say ‘But we’re the same.’ I guess... We are. We’re... We’re the same. I just... I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t know how to tell her what we are.”

My head feels like it’s going to explode. The past twenty-four hours have changed everything. Everything.

“And then,” she continues, her voice wavering, “it was fifty percent. For the baby. And we... We knew it would just be worse. The couples. The whole thing. Mom was doing better. We talked about options. I guess... I decided to keep it. It was going to be mine. She was going to help. I didn’t really want to do it in the first place. I didn’t want to be a mom. I didn’t want to organize play-dates and change diapers and pack lunches. She wanted... I don’t know. A second chance? But it was more than that. I don’t know how we decided. We talked about everything. We decided a thousand different things. Then... He was born. And she held him, and the way she looked at him... She loved him. And everything that I didn’t want, she wanted more than anything in the world. And... He was never going to be her second choice. He... He looked just like her. I guess something just... Clicked. And the plan was still the same, but everything was different. I guess we both knew it then. But we wanted to try things the way we’d planned them. To make sure.”

“But you came to live with us.”

Chelsea’s finger strokes mine, still trembling. Allie sighs. “I came to live with you.”

“Why?”

“Because...” She sighs, her tongue running over her teeth again. Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “Because when I held him, he cried. And when I tried to nurse him, he acted like I was killing him. Because the second she looked at him, smiled at him, held him, he stopped. Because I didn’t want to get in the way of her being his mother. Because I knew that she was more his mother than I would ever be. Because... Because every time he woke me up crying in the middle of the night, or screamed when I was trying to comfort him, or refused to nurse, all I could think was... Was how much I wanted to go home.”

We sit in silence for three miles. I watch them tick by on the mile markers. I don’t even know where to begin processing everything that is flying through my head right now. I don’t even know where to begin.

“But whatever you two decide, whatever... Whatever is right for you... It’s going to be hard. I just... I wanted you to know how hard it would be. I wanted to show you. And if you want... If you want to terminate, don’t wait. Because you don’t want that decision to be made for you. I don’t... I don’t know what I would have done. And everything worked out for the best, but... Everybody doesn’t get to have a happy ending.”

And that’s the problem. My father doesn’t get to have a happy ending. The twins won’t get theirs, either, in the end. And me? Fifty percent says I won’t, either.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Chelsea whispers.

I knew she would change her mind. In a minute she’ll have a new opinion, some new plan. Eventually, she’ll have to choose. But right now, I don’t want her to. I don’t want to hear any more. I just want to go back in time. This is what it feels like to know too much.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” I reply, lacing my fingers through hers. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s not okay at all.

* * *

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” He nods for me to come inside, slamming the door shut behind me. “I was kind of a jerk. I probably deserved it.”

“You look good with a black eye. Very hardcore.”

He laughs. “My mother doesn’t seem to agree. Shockingly.”

“Yeah. Not quite the Christmas gift she was hoping for.”

“Seriously. Happy holidays. You want to go somewhere?”

I shrug. “Maybe later. I don’t know what I want. Is that a problem?”

“Probably. You want a soda or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We mosey to the kitchen, footsteps echoing off the walls. “Is no one else home?”

He shakes his head. “Dad’s at work. Mom is... Out. I have no idea where. Scrapbooking party, maybe. Bert is out in the yard, if you want to say hi.”

I peer out the bay window. Bert, Matt’s lazy beagle, is laying in the middle of the yard. “Nah. I’m good. He doesn’t like me much, anyway.”

“He likes you as much as anybody else. Which is, admittedly, not a whole lot.”

I catch the soda he tosses me and pop it open. “You talked to Allie?”

He nods. “She says she showed you.”

“Yeah. Did you get the same tour?”

“Yeah. A couple of months ago. I don’t think the message was the same, though. This was more of a If you get me knocked up, my mother will cut off your testicles sort of situation.”

“Mmm. All I know is that after hanging around with her kid, I am thoroughly convinced that I don’t want one.”

“I hear you.” He takes a gulp of his drink and sets it down on the counter. “You tell Chels that?”

“I told Chels that it was her decision, but that she didn’t have to decide just yet. But she kind of does need to decide... Soon. If we’re going to go with the abortion. And all that.”

“So you haven’t even told her that you have a slight preference?”

“I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t want to pressure her. I don’t want to be referred to for the rest of her life as That asshole who made me get an abortion. And you know her. She’s looking for somebody to tell her what to do so that she can blame them if she has any regrets.”

He nods tentatively. “I guess. I mean, wouldn’t you? If you could get away with it?”

“Maybe. When we got home last night, my mother accosted me with adoption pamphlets. Because abortion is Murder and grandkids are Not An Option Right Now. I believe that was her exact wording. That also might have been somewhere on one of the brochures, which was specially prepared by the church. Like, the local church. Like, I think she just took the church letterhead and made it herself, but I can’t be sure.”

Matt laughs. “I can totally see your mom doing that.”

“Definitely. My mother is crazy.”

“She definitely has... Scruples.”

“Nicely put.”

“Thanks.” He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I still haven’t started my paper. You?”

“Not a word. I do have a document saved, though. An empty document. But I can at least say that I’ve opened it.”

“Well, that’s a step.”

“They’re seriously insane to give us a five page paper.”

“Insane.”

“We kind of have a lot going on.”

“Totally.”

“I don’t have time to read, much less to write anything down.”

“I think I’m becoming less literate by the day.”

“Senioritis?”

He nods. “I think I checked out sometime in the middle of sophomore year.”

“I think I checked out back in like, eighth grade.”

He shrugs. “I guess you win. You want to go get lunch or something?”

“You weren’t going to meet Allie?”

He shakes his head. “She’s freaking out over Christmas shopping. She and all her friends are at the mall today, squandering their hard-earned cash on a bunch of crap. She keeps asking me for ideas. Not just for me, but like, for your mom and stuff. And you. She’s having a hard time deciding what to get you.”

“A hitman to kill my mother.”

He rolls his eyes. “Melodramatic, much? Anyway, are we lunching or not?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s do Mexican. I haven’t had Mexican in ages. Allie hates –”

“Spicy foods. I know. She bitched out the guy at the burrito place once because she said their pico de gallo was, and I quote, ‘setting her taste buds aflame’.”

“She did not say ‘aflame’.”

“She did. It was so embarrassing. The guy’s manager came out and comped her for it, too, which was just insane. I refused to go anywhere with her for almost a month.”

He shudders. “Jesus. She’s scary sometimes.”

“Very.”

“I have no idea what to get her for Christmas. I keep asking her and she keeps telling me that I should know. Is that maddening or is that maddening?”

“It seems pretty maddening to me.”

“We’ve been together for eight months. Supposedly you’re supposed to spend ten bucks for every month you’re together. That’s what my dad told me. I’m assuming that stops somewhere, or else he’d be spending thousands of dollars on gifts for my mom. But yeah, I need to find something that costs eighty bucks and is, magically, exactly what she thinks I think she wants, which is what she wants. Which I doubt will be what I think she wants.”

“Mmm. Chelsea and I haven’t talked about it. We’ve been kind of...”

“Broken up? Yeah, no kidding.” He thinks for a minute. “You could always give her a big, warm hug. Both thoughtful and inexpensive!”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a help. She texted me earlier. I’m supposed to meet her at three to talk about our options. Which means we’ll just stare at each other awkwardly for awhile, probably.”

He looks at his watch. “We should probably go, then. It’s after one.”

“Alright. Let me grab my coat. I left it in the... What, the foyer? Is that what you call it?”

“Maybe.” He trails behind me down the hall. “When are you going to write your paper if you have all that awkward staring to do?”

“I don’t know. I tried to convince my mother that I needed to skip church this morning to write it, but that didn’t really work out.”

“No shit. I’m surprised you even asked.”

“Hey, it was worth a shot. Someday, she might come to her senses.”

“When do you plan on coming to yours?”

I roll my eyes, grabbing my coat off the hook. “I’m not even going to ask you what that means because I don’t want to have to hit you again.”

“I don’t know. You’ve just been kind of... Spiteful, lately. Towards your mom. And me.” He waves his hand over his black eye. “And Chelsea and Allie and maybe even Addie and your dad. I don’t know.”

“It’s just...”

“Hard? I get it, dude. I really do, even though you think that no one does. You have huge problems, and I don’t mean mental problems, though you have those, too. I mean you have a shitload going on in your life, almost none of it good, and yet the things you choose to stress over... They’re trivial, man.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re all bent out of shape over your mom all the time.”

“Because she’s impossible to live with.”

“She’s not, though. You’re just frustrated, but you know what? She is, too. You think she doesn’t get pissed off, that she prays ten times a day but still has an ungrateful son and a dying husband? You think she doesn’t feel like it’s unfair, like her prayers and shit are completely futile? Have you ever considered talking to her about how frustrated you are, instead of letting everyone else know how you feel about her?”

“She just tells me to have faith,” I spit, zipping my coat.

“And? Is that such a big deal? She’s not hurting anybody. That’s just how she copes.”

“But she wants me to believe it, too. It’s all that I ever hear from her. She’s given up on being a mother so that she can sit at the kitchen table and read the Bible, and that’s just... She’s a fucking crazy person. She’s fucking insane.”

“She’s your mother. She wants you to be happy, and she sees that you’re miserable, and praying makes her not miserable, and she wants to share it with you. That’s all. She’s trying to help you and you’re standing here complaining about it. Like having a mother who cares about you is the worst thing ever to happen to anyone.”

“Since when are you so high and mighty?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re preaching to me. If I wanted that, I would talk to my mother.” I shove one hand in my pocket and step toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’m not trying to piss you off, dude, I’m just trying --”

I roll my eyes. “To help. Yeah, I’ve heard. Why is it that everyone wants to help me and no one wants to just, I don’t know, hang out? Why do I have to be a charity case?”

“Because you’re my friend and your life sucks.” He grabs his own coat and shoves his arms through the sleeves.

I pull open the door and step onto the porch. “Because you’re looking for a project,” I call over my shoulder.

“Because I’m tired of seeing you floundering.”

“Because you’re such a great guy. Right. Because all you want to do is help people.”

“I’m not trying to help people. I’m trying to help you.”

I roll my eyes, turning to face him. “Yeah? Did I ask for your help?”

“You don’t ever ask. That doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

“Maybe I know what’s best for me.” I start towards my car, walking as fast as I possibly can without breaking into a jog.

Behind me, I hear him stop.

“Then how did you get here?” he calls after me.

“I drove.” I fish for the keys in my pocket and unlock the car door.

“You know what I mean.”

I climb in without responding, gunning the engine and turning the heat on full blast. The windshield is completely frosted over, but I’m not in the mood to climb out and scrape off the slush. I wait. It’s at least ten minutes before it’s clear enough to see through. He’s still standing there, watching me, on the porch. I throw the car into gear and peel out of the cul de sac like someone is chasing me.

I’m tired of being watched.

Word Count (this update): 4679
Word Count (total): 25014

Yay! I hit 25K today with the ever-poignant "de" in the middle of "cul de sac," so if I can crank out another 1667 before bed (I have faith in myself; it's not even noon), I will be on schedule again! I'm excited for that one, I promise you. Midpoint is a huge victory. I sincerely thought about scrapping this project yesterday, something I have never really considered before during NaNo (at least not since "Lilac Scented Hair" fell through, as was probably best. In defense of the title, I was twelve), but I ended up rallying to my biggest writing day of any NaNo ever, with a whopping 5959 written in one day. For real. The most I've ever done before is 4500. 5959 is epic.

At any rate, the promised convo with Chelsea wasn't included in this because it was already ungodly long. But it will be in the next update. Along with other things. Including (probably) the twins' birthday! How exciting! Plus, we'll hear from Adam's mom again. It's been awhile.

November 15th: Well, you might be a bit confused

2008-11-15T12:30:00.000-08:00

* * *

“You hit him!”

“It wasn’t that big a deal. I’m sorry I even said anything.”

Chelsea crosses her arms. “I knew this would happen. Jesus... Adam, you hit him! In what universe is it okay to just... Hit your best friend?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not really something I planned, believe it or not.”

She tilts her head back, running her fingers through her hair. “This is the last thing I need to know about you right now. You’re... You’re angry and stubborn and stupid, not to mention impulsive, but now you’re... You’re violent! What... Did you even think before you did it? Or are you really that crazy and stupid? How did I not see this in you before? I knew you were fucked up, but really?!”

“It’s not a big deal. I didn’t break his nose or some shit. I just...”

“You hit him.” She collapses onto her bed, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ, Adam, he was just trying to help you. Why do you always do this?”

“Do what? Hit people? I haven’t hit anyone since like, the seventh grade!”

She rolls her eyes. “People try to lend you a hand and you just... You treat them like shit. And then you justify it with all these convoluted excuses that make no sense.”

“Thanks for the psychoanalysis. I think I’m gonna go home, if that’s alright with you.”

“Adam.”

“No. Don’t ‘Adam’ me like saying my name is some strong appeal to reason. You people, every single one of you, just... Preaches. You talk at me like it’s going to be your advice that completely changes my life. But you know what? When you look at all the reasons my life sucks, they’re all about you people. So when you stop dying and being crazy and bitching at me and lying to me like it’s going out of style, maybe I will listen to your bogus fucking advice. Sound good?”

She sighs. “That’s so ridiculously unfair. Do you think I got pregnant all by myself? Really?”

“Oh, so now I get to be a part of this? Even though you told my mother before you told me?”

“Maybe because your mother actually listens!”

“Maybe I would listen if you didn’t speak to me like I was an idiot!”

She rubs her eyes. “Jesus, Adam, do you really want to do this right now?”

“When else are we going to do it?”

She eyes me warily, then heaves a sigh. “Look,” she says softly, pulling one leg up and hugging her knee to her chest, “I love you. And I know your life is crazy, and if I were you I would probably be picking fights with everyone too, but... I don’t know, babe, it’s just... My life kind of sucks right now, too. And...” She sighs, resting her chin on her knee. “And I don’t know. I just really don’t want to fight with you right now. And I know that you’re pissed at me, and you should be, but you shouldn’t take it out on Matt, of all people. He’s in your corner.” She pauses. “So am I.”

“I’m not ready for any of this,” I breathe, lowering myself into her desk chair. “I just... He’s going to die soon. They’re talking about moving him to hospice. My mother... She butts heads with everyone at the hospital, but she’s got friends in high places. So he has this nice little room, I guess, on this wing with all these old people who are always, always coding, and it’s... He’s as much a stranger to me as I am to him. But I don’t have the excuse he has. Not yet.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “Hospice, huh?”

I nod, suddenly fighting the lump in my throat. “I just... My whole life I’ve known this day was coming. But... It still feels like it came out of nowhere.”

“Mmm.”

“She still prays for a miracle. That’s what I don’t understand. She really thinks that something like this can just... Disappear. I can’t decide if she’s naïve or stupid or crazy or...”

“I know.”

“I mean, I’ve talked to her about it. Grandad’s talked to her about it. How he shouldn’t be in the hospital anymore. How he doesn’t really have a chance at recovering, and someone who does should get that room. But... She just... And I don’t know if it’s that she believes that he’ll get better or she just... Doesn’t want to let him go.”

Chelsea stares at the ground, still biting the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. It must be hard. They’ve been married for what, thirty years? That’s a long time to love somebody.”

“It’s just... Sad. The way she is when she’s with him.”

“She loves him. He’s dying. Of course it’s sad.”

“I guess.”

She sighs. “I know this is completely unsolicited, but... I think you don’t think she’s human. Not really. You see the way she is at church or whatever, however that may be, and that’s sort of how she is with you, too. But then with him... She’s a different person. I guess that’s got to be hard.”

“Maybe.”

“She tries really hard, from what you say. To be upbeat. You know how everyone recognizes you? Asks you about him? She gets that, but ten times more. She spends her whole day being hopeful and positive and then... That doesn’t really fit in with what’s real. I don’t know. I think she probably convinces herself that it’s not that bad, because she says as much to people all the time, and then when she actually has to confront the situation...”

“It’s worse.”

“Yeah.”

I crack my knuckles one by one, eyes focused on my hands. “Everyone’s always saying I should talk to her, but every time I do... I have no idea what to say.”

“She probably feels the same way about you.”

* * *

“How is he?”

Grandad shrugs. “I don’t know, champ. Not so hot.”

I sit down next to him, pursing my lips. “Did he fall again?”

He nods. “They’re thinking he shouldn’t get up anymore. They might put in a catheter. They’re waiting to talk to your mother.”

“Good luck getting her to pick up the phone.”

He nods slowly, grunting. “She’ll let them do it as long as they let him stay here. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to fall. Friends of friends are only going to help her out for so long.”

“I still don’t get what she has against hospice.”

He sighs. “She thinks if she doesn’t move him, he won’t die.”

“She’s wrong.”

He nods. “She knows that. But she doesn’t want to give up on him. It’s hard, when it’s someone you love.”

“Dad said you tried to keep her at home. My grandmother, I mean.”

He looks away, swallowing hard. “For a long time. I wanted the boys to know their mom. When they were really little, she was so good with them. So good. I wanted them to remember her. To see that in her. All they ever saw was the crazy woman, the woman who walked funny and laughed when she shouldn’t, who trailed off in the middle of sentences that she didn’t remember speaking. I wanted them to love her. The doctors couldn’t help her, they barely knew what it was she had, a lot of the first ones said she was just psychotic... Even when we eventually had a tentative diagnosis, there was nothing out there that could help her. I didn’t trust her with them. Just some patient they checked in on from time to time. I wanted to keep her at home. But the boys... They just wanted her gone.”

It was part of the reason he had quit work. His main argument, really. He wanted us to have some memory of him, before he was gone. He didn’t want to go the way of his mother. I didn’t understand then, how much that meant to him. How much her illness had affected him. I understand now.

“They didn’t ever want to visit her,” he says, his voice quaking, “once she was gone. I took them once, when she could barely even... She could barely even keep her eyes open. They were scared. She died less than a week after that. And I had these two boys, and they were saying that it seemed to run in families, and... I don’t blame your mother, not wanting him to be gone. It’s hard to make it on your own.”

He’s crying. Blinking, staring at the ceiling, trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears.

“Do they think he has...”

“A couple of months, maybe. He keeps falling. He can’t swallow. If he gets an infection, even something small, they don’t think they can save him. It’s just a matter of what gets him.”

“Uncle Don fell, right?”

He nods. “In his house. I was out running errands, she was... We don’t know where she was. He got up, apparently. He...”

“Fell.”

“Yeah. He was always like that, always... Always getting into trouble. Stubborn. He could still speak. Gibberish. He got so angry that we couldn’t understand him. He just...” He laughs uneasily, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. “We brought the girls to visit him, a few times. They would sit on his bed and he would talk to them and they... They would talk back. Random assortments of syllables. But they matched his inflections, they... When he asked a question, they gave an answer; when he got excited, so did they. He didn’t even know who they were. But they were so good for him. We tried to make her understand that, to let them come home, but...”

“She thought she knew best.”

He nods. “She did.”

“What do you think of the Christmas situation?”

He crosses his arms, turning to look at me. “I’ve talked to your mom. I think she should invite Melissa. I think everyone could use some family togetherness, right about now.”

“And my mother isn’t a fan of the idea.”

He mulls it over, choosing his words carefully. “It’s more complicated than you think.”

“Meaning...”

“I think you need to talk to Allison about this. That’s all I’m going to say.”

I cock my head to one side. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He shakes his head silently.

My father’s legs shift restlessly beneath the sheets. I leap up and walk over to his bedside. “Hey, Dad. You okay?”

He stares at me vacantly, his eye twitching.

“I’ve got to go, alright? I’ve kind of made a mess that I need to clean up. But Grandad’s here. Let him know if you need anything.”

Twitch.

“I love you.”

Twitch.

“Bye, Dad.”

I run out of the room, slamming the door behind me. Outside, I press myself against the wall, breathing hard.

“Adam?”

I turn my head. “Oh. It’s you.”

Allie steps forward, grabbing my arm. “Hey, it’s okay.” She peers around me at the closed door. “Are you playing tag or something?”

“Just tired.”

“Okay. Listen, there’s something I wanted to show you. Chelsea, too. She’s waiting out in the parking lot. If you want to go. I think you should. Matt says you’re... He says you need some help.”

“What is it?”

She stares at the ground. “Something you should see.”

“I’m really... I really just want to go home.”

Allie shakes her head. “You say you’re tired of me lying to you? Keeping secrets?”

I nod.

“I’m tired of it, too.”

* * *

Word Count (this update): 1942
Word Count (total): 20382

Cue the dramatic music. Somehow I've ended up behind on my word count (it might have something to with me taking four of the past seven days off from NaNo, but I'm not quite willing to admit that beyond the hypothetical), but Thanksgiving break is coming up, so I think I'll make it without too much trouble. College apps and schoolwork are swallowing me alive, but if you hang in there, I promise I'll finish this.

Next time: Shocking revelations (maybe. I've been plotting this thing since June, so I don't plan to be shocked), dramatic talks, some more fighting, and a really heartwarming speech from Chelsea (whom I hate).

November 13th: The best of intentions

2008-11-13T20:01:00.001-08:00

Chapter 5
Children are a heritage from the Lord,
Offspring a reward from him.
Psalms 127:3

“I don’t even know where to start.”

I shake my head, running my hands through my unkempt hair. “I still... I cannot believe... You know what? I really just don’t want to talk to you right now. Excuse me.”

I brush past her out of the room and down the stairs, into the kitchen. I grab some frozen waffles from the freezer and stick them in the toaster.

“I wanted to tell you. I just... She trusted me. Okay? And I know... I know it’s not fair. To you. I just... I couldn’t tell you. And I thought you’d seen it and I was between a rock and a hard place and I... I had to do something. I never thought you would assume it was your mom. I thought you... I don’t know what I thought. But I’m sorry. I just... There weren’t a whole lot of options, and I had to think of something fast, and I didn’t have time to call Chelsea or anything to ask her if it was okay to tell you and... I’m sorry.”

“Allie?”

“Yeah?” She hoists herself onto the kitchen counter, kicking her legs, looking back at me hopefully over her shoulder.

“Shut up.”

She slides off the counter and walks slowly from the room. A moment later, the front door slams.

I lean against the counter and stare at the toaster. I thought maybe I would feel better in the morning.

I was wrong.

* * *

“Adam, I’d really like for us to sit down and talk about your options.”

She stands nervously in the doorway, wringing her hands. She never used to be like this around me. She never used to be like this at all. Maybe I just didn’t notice. But when I was young, we got along. She was never overbearing or annoying. She didn’t try too hard. It wasn’t until I was older that I started to realize that she never listened to me. That other peoples’ parents weren’t like this. That’s when it started to bother me. When my friends talked about having fought with their parents, it was ugly yelling matches that ended in grounding or punishment. When they came home upset about something, their parents sat them down and heard them out, gave them some advice. My mother never yelled at me. When I was in trouble, she sat me down with a Bible in the corner and had me copy down verses. She was fond of Numbers. Sometimes Job. I hated Job. Numbers at least was applicable: God hated sinners, I was a sinner, it was something she thought I needed to hear. Job was monstrous. I spent nights tossing and turning because of it; Job’s hollow cries for mercy ringing in my ears. It wasn’t fair. Maybe it was those moments that I started to realize everything that was wrong with my mother. By the time I was thirteen, I refused to copy her verses any longer. She locked me in my room and read them to me, until my ears felt like they would bleed, until I could barely move or breathe for all the words pressing down on me. I don’t think she ever realized that her zeal was turning me away from her cause. I don’t think she ever imagined that anyone would want to turn away.

“I don’t have options. Chelsea has options.” I stare at the computer screen vacantly. “Look, I have a paper due Monday that I kind of need to get started on.”

She leans against the wall. “Adam.”

“A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Five pages. I didn’t even read the book. I have no idea how to start. Maybe I should just do it tomorrow.”

“Adam. Listen to me. You have a choice. She listens to you. You can steer her decision. Its your right to steer her decision.”

“Maybe I’ll call Matt. See what he’s writing about. I don’t know if he’s even speaking to me. Maybe I should try him...” I pull my cell phone from my pocket and hit speed dial four. Addie, Chelsea, Grandad, Matt. My mother is number ten. I ran out of people to put ahead of her.

The phone rings.

“Adam, hang up the phone.”

R-r-ring.

“Adam!”

R-r-ring.

“Adam, put down the phone.”

Hey, it’s Matt. Leave a message.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Adam, listen to me.”

“Yeah, not much. Just staring my paper.”

“Adam.”

“Yeah, I know. Such a bitch, right?”

“Adam, put the phone down.”

“Totally. Do you even know where to start?”

“Adam.”

“Nah, it’s like... I have it open, and I have my quotes and everything, but I don’t really know how to put everything together.”

“Adam, you can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”

“I know! Seriously! Five pages! Fucking ridiculous.”

“At some point you’re going to have to make some tough decisions.”

“I hate this book, anyway. What’s the point? It might be the worst thing I’ve ever read.”

“You need to talk to me. You need to figure out what you’re going to do.”

“Hah! Yeah, I forgot about that one. I think... Yeah, you’re totally right. Hands down.”

She takes two quick steps across the room and grabs the phone out of my hands, snapping it shut. “Listen to me. You are making an incredible mistake by putting this decision in the hands of a frightened teenage girl. This is a complicated situation, Adam. Even moreso because of --”

“I am eighteen years old, Mother. I understand how this happened, and I understand what my options are. I will not try to intimidate her into not having an abortion because you think that it’s wrong.” I pause, snatching my phone from her hand. I turn back to the computer screen, grinding my teeth. “Look,” I continue after a moment, my voice level. “You don’t always know what’s best. And I am not going to let you fuck this up. It is her choice and I support her, whatever she chooses to do. I don’t need your so-called help, and I don’t need for this to turn into one more situation where I count on you and you let me down. So please, just... Just leave us alone.”

I sneak a sideways glance at her. Her lower lip quivers, her hands shaking slightly, the left one picking at her eyebrow. “I... I’m just trying to help you.”

“Please leave.”

“Adam...”

“Go.”

She retreats slowly, like she’s waiting for me to change my mind. After a moment of cautious backwards footsteps, the door closes softly behind her.

I rub my eyes with one hand, the other knocking out a dirge on the desk. The lump forming my throat quickly falls to adrenaline. How condescending can she be? Coming in here acting like every decision she’s ever made was the right one, like she can really give sound advice. Acting like she’s not pushing her own agenda. All she ever does is push her own agenda. What’s best, what’s most convenient for Karen? Surely that’s what’s right. Surely it couldn’t be that someone else has greater needs; that everything isn’t about her.

I wonder, sometimes, how a man like him got stuck with a woman like her. He was smart and funny and kind. The people in his life were more than just pawns to him; it wasn’t about how many he could persuade to believe one thing or another. And somehow, when he met her, he thought that she made him complete. How does that work? How can someone become so blind? But he loved her. That’s the baffling thing. It wasn’t a one night stand turned wrong that trapped him in some passionless marriage. He loved her. He thought he was lucky to have her. How? How did he never see in her what I see so plainly?

The phone rings, startling me from my thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Did you call me? I just got a very weird message.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

He laughs. “No, it’s fine. You had a great conversation with yourself. I agree with everything you said. Listen, you want to hang out or something? Your mom sounds like she’s out to get you.”

I sigh. “Seriously. Yeah, sure. A movie?”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you later with the details. Are you seriously starting early on that paper? I was just going to wing it tomorrow night.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Avoidance tactic, maybe.”

He laughs. “I hear you. Alright. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

I hang up the phone and stare vacantly at the computer screen. It’s hard to find the energy to care. How am I supposed to give a damn about some trivial high school assignment when out here, in the real world, my father is dying, my girlfriend is pregnant, and my mother is insane?

Maybe I’m just restless. Maybe this is what it’s like, to know that I’ve lived half of my good years, half of the time I have left before I become some shadow of a person like my father. That’s not what I want. But I don’t get a choice. I can do the exercises, can improve my coordination, all of those things that are supposed to make me feel like I’ve maximized my quality of life. But in the end, what does it amount to? A few more weeks of being able to feed myself? A few days walking around? And I don’t know that I have it; I just can’t imagine not having it. It’s become as much a part of my identity as my own name.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been watching him die. This is the life that I know. Hospitals and medications that don’t help. No cures. No hope. This is what my life has been. This is the only life I know.

I don’t want the test to be positive, when and if I take it. I don’t want to live every day knowing that it’s only a matter of time. I don’t want to be weak, hopeless, pitiable. I don’t want to forget.

But sometimes, in the recesses of my mind, I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to be positive. To know that someday, I would finally understand what my father suffered through. To know that planning for the future didn’t need to be so important, after all.

To know that all her prayers amounted to nothing.

To know.

* * *

“You have a date tonight?”

He shakes his head, sipping on his drink. “Nah. Just you.” He smiles at me sweetly.

“Ew. My standards are higher than that. And I kind of have a girlfriend. And I mean ‘kind of.’”

He raises his eyebrows. “Official?”

I shake my head. “Not at all.” I cock my head. “Did Allie not tell you?”

“Tell me... That you’re an idiot? That Addie is... You know...” He makes a vague motion over his stomach, as if that adds some clarity.

“Addie’s not pregnant. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you.”

“Didn’t tell me... Wait, Addie’s not pregnant? She said...”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “When I saw you at the hospital, it kind of freaked me out, so I called her. Allie. And she said that she wasn’t ready to talk about it. That she’d talk to me about it when Addie was ready.”

“She said that?”

“Yeah. She said, ‘I can’t tell you anything right now. I want to, but I can’t. She doesn’t want anyone to know.’”

I bite my lip. “Yeah. She wasn’t talking about Addie.”

“I... Wait, so it really is your mom? I was just saying that. I didn’t... I thought after we talked, you just sort of jumped to some crazy conclusions or something. But...”

“It’s not my mom.”

He stares at me for a long moment, then closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “Adam.”

“I don’t know how it happened. It just...”

He opens his eyes, shaking his head. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I just found out last night.”

He rolls his eyes. “You called me today. I called you back. We went to a goddamn movie. You had time to watch some stoner comedy but not to tell me that your girlfriend was pregnant.” He pauses, blinking ten times more than necessary, his jaw shifting from side to side. “What... What are you doing, Adam? Are you really kidding yourself? Have you somehow convinced yourself that this isn’t some... That this isn’t a life-changingly big deal? This could...”

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you think I haven’t realized that? I can’t do anything about it, okay? She has to decide what she wants to do. And I’ve known for less than twenty-four fucking hours and everyone expects me to have a plan, like having a plan even matters.”

“Adam. Of course it matters. You need to know what you’re going to do, you need to know --”

“I don’t want to fucking know!”

Everyone around us is staring. Kids heading into the matinee. Their parents, covering their childrens’ ears. Two incorrigible teenagers. Loud and obnoxious. So rude.

Matt steps back, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “Your mom. This is what she was talking to you about this morning. This is why you called me. To get away from your mother, who has never done anything but love and look out for you. Who is trying to get you to make a smart decision, for once in your life. This is what you’re avoiding. Reason. You know why you always run away to Daddy when things get rough, Adam? Because he can’t talk back. And God, if he could, you wouldn’t have anywhere to go because he would tell you the exact same things your mother does. The same things I do. The same things that anyone with any sense of understanding, or decency, or... Jesus, when were you going to fucking tell me?”

I roll my eyes. “Believe it or not, this isn’t about you.”

“I know. It’s about you. Fucking act like it.” He tosses his soda in the trash and zips his coat. “I just don’t get why this upsets me more than it does you,” he says softly, with an air of disbelief.

“I am upset.”

“You’re not upset.”

“Of course I’m upset! My fucking girlfriend is fucking pregnant! I’m barely even eighteen! So yeah, I’m upset, jackass. This could ruin my life. Are you happy? You got me riled up now, are you happy?”

He sighs. “Are you happy?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re miserable. You’re one hundred percent convinced that you’re doing right by yourself, but you’re unbelievably miserable. Maybe it’s time you let somebody look after you.”

“I’m not five. I don’t need you to look after me. I need you to treat me like a normal person, not some freakshow son of a hobbling dead man. Of course I’m miserable. My mother is crazy, my father is dying, and my best friend is acting like some kind of surrogate.”

“Your best friend is acting like your best friend.”

I roll my eyes. “Judgmental and preachy? I can get that at home. You know what? Thanks for the help, but I think I will go home. I’d rather listen to my mother than listen to you.” I step off the curb and take off at a brisk walk toward my car, jingling my keys in my pocket.

Behind me, Matt snorts. “Have you ever listened to a word your mother’s said to you?”

I don’t respond.

“That’s good,” he calls after me. “Just walk away from the person who’s trying to help you. You’ve never tried that before. I’m sure it will work this time!”

I turn on my heel and walk back towards him, cracking my knuckles.

“Adam, woah, calm do—“

He doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before my fist connects with his face.

Word Count (this update): 2692
Word count (total): 18444

November 9th: I'm a masochist for falling for you

2008-11-09T14:11:00.000-08:00

Chapter 4
Wise children bring joy to their father,
but foolish children despise their mother.
Proverbs 15:20

I wish I’d worn my coat. The snow is starting to come down, now, drifting slowly through the midnight air, melting the instant it hits the ground. I can’t seem to keep my fingers warm. The dew on the grass has seeped through my jeans, wrapping my legs in ice. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know where else to go.

“I don’t know what to think. I think she’s just trying to get me to come home. Which is funny, because she hasn’t been home in years. Just because my mother isn’t a drunk doesn’t mean she isn’t crazy and impossible to live with. I mean... Sorry. I guess that is your wife and everything. I never really got to know her, but... I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do with myself. Any ideas?”

He doesn’t have any ideas. He’s been dead for four years now. This is the first time I’ve visited his grave. There’s a withered bouquet next to his headstone – “Happy birthday, Daddy. Love, Allie.” His birthday was in September, I think. It’s hard to remember. I know he died in April. I was fifteen. I had outgrown my suit and spent most of the service pulling awkwardly at my sleeves. Addie cried the whole time. Allie crossed her arms and never seemed to focus her eyes on anything in particular. My Aunt Melissa gave the eulogy. She was only a little less drunk than usual, but everyone pretended not to notice.

The twins moved back in with her, after their father died. They had come to us because their parents didn’t want them to watch their father suffer. So they watched mine suffer, instead. They were fourteen when he was buried. They had lived with us since they were six. More than half their birthday parties had taken place in our kitchen. Allie had her first kiss on our front porch. I was the one who taught Addie long division. My father taught them to ride their bikes without training wheels. We were their childhood. We were their family. And then they went back. It wasn’t home. Just some place they used to live.

Addie called the first night, crying. My mother wanted to go get her. Dad argued against it. They fought for hours that night. She stayed another week before my father conceded. Allie stayed. My mother tried to convince her to come back to us, that it would be best, but she couldn’t be swayed. She wanted to stay. Eventually, my mother gave up. Almost a year later, one unseasonably warm April afternoon, Allie finally came back. She showed up on the front porch with two suitcases and a shoebox. We pretended she had never left.

“Maybe I should just go home,” I mumble.

“Maybe.”

I whip my head around, my heart jumping into my throat. “Shit. You scared me.” I take a few deep breaths, my lungs burning with the cold. “How did you find me?”

“There were only so many places you could be. It wasn’t that hard.”

I nod, running my fingers lightly over his name, staring down at the grass. “It’s kind of creepy. Being in a cemetery in the middle of the night.”

“A little.”

“I keep expecting a ghost to float by or something.”

She sits down on the other side of his grave, curling her knees to her chest, tilting her face to catch the moonlight.

We sit in silence, my frozen fingers drumming on the headstone. She reaches out and puts her hand over mine. “Adam.”

I pull my hand away and pull at my sleeves. “Why are you here?”

“Because your mother asked me to look for you.”

“Mmm.”

“You never told her we broke up.”

I stretch my legs out in front of me, flexing my feet. “I don’t tell her a lot of things.”

“You kind of put me in an awkward position.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry. I forgot how this was all about you.”

I feel her eyes on me. I stare down at the ground.

“It is all about me,” she whispers.

I crack my knuckles, rolling my eyes. “No it’s not. It’s about my mother.”

“No. It’s about me.”

“How is it about you?” I look over at her, eyebrows raised.

Her eyes glisten in the moonlight. “Adam...”

“That’s what I thought.” I stand, crossing my arms. “Look, I’m going... Somewhere. Don’t follow me.”

“Adam.”

“I don’t have time for this, Chelsea. I didn’t... We broke up for a reason. You’re unbelievably self-centered. I can’t be with someone like that. Not now. Not ever.”

“Adam.”

“What?” I snap.

She sighs, her whole body trembling. She murmurs something inaudible, shaking her head.

“What?” I ask again. Gently this time.

“I’m the one who’s pregnant,” she whispers.

* * *

“Allie thought you knew. She thought you’d seen it, I mean.”

“Seen what?”

She sighs, poking at her eggs with her fork. “The pregnancy test. When we broke up, I called your mom. She talked to me about it, and she had me... I mean, she wanted me to talk to you, but I couldn’t. I just... She had me come over to your house and take a test. And of course it was positive. And we just threw it away outside, figuring you wouldn’t see it, but when Allie came home, she says that she saw the trash can lid sitting ajar and the test was right there in plain view. And... She thought you had seen it.”

“I didn’t see it.”

She nods. “Yeah. She figured that out later, but... It was sort of a spur of the moment thing. She just had to make something up, so she came in and told you that Addie must be pregnant. She thought that would be it. She was going to get Addie to play along with it, and then eventually she figured I’d tell you that it was actually me. But while you were at the hospital, Allie was on the phone with me, and I guess Addie left to go somewhere, and the next time Allie saw her was at family dinner, which obviously wasn’t going to work, and then Matt called her freaking out because he thought Addie was pregnant. And it just turned into this giant mess, and Addie confronted you, and you figured out on your own that it wasn’t her, but then you thought it was your mom...”

“But it’s you.”

“Yeah.” She sets down her fork, blinking back tears. “I don’t know what to do. Jesus. I’ve had like, three weeks to think about it and I still don’t know. And it’s even worse because...”

“Because it’s me.”

“Because it’s you. And I love you and I want to be with you but I don’t... I can’t...”

I take a long sip of my coffee, staring down at the table. “I could get tested.”

“Adam.”

“No, I mean... If it makes a difference. And it has to. I don’t want to know, but...”

She sighs. “But even if it’s negative, I don’t know if I’d keep it. And it’s not fair to you, to make you find out when it might not even make a difference.”

“Sir? More coffee?”

I look up, rubbing my eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

This was not the Friday night I had in mind.

“It’s not my decision, Chelsea. You do what you want. I’m behind you.”

“What if I keep it?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, staring down at my steaming mug. “I... I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”

“Adam.”

“What? I don’t know what you want me to say. I thought we...” I sigh, massaging my temples. “I don’t know. I thought we were more careful than this.”

“So did I.” She sighs, throwing her napkin down on the table. “Look, the smell of this shit is making me sick.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out her wallet, throwing a ten down on the table. “Pay and come outside, okay? I’ll be in the car.”

I nod, signaling the waiter, shoveling in two last bites of my pancakes. “We’ll take the check.”

He walks over and sets it on the table, then pauses and looks at me for a moment. “Are you Karen Larsen’s kid?”

“Yeah. The one and only.” I force a smile.

He nods, sticking out his hand. “Ian Woon. My wife had lung cancer last year. Your mother was so sweet to us.”

I shake his hand awkwardly, tucking Chelsea’s money in my pocket and handing him my debit card. “Yeah. People seem to like her. Is your wife...”

“She’s in remission.” He smiles, waving my debit card in the air. “I’ll be back in a minute with this. Hey, tell your mom I said hi, won’t you?”

“Sure.”

By the time I get to the car, Chelsea is asleep. I look at the clock. It’s two in the morning. I walk around to the driver’s side and pull the door open. Slowly, gently, I slide my right arm behind her neck and wedge my left under her knees. She awakens when I slide her off the seat, squinting at me sleepily.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

She smiles, lowering her feet to the ground. “It’s fine. Maybe you should drive, though.”

I nod. “I should probably take you home. Your dad is going to want to kill me.”

“He already does. You broke up with me, remember?” She laughs, climbing into the passenger seat. “I think he’ll forgive you, though. He likes you.”

“Yeah. My parents like you, too.”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Hey.”

I glance at her, putting the car in drive. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I should have just told you. I just... You’re so...”

“I know.”

She sighs. “For what it’s worth, your mom really wanted to tell you. She said it was unfair of me not to. She... I know you’re tired of hearing this, Adam, but she’s not a bad person. She just... I don’t know. I guess something gets lost in translation.”

“How long has she known?” I pick at my teeth with my tongue, pulling out onto the street. We’re the only car in sight.

Chelsea stares at her hands. “I don’t know. Last week sometime, I guess. Friday. Last Friday.”

“My mother’s known for a week that I got someone pregnant and she hasn’t told me?”

She sighs. “I made her swear not to, Adam. She wanted to tell you. I... I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Maybe I should be worried. Maybe you should be worried, too. Jesus, Chelsea, this isn’t... This isn’t failing your calc test, or forgetting to pack your brother’s lunch. You can’t... You can’t just pretend it isn’t true because it’s inconvenient. You... I... Jesus, you’re fucking pregnant.”

“I know.” She sinks down in her seat, staring down at her hands. “I... I just... I don’t know how this happened.”

“But you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure, Adam. Jesus Christ, do you think I’d tell your mom if I wasn’t sure? Do you think I’d tell you? I’m not trying to fuck with you. I’m just... Bewildered, maybe. Scared.” She nestles into her coat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just want to go home,” she says softly.

We drive in silence until we finally reach her house. I stop at the end of her driveway. “I guess I’ll walk from here.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’d offer to drive you home, but I’m seriously about five seconds away from falling asleep right now. Standing up. So... I can get my dad to drive you, if you want. The lights are on. I’m sure they’re up.”

I shake my head. “I’ll walk.”

“Adam.” She eyes me wearily, pulling her cell phone from her purse. “Fine. I’m calling your mom.”

“Chelsea --”

She holds up a hand, silencing me. “Hey, Mr. Larsen? It’s Chelsea. Mm-hmm. Right. Yeah. He’s at my house.” She laughs. “Of course. Yeah. No, he’ll be here. Alright. I will. Bye.”

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

She closes the phone and shrugs. “Your grandfather says someone will be here in twenty minutes. Come on. You don’t even have your coat on. Come inside.”

I sigh. “I never said I wanted to go home.”

“I don’t care. They’re your family. They’re stupid enough to love you.” She walks around the car and takes my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Just... Come inside.”

“I’ll wait out here.”

She sighs. “Adam, I was asleep when your mother called me in hysterics, asking me to go look for you. I did. Not because I love you, or because I wanted to bring you home. Not because I was looking to be some kind of hero. I didn’t even know where you’re uncle’s grave was; I just headed to the graveyard and wandered around. In the middle of the night. For more than an hour. And I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m just telling you, because I think you need to know, because otherwise it would sound completely unnecessary when I tell you that I rescued you because I didn’t think that anyone else knew how. And I’m telling you now, as the one who knew that you’d be at the graveyard, as the one who went out to midnight breakfast with you instead of turning you in to the family you hate... I’m telling you to come inside. Because I think I’m the only one left who knows what’s best for you. Including yourself. So come inside. Just to humor me, if you want. I don’t care why. Just come inside.”

I stare at her. “I never asked you to rescue me.”

“I know. But you need rescuing.” She forces a smile, grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers together. “Someone has to do it.”

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what’s right, or what’s wrong. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know where else to go. So I go inside.

* * *

“Hi, honey.”

The second I see her my eyes well up. I fight it. I don’t know what to do, how I’m supposed to be feeling. I don’t think there are any guidelines for appropriate behavior when the mother you hate but not as much as you initially thought comes to pick you up even though you slandered her in front of everyone she works so hard to impress. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I’m sorry? Maybe. You knew my girlfriend was pregnant and you didn’t tell me? You bitch. That seems more like me. I don’t know what to say. So I say nothing.

“Thanks so much for finding him, Chelsea.” She nods awkwardly to Chelsea’s parents. “And thanks to you two for letting her to go out to look for him at all hours of the night. I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve raised an outstanding young woman.”

They beam. They’ll be talking about that one for years. Everyone wants to impress my mother. Everyone but me.

“You should stay. Have some coffee, or at least take home a few cookies. I was baking the whole time Chelsea was gone.”

“She bakes when she’s nervous,” her husband adds.

My mother smiles, shaking her head. “I couldn’t possibly. Thank you so much, again. I think we have a lot to talk about.” She waves pleasantly to the Robbins’s and retreats, holding me firmly by the elbow. They see us to the door, their voices competing for attention. Chelsea stands behind them, leaning against the wall, her eyes heavy. I wave to her over her father’s shoulder. She doesn’t wave back.

The second the door closes, my mother’s smile collapses. “Adam,” she says softly, barely more than a whisper.

“I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry.” It’s a hollow apology. I don’t know whether I mean it or not, which might be even worse than not meaning it at all.

She shakes her head. “I wanted to tell you. I... We’ll get through this, okay?” A stray tear cascades down her cheek. “I’m not trying to push you away,” she whispers. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Can we just go home?” My voice is so loud. I can hear it bouncing off the trees, reverberating over the perfectly manicured lawns. I crack my knuckles, staring at the ground.

She sniffs, then nods, her eyes still shining. “Yeah. Of course. Let’s go home.”

I fall asleep in the car. When I wake up, I’m still in the seat, alone in the dark garage. I stumble out of the car and into the house. My mother is sitting on the couch, sipping her tea, staring vacantly at the television. She turns around when she hears me.

“Hey, honey. Did you sleep well? I thought about telling you we were home, but... You looked so peaceful.” She smiles halfheartedly, swirling her teabag around the mug. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m going to bed, I guess.”

“Okay. When you get up, we should probably talk.”

I stare at her for a long moment. “Yeah, sure.”

I never want to get up again.

* * *

Word count (this update): 2920
Word count (total): 15708

This was a battle every step of the way, but I think I'm back in the groove now. Chelsea was always supposed to be the pregnant one, but apparently I decided it was a good idea to take a convoluted and ridiculous path on the way there. Oh, well. We're about where we were supposed to be, now. Breaking 15K is a relief. Hopefully I'll have another good chunk up tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

November 7th: Our clocks are ticking, now

2008-11-07T20:15:00.000-08:00

“What’s going on?”

I shake my head, scribbling down a few more numbers before setting down my pen and looking up. “What?”

Addie rolls her eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “I know you. I live with you. You and Allie are... I mean, I don’t know what you and Allie are doing. But it seems like you’re hiding something. From me. So tell me. What’s going on?”

I sigh. “You don’t have to pretend. We know.”

“You know what? That I failed my physics test?” She snorts. “I told you I didn’t understand circuits.”

“Addie, stop.”

She steps forward, pushing the door shut behind her. “Adam, I don’t know what I did, or you think I did. I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I stare at her for a long moment. She looks genuinely confused. Concerned. Not like a scared teenage girl. Not like someone who just found out she was pregnant. Not like someone who’s hiding something. Maybe...

“Oh, shit.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Matt was right,” I mumble, my voice almost a whisper. “He was right. It is my mother.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I shake my head. “Where is she?”

“Aunt Karen? She’s at Bible study. Why?”

“Does Grandad have the other car?”

“I... I don’t think so. I think he and Allie are playing chess downstairs.”

I stand, grabbing a sweatshirt off my floor and pulling it over my head.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

I brush past her. “I’m going to talk to my mother.”

“Don’t be crazy!” She chases after me down the hall and grabs my shoulders, spinning me around. “It can wait, can’t it? Seriously, Adam, what’s going on?”

I shake off her grip. “My mother is fucking around. That’s what’s happening. Okay? Can I go now?”

Addie’s jaw drops. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “I’m sure.”

“How?”

I sigh. “I don’t have time for this, Addie. Seriously. I’m going now.” I take the stairs two at a time. She follows me, down and out the front door into the cold night air.

She grabs the back of my sweatshirt. “Adam, don’t do this.”

“My father is dying, Addie. And she’s out there fucking some guy. He’s still breathing, and she’s already written him off. She deserves to be humiliated. She deserves to be... Fuck if I know. But she deserves this.”

“You’re going to regret it.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not. She’s fucking some guy. She’s fucking some guy who is not my father and that is not okay with me and it wouldn’t be okay with him and... I don’t need to stand here and justify myself. I’m going. That’s it.”

“Let me go with you.”

I crack my knuckles one by one, mulling it over. “Why?”

“Because I’m afraid to leave you alone.”

I stare at her for a long moment, silhouetted in the porch light. She looks haggard. Responsible. She’s standing out in the New England winter without a coat on just because she thinks she might be able to save me.

“Fine.”

We ride to the church in silence, Addie staring out the window, her breath fogging up the glass. I don’t bother to turn on the defroster. By the time we get there, I can barely see through the windshield.

The church doors stand open. Signs with arrows point down the hallway to Bible study, held in a smaller side chapel. I start off at a run, but slow with each step. I walk into the room with my hands in my pockets, my jaw jutting forward. Relaxed, or trying to be. Ready.

“The interesting thing about Lamentations is that it is so much a book of hope, even in its discussion of suffering,” she’s saying. “I always find myself turning to it when I need to be uplifted, even though it’s so heartbreaking at times. There’s this sense that, I suppose, these people, these inspired Biblical scribes, went through the same things...” Her eyes meet mine. “Um, excuse me for a moment, everyone. Adam, what...”

“Who are you sleeping with?”

My words echo throughout the room. Everyone turns to look at me. Men and women, young and old. All eyes on me.

“E-excuse me? Who...”

I roll my eyes. “Who are you sleeping with? Him?” I gesture to a man in the front row, who looks at once flattered and frightened. He turns to the woman next to him and shakes his head earnestly. “How about him?” I point at a young guy toward the back with too much product in his hair. His eyes bulge. “The organist? The Reverend? Who is it, Mom? Who are you sleeping with?”

She stares at me, her mouth slightly agape, arms hanging limply at her sides. “Adam, what are you talking about?”

“Your affair. You know, that guy you’re fucking who isn’t Dad. Who is he?”

“Adam, I’m not... I’m not having sex with anyone who isn’t... I’m not having sex with anyone. No one. Not the organist or the Reverend, and certainly not some poor man in my Bible study whose wife may not ever trust him again! How dare you!” Her tone shifts from confused to frustrated as she speaks, her hands curling into fists. “Go home, Adam. We’ll talk about this later.”

“No. We’ll talk about it now.”

She sighs. “Adam, I don’t know where you got this idea, but you’re wrong. Okay? And this is neither the time nor the place --”

“We know you’re pregnant.”

Her face falls. “Oh...”

My stomach sinks. “It’s true.”

I was hoping that she would prove me wrong. That she would be flabbergasted and offended. That it would be obvious, looking at her, that we were wrong. That this was just another wacky misunderstanding. That she was right, and I was wrong. I was hoping. But the way her shoulders slump now, the way her eyes dance around the room, looking anywhere but my face...

“Adam, wait.”

But I’m gone. I don’t know where I’m going. I take off running out of that room, through a maze of hallways and out of the church. I run past the car, where Addie stands waiting. I run down the street in the blistering cold, the wind whipping at my hair, my arms slicing through the night. I run.

This time, I don’t slow down.

* * *

You have six unheard messages. First unheard message.

“Adam, where are you? Pick up. Please? Adam, we’re worried about you. Your mom wants to talk to you. Please call me when you get this. I --”

Message is deleted. Second unheard message.

“Hey, Adam. It’s Addie again. Where are you? It’s like, eleven thirty. You need to come home. We won’t make you talk, or anything, you can just go to bed. Just... Please. Come home. We --”

Message is deleted. Third unheard message.

“Adam, your mom is freaking out here. Seriously. She wants to call the police. Grandad’s trying to get her to go to bed but I really think you should --”

Message is deleted. Fourth unheard message.

“Hey, it’s Matt. Look, I’m sorry about earlier. Your mom just called me freaking out or something. Apparently you’re AWOL. Anyway, I have no idea where you are, but if you need somebody to talk to, I’m at home. Call me. Allie says --”

Message is deleted. Fifth unheard message.

“Adam, it’s Grandad. Come home now. Your father would be appalled by your behavior. Stop acting like a petulant child and --”

Message is deleted. Sixth unheard message.

“It’s Allie. I lied. I knew Addie wasn’t pregnant. I mean... She’s a virgin. Seriously. But I thought... I didn’t think you would assume it as your mom. I guess I didn’t think it through. I’m stupid, and I’m sorry. Call me. I’m not trying to trick you. But there’s something I think you should know. We don’t have to meet at home, but I really need to see you. We need to talk.”

My thumb pauses over the keypad.

Message is deleted. You have no unheard messages.

* * *

Word count (this update): 1362
Word count (total): 12790

November 5th: Day and night, earth and sky

2008-11-05T19:53:00.000-08:00

“What’s going on?” Addie sits up, bleary-eyed, when I come into the room.

I set her tea down on the coffee table and drape a blanket over her. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

She collapses back onto her side. I return to the kitchen, where Allie is cradling her own mug, absentmindedly twirling the teabag around the rim with her pinky.

“How?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. She just... And I can’t...” She waves her hands wildly, looking up at the ceiling, her eyes glistening. “This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!” she squeals, her voice breaking. “God, everything is so fucked up right now. This is just...”

I sit down across from her and sit back in my chair, arms crossed. “How long have you known?”

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. This is so much worse than you think it is.” Her eyes brim over, tears flooding down her cheeks. “I can’t...”

“Hey, hey.” I look around for a box of tissues and settle for a napkin, which I hand to her. “Start from the beginning. How do you... Just start from the beginning. Slowly.”

She sighs. “I just... I found it. Just now. I threw out my phone by accident the other day, when it got mixed up with a bunch of shit on my floor. And... I don’t know. I was looking for it, in the big trashcan outside, just now, and I found it. And it can’t be your mom’s because your dad’s in the hospital and it’s so not mine and --”

“Whoa!” I interrupt her, shaking my head rapidly. “Slow, Allie. You found it in the trash can outside?”

She nods, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Yeah,” she sniffles, staring at the table. “In the bag. So it had to come from someone who lives here. And the only person it could be is Addie. I mean, it can’t be you, or Grandad, and...”

“And it can’t be my mother, because Dad’s in the hospital. Or you, because...”

“It’s not me,” she finishes, chewing furiously on her thumbnail. “I can’t... I can’t believe this is happening.”

I sigh. “Okay. So... What do we do? Do we talk to her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t...” She lays her head down on the table, covering her head with her hands. The way you’re supposed to do if you get stuck in a tornado. I suppose that’s fitting.

I stare at my hands. “Jesus Christ. How... When? And when was she going to tell us?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think about this anymore. It makes my head hurt.”

I rest my chin on my palm, suddenly too weak even to hold up my head. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “I’m sure. I can’t... I’m sure.”

“Shit. She’s...”

“Pregnant. She’s pregnant.”

* * *

“Dad, I have no idea what to do.”

His only response is a twitch. That’s the only way he ever responds.

“I don’t get it. I don’t... How could she be this stupid? And why wouldn’t she tell us? I mean, I guess it’s self-centered, but I really thought... I don’t know. I guess if Chelsea were pregnant I probably wouldn’t tell the twins, not until we knew what we were going to do. But Allie’s her sister. They’ve known each other since the womb! They came from the same damn egg! How...”

I’m pacing. From the TV to the bedside table and back, over and over and over again. Wearing holes in the floor. I can’t stop moving. I can’t stop talking. I don’t want to think about this. This is the last thing in the world I want to think about. Someone got my almost-sister, my almost-baby-sister, pregnant. This is not okay.

“I just... Since we were kids, I’ve worried about her. Some days that’s all I do. Allie kind of does here own thing, but she takes care of herself. You know Allie’s not going to get herself in trouble. Allie’s not going to get pregnant. Allie has a good head on her shoulders. Addie’s the wildcard. I worry about her. So I... I don’t know, I watch out for her. Tutor her in physics. Keep an eye on her. When the hell did she get pregnant? I mean, I’m not going to... Jesus, you’re my father. But you don’t even know who I am, so I might as well just talk. Whatever. Anyway. I’m not going to pretend I’m a fucking saint or something, it’s not like I’m a virgin or whatever, but... But how? How did she let herself get pregnant? You know who gets pregnant at sixteen? Slackers. Slackers and whores and drop-outs and... This doesn’t make any sense. She didn’t even tell us she had a boyfriend.” I run my hands through my hair. “Jesus, what if she doesn’t? What if she just sleeps with random guys, and one of them got her pregnant? No wonder she never thought to introduce him to us, she doesn’t even know who he is!”

There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say, my voice feeble. “It’s open.”

“Allie said you were here.”

I collapse into one of the chairs and slump over, my head between my knees. “Jesus, Matt, we’re so fucked.”

“I mean, I know this sounds callous and stupid, but is it really that... Never mind, that’s not what I mean. I mean, is it really... If she’s pregnant, she’s pregnant. Stressing out over it isn’t going to do any good.”

I stare at him. “She’s like, five. She shouldn’t be pregnant.”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s sixteen. And you don’t even know that she’s pregnant. Your stupid cousin found a pregnancy test in the trash that was positive. I saw this episode of Friends. It could be something completely different.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay, my mother is pregnant, Matt. And she must be having an affair, in that case, because lord knows Daddy over there isn’t spreading his seed anymore, so wow. That is just like that episode of Friends. The one where Joey has a terminal illness and Monica sleeps with Ross and gets pregnant, but Rachel thinks that it’s Phoebe who’s pregnant?”

He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “Monica and Ross are brother and sister. Your version of this story just got way creepy.”

“Way to focus on what’s important.”

He sighs. “Look, I just think you’re being kind of --”

“Shut up.”

His mouth drops open. “What?”

“I said shut up, Matt. Jesus Christ. You think you have some special insight into my family? Just because you’re dating my cousin? What the fuck do you know? I didn’t ask you. I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask you to give me... What is it you’re trying to give me, advice? Jesus, Matt, sometimes I think --”

The door slams shut before I can finish the sentence.

* * *

Word count (this update): 1158
Word count (total): 11428

Author's note: Sorry so short. Schoolwork is swamping me right now, and will be tomorrow, as well, but I'm trying to at least scratch something out. Just enough to keep the momentum going. :-)

November 4th: Need to talk

2008-11-04T19:19:00.000-08:00

“I think we need to talk, Adam.”

Matt shifts his weight uncomfortably. “I’m going to, uh, go get some lunch. Or something. I’ll, uh, see you. In the kitchen. I’ll see you in the kitchen. Later.” He turns awkwardly and shuffles out of the room, arms swinging at his sides.

My mother nods toward the couch. “Sit. Now.”

I sit.

“I...” She pauses, her hands visibly trembling. This is not going to go well. “I cannot...” She cradles her head in her shaking hands, picking absentmindedly at her eyebrow. “What am I supposed to do with you, Adam? Maybe you have some idea, some... Something. Maybe you can tell me what it is I’m doing wrong, because... Because I’m trying my best, and you... I’m trying my best, and you are still spiteful, and rude, and stubborn, and difficult, and angry. And... And I’m trying my best, Adam, I am, so if you have any idea why, if you have any inkling as to what I am doing to make you so spiteful and rude and stubborn and difficult and angry, please let me know. Please. Because I can’t... Because I just can’t figure it out. I can’t.” Her voice breaks. Her fingers scan her eyebrows frantically, looking for something to hold onto.

I stare at my hands. This isn’t what I expected. I expected anger, disappointment. A self-righteous lecture on obedience and respect. Not this. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not, Adam. You’re not sorry. You’re sorry you upset me. You’re not sorry for anything you’ve done. It’s not the same thing.” She keeps her eyes on the ground as she speaks, massaging her temples.

“What? What’s so gravely immoral about walking out of church so you can visit your dying father? What do I have to be sorry for about that?”

She sighs deeply. “Adam, please.”

“I can’t take it. Living in a damn fishbowl. I can’t take all of them watching me. Pretending they know me. Pretending they can help me. I don’t even know their names, and they want to save my life. How does that work? Who does that?”

“I can think of someone,” she says quietly.

I roll my eyes. “Jesus Christ, we’re not talking about Jesus, we’re talking about our family. Why do you always have to make it about that? Maybe I would actually talk to you if you didn’t insist on turning every conversation into some... Some spiritual testimony. I don’t care that you think prayer has healing powers. I don’t care that Jesus has saved us all from the fires of hell. Maybe if you didn’t always act like I was some... Some fucking project, maybe I wouldn’t be so stubborn and resentful. How about that?”

“Why are you so angry? He loves you.” She shakes her head, her gaze still fixed on the ground. “You know he loves you. You have to. Why are you so angry with him?”

“What, did he tell you that? That he loves me? Is God speaking to you now? Are you going to build a fucking ark or something? Take me up on a mountain and try to kill me?!”

Her eyes meet mine. “I wasn’t talking about God. I was talking about your dad.”

* * *

Chapter 3

But God said to Jonah,
"Is it right for you to be angry?" . . .
"It is," he said.
"And I am so angry I wish I were dead."
Jonah 4:9

“How did things go yesterday?”

I roll my eyes, slamming my locker door shut and shouldering my backpack. “First we talked about what was wrong with me. Then we talked about what was wrong with her. Then... I don’t know. I thought we were actually getting somewhere, maybe? I guess she felt that way, too, because then she asked me to pray with her.”

Matt inhales sharply. “Ooh. Bad move.”

“It didn’t really go over well. I don’t know. She’s insane.” I set down my pack and slide down the wall to the floor. Beside me, Matt does the same.

“Are you in trouble for walking out of church?”

I shrug. “I don’t think so. I mean, she’s still pissed at me, but she’s not going to ground me or anything. Not that it really matters. She wouldn’t ground me from the hospital, and since Chelsea and I broke up that’s the only place I really go.”

He nods. “You are kind of a hermit.”

“Shut up. I used to have a life. I think.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

I flex my feet, stretching out my calves. “I still have this bad taste in my mouth. About the whole Chelsea thing.”

“Well, I mean, you guys ended on a shitty note. What did you really expect.”

“I don’t know. But when you break up with someone, you’re supposed to feel like you did the right thing. I don’t feel like I did the right thing. But I also don’t feel like I want to listen to her nagging for the rest of my life.”

Matt snorts. “Believe it or not, there’s this magical thing that can happen after a breakup known as ‘making nice.’ Plus you get the make-up sex. Which is rumored to be good.” He smirks.

“Shit, dude, keep your dick in your pants. She’s practically my sister.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just saying. You and Chelsea really should talk, though. And I’m not just saying that on Allie’s behalf. I don’t think.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You know something.”

He shakes his head. “Allie knows something, though. She pushes it on me at really awkward moments.”

“So your girlfriend slash my almost-sister knows something super secret about why me and my ex broke up that I don’t even know myself.”

“It seems like it. But if anyone asks, I said nothing.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure the FBI will be here shortly to begin the interrogation.”

He purses his lips. “Not to worry you, dude, but I think it’s kind of...”

“Serious?” I suggest. Half-kidding.

He nods gravely. “Yeah. Serious.”

“Oh.” My stomach sinks. I need to talk to Chelsea. I should talk to Chelsea. But... What if I don’t want to know?

It seems like everything in my life comes down to this. This choice. Do I want to know? Am I better off not knowing? It might not even be important. It might not even have anything to do with me.

“Whatever. I’ll talk to her at some point. I really don’t think it would go all that well right now, anyway.”

He looks at me skeptically, then shrugs. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

“It can’t be that important, can it? She would have told me.”

Matt cracks his knuckles uncomfortably. “Yeah. Right.”

He doesn’t believe me.

I don’t believe me, either.

* * *

“Hey, Grandad.”

He lowers his glasses and looks up at me. “Hey, champ. Go see your dad, didya?”

I nod. “He’s alright. Not a good day.”

“Eh. We all have our days.” He eyes me for a minute longer, then gestures to the armchair across from him. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Shit.

I sit, cracking my knuckles. I don’t dare speak. Grandad has lived with us for years, ever since Uncle Don died, and has only yelled at me a handful of times. I think I’m still shaking from last time.

“Your mother and I had an interesting talk today.”

I nod.

His face softens. “Relax, Adam. I’m not going to hit you. I just... Frankly, I’m worried about you.”

“I... I’m fine. Seriously.”

He shakes his head. “Adam, I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it. Your mom needs you, champ. And you’re great with your dad. When you’re with him, you take such good care of him. You talk to him like a person, not a kid. He’s still your father. You still treat him like your father. And you help him, and that’s really admirable. It’s not easy. I know it’s not easy.”

I nod.

“But your mother... She doesn’t need you to help her get dressed, or to escort her to the bathroom. But she still needs you.”

“It’s just...”

He shakes his head, holding up a hand. “Look, champ, here’s the thing: she’s not perfect. I know she’s not. Neither is your dad. God knows he was trouble growing up, and he’s still stubborn and impulsive and aggravating. But you love him anyway. Give your mother the same chance.”

“It’s not the same.”

He sighs. “You’re just like him.”

“What?”

“Stubborn and impulsive and aggravating.”

I stare at my hands. “I’m not trying to antagonize her. I know it sounds like I am, but I’m not. I just... She makes it so hard. Like, yesterday, we actually were getting along well. We both sort of cleared the air, and reached this understanding, and it felt good. And then she asked me to pray with her, and it was just like... Like it had never happened. She just... It’s like she doesn’t hear me. I tell her, ‘I hate it when you preach to me.’ And she says she understands, but then she keeps doing it. Like I never said anything. What am I supposed to do? What else can I say?”

He tents his hands, resting his wrists on his belly. “Talk to her, champ. I know you already have. But talk to her again. All the things you’re telling me, all the things you’ve complained about to other people. Tell them to her.”

“I’ve tried that.”

“Try again.”

I sigh. “Grandad, I know... I don’t know. I know you’re trying to help, it’s just that...”

He purses his lips. “Your dad never liked his mom much, either. He was so young when she got sick. Even when she was lucid, he didn’t care for her. Said she was a shrew. One day I damn near decked him, the way he was talking to her. I can’t make you love your mother, champ. I couldn’t make your dad love his, and I can’t make you love yours. But you should. Your dad fell in love with her for a reason.”

“It’s not that I don’t love her. I just... I can’t talk to her. When I was in third grade, I came home crying because some guys were shoving me around at recess. She told me to turn the other cheek and asked me to pray about it with her. When Dad got his diagnosis, I tried to talk to her about it and she suggested that we read through some favorite psalms together, instead. She never talks to me. She has never actually talked to me.”

“Just do the right thing, champ. Nothing more, nothing less. Just... Do the right thing.”

With that, he stands, pausing to stretch for a moment before sauntering off toward the kitchen.

Addie blows in through the front door a few minutes later. “Hey. What are you doing? Just sitting?”

I shake my head. “We had a talk.”

“Chelsea?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You know something?”

She shakes her head. “No. Allie does, though. Did you talk to her?”

I sigh. “No. But the way you and Matt are talking, I probably should.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Who was it, then? Aunt Karen?”

“Grandad.”

She drapes her coat over a chair and collapses onto the couch, curling her feet up under her. “What did he have to say?”

“He thinks I should give my mother a chance.”

She rests her head on the armrest, closing her eyes. “Well, you know what I think about that.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s hard to forget.”

“Not fair. I don’t beat you over the head with it or anything. I just think it’s important.” She crosses her arms, burrowing her hands into her armpits. “Jesus, I’m tired. It’s so cold.”

“It’s not that bad. I kind of like it.”

“You’re weird. And stupid.”

“You want some tea?”

She opens her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Ooh, put the kettle on. I love the kettle.”

“Speaking of weird...”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s old-timey. It makes me happy. A little bit of honey in mine, please. I’ll be here when you get back.” Her eyes fall shut again.

I wander into the kitchen and rummage through cabinets, trying to find the kettle. I’ve unloaded most of the pots and pans onto the counter when the back door slams open behind me.

“Adam.”

I turn. Allie stands there, wild-eyed, holding the door open. A few brave snowflakes follow her inside, melting as they fall.

“We need to talk.”

* * *

Word count (this update): 2114
Word count (total): 10,267

Author's note: If this is choppier than usual, blame the election. For every word I typed, I think I refreshed the returns twice. Also, I broke the 10K barrier! This is by far the earliest I've ever done so, but I'm not counting my chickens yet. If most people have catastrophic Week 2s, mine are usually the equivalent of a nuclear winter.

November 3rd: It's not Christmas if the snow don't fall

2008-11-03T16:58:00.001-08:00

It’s Allie who follows me out. Allie who barely knows me, has never liked me, has only ever seen me as an inconvenience. It’s Allie who folds her arms across her chest like that will keep her warm in the December chill, who watches me pace in front of the church. Who waits.

“Can you go back inside? Please?”

She gnaws on her thumbnail for a moment before responding. “Do you know why everyone watches you?”

“What?”

She shrugs, examining her cuticles. “When you’re in there, everyone wants to know you. Do you know why?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. Because I’m another tally mark for their chart of disadvantaged acquaintances.”

She snorts, crossing her arms tightly and leaning against the wall. “Believe it or not, they’re worried about you. They want to help you. And if you weren’t such a dick to them, if you would actually give them a chance, they might come through. People will surprise you. I promise.”

“Sure. Have you met those people? They’re not like that. They’re not the kind of people who worry about the children of their friends. They’re just leeches. They like knowing people with problems. It makes them feel important.”

“I think it makes you feel important to imagine that everyone is clamoring to know you. Sometimes people really just want to help. It happens. They’ve known you since you were a baby, Adam. Some of them have known your mother since she was a baby. They want to help you. They want to make your life easier. Let them.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need their help, Allie. I just need space. Room to breathe. Whatever. And a ride to the hospital. I need one of those, too.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the keys.” She opens the door, then closes it, turning back to look at me. “Adam?”

“What?”

“I’m doing this for your father. Not for you.”

* * *

“And I told her that she couldn’t expect me to get tested just because that’s what she wanted. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

His eye twitches back at me. I can’t tell if he remembers, today.

“The thing is, I feel bad. And I don’t really know why. She just bombarded me with this sh... She just bombarded me for days and days with this nagging, talking like it was somehow her decision. It’s not her decision. It’s not her that’s gonna die, you know? I don’t know. And I don’t know why it’s suddenly such an issue with her, you know? I’m just confused, I guess, and... Tired of thinking about it. And I guess part of me feels like I’m being unfair but I’m not, am I? Not really. I asked her not to talk to me about it and she just wouldn’t let it go. I don’t need that right now. Not with everything else. And stuff.”

He’s playing with his fingers, like a toddler who has just discovered they exist.

“I walked out of church.”

His eyes widen. He makes some odd noise in his throat, at once disbelieving and admonishing. He remembers. I smile in spite of myself. He remembers. He’s listening. He knows who I am. He knows who we are. The cloud over my head disappears in an instant.

“Mom’s gonna fucking kill me, right?” I laugh. “I still can’t believe I did it.”

He coughs, his eyes sparkling. The twitch is barely noticeable when he smiles.

I grab one of his fidgeting hands and hold it in both of mine, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. “I miss you. I wish you could talk to her. Mom, I mean. She just... I know she’s trying. But it’s not enough. You always knew how to make her understand.”

There’s a knock on the door behind me. “Hey. How is he?”

I shrug. “Good. It’s a good day.”

He coughs again, that strange half-smile on his face. Pleased with himself. I grin at him. It is a good day. It’s a damn good day.

Matt settles into the chair in the corner, under the TV. “Private room. Someone’s living large.”

“I know. The Reverend’s wife sits on the board for the hospital. We’ve got connections.”

He snorts. “Maybe not after today. I heard you ran out of church.”

“Who told you that?”

“Allie. She said you were a total drama queen about it too. As usual.”

I roll my eyes. “She exaggerates. As usual.”

Matt laughs. “Yeah, whatever. Speaking of your neurosis, how are things with Chels?”

“Over. I think. It’s complicated.”

He leans back in his chair, resting both feet on the end of Dad’s bed, one crossed over the other. “Allie thinks you should talk to her.”

“Allie has a lot of thoughts. They haven’t been a lot of help to me so far.”

“Just saying. Don’t you think she might have a good reason to want to know?”

I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. Allie brought up that excellent point.”

“Yeah, well. Look, you’re not supposed to set your best friend up with your almost-sister if you don’t want him to parrot everything she says.”

“Yeah, whatever. I didn’t set you two up. My mother did. She just somehow convinced you that it was me.”

He crosses his arms. “You make her sound so conniving and evil.”

“My mother is conniving and evil.”

“Your mother is sad. I mean, seriously.” He waves a hand at Dad’s bed, rolling his eyes. “She actually does try to do right by you, believe it or not. You’re actually kind of lucky to have her.”

“Can we not have this conversation right now?” I crack my knuckles, nodding toward my father. “I think the game’s on.”

“Nah, not until one.” He shifts his weight, letting the chair fall forward onto all four feet. “Anyway. How’s it going, Mr. Larsen?”

Dad blinks and fans his fingers, his hand still resting in mine.

“Your son made quite a scene at church today. Mrs. Larsen might kill him if he goes home. I recommend organizing protective custody of some sort.”

His lips twitch. He’s always liked Matt.

“Your nieces are doing good. Allie said she visited you last week but hasn’t gotten a chance to come back. She’s working now, did you hear? Bargain Mart. I know. So illustrious! You wouldn’t think they’d hire high school students to such important positions. But there she is, scanning things with that little scanner gun, acting like it’s not changing the free world. Modest, that one. She’s holiday help, so she’s just there through the Christmas return rush and all that, but she was just looking to make some extra cash for the holidays. She actually kind of likes it. I never pegged her for the retail type, but apparently she’s full of surprises. And then Addie’s doing alright for herself, too. She took the SAT a few days ago. Adam’s tutoring her in physics, but you know how she is. I think she’ll buckle down soon, but that’s just me. I know I did, once it sort of hit me that college applications were, indeed, looming. But yeah. She ran $40 over on texting last month and Mrs. Larsen threatened to take her phone away, so she’s behaving herself. Kind of. In the way that Addie ever behaves herself. I mean, you know. She’s not a bad kid. She’s just... Addie.”

Dad’s eyes close halfway through Matt’s speech, but he doesn’t fall asleep. He’s just listening. This is what he likes to hear. Updates. It must be terrifying and lonely, being him. Waking up one moment and not remembering the last, not knowing where you are, just wanting someone to tell you which way is up.

“And then your son. Jesus Christ, your son. He’s a piece of work.” Matt grins at me. I glare back at him. “Kidding. I assume he already told you about his girlfriend troubles. Which seriously, I see his point, but I also think he’s an ass. Which is true of most topics, now that I think about it. But yes. He stormed out of church today. Not stormed, really. Apparently he just stood up calmly and walked out. Right in the middle of the service. Which is, I believe, generally discouraged. Certainly by Mrs. Larsen. Who, as I already said, and you already know, will have his head. But that’s his problem. I have no idea where his impulse control is. He’s such a... Teenager. Our brains aren’t fully developed, you know. The part that makes decisions and all that. My mom constantly reminds me. And I’m not gonna lie, Adam really makes me a believer in the undeveloped teenage brain. Just saying.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Matt. You’re a great friend.”

“Hey, I try.” He lifts his feet off the foot of the bed and sets them back on the ground, standing. “I’m gonna go get a candy bar. You want something?”

I shrug. “Chips, I guess. Go to the machine on the third floor by the elevator. This elevator, not the one at the other end. They have barbecue chips up there. This one only has the baked crap.”

“Your knowledge of hospital vending machines disturbs me,” he informs me, jingling the change in his pockets. “But barbecue chips it is. Does your dad want some water?”

“Dad? You want something to drink?”

Dad feebly squeezes my hand. “Yeah, he does. Here’s the cup.” I grab it and toss it to him. “Thanks, Matt.”

He shrugs. “Don’t mention it. It’s snowing like crazy outside, by the way. I meant to tell you when I came in.”

“Well, it’s December. It’s kind of expected.”

“Yeah. But seriously. Looks like a blizzard’s coming. I hope you brought your chains.”

“Allie drove me. I’ll let her know when I call her for a ride home.”

Something flickers across his face. “Hey, I’ll give you a ride home, dude. I think she’s working.”

“No she’s not. She doesn’t work Sundays. They were going to go out for brunch.”

“It’s no big deal. I’ll drive you.”

“My house is the opposite direction. In what you’re calling a blizzard.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine, man. Seriously. I’ll take you.”

“She’s at brunch like, five minutes away. I don’t want you to be out an extra two hours because you were driving me home.”

“Adam, please.”

“Why don’t you want me to call her?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s snowing. She’s my girlfriend. I think she should be inside when it snows. It’s safer inside. What if she gets stuck driving over here?”

“She’s a big girl. She knows how to drive in all kinds of weather.”

“Seriously. I’m driving you. End of story. Addie said you guys had some leftover soup, anyway. I’m all over that. You can repay my kindness with food.”

I sigh. “Fine. Whatever. Calgon, take me away.”

“Whatever, dickhead. I’ll be back in a minute with your fancy third floor chips.”

As soon as he’s gone, I look back down at my father. “He’s weird.”

Dad’s eye twitches back at me.

“I know. You like him. I do, too. He’s just... Difficult. Among other things.”

His fingers drum unevenly on my wrist. I wrinkle my nose.

“She really is going to kill me though. Jesus Christ. Am I crazy?”

There it is again. The smile. I smile back at him. “I love you. I... I miss you.”

He blinks. I miss you, too.

* * *

Word count (this post): 1923
Word count (total): 8151

November 2nd: Ambiance and vanity

2008-11-02T11:18:00.000-08:00

Allie is waiting by the door when I get home. “You’re late.”

I hang up my coat and shrug my backpack to the floor. “I’m sorry. I was at the hospital.”

“We held dinner for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice is steely. It’s not that she doesn’t like me. She’s practically my sister – she loves me in spite of herself. But we’ve never been close. She’s always disappointed in me for one thing or another. Most of the time, she’s right.

I walk past her into the kitchen. My mother is sitting at the table, Bible open before her; Addie stands at the stove, absentmindedly poking at a pot with a spoon. She turns when she hears me walk in. “Finally. I’m starving.”

“I’m five minutes late!”

She rolls her eyes. “Punctuality is an invaluable virtue. I’m pretty sure Jesus said that.”

My mother laughs. “I’m not sure about that. But he probably should have.”

“Thanks for the support, Mother.” I saunter over to the stove. “What’s for dinner?”

“French onion soup with gruyere toast. It was a joint effort. Meaning your mom did all the work and I’m taking all the credit.”

“Feel free,” my mother chimes in from the table. “I just cut up a bunch of onions and put them in some beef stock. You’re the one who added all the seasoning and did the bread.” She closes her Bible and leans back in her chair to set it on the counter behind her. “It smells delicious, sweetheart.”

“Thanks.” Addie cracks the oven and peers inside. “The bread needs a couple more minutes. Set the table and bring me some bowls, Adam?”

I oblige. Within five minutes, we’re sitting around the table. I watch the steam rise off my soup as my mother launches into a longwinded prayer. Her head is bowed, her eyes closed. Allie stares straight ahead. Addie runs her finger around the rim of her water glass.

“... And thank you, Lord, for Your love and salvation. Please help us to walk in Your light even when tempted toward darkness, and help us to serve You with grace and enthusiasm. Amen.”

“Amen,” we chorus.

My mother looks up and opens her eyes, smiling at each of us in turn. “This looks great, Addie. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“I hope you like it. Soup just sounded really good. It’s so cold out.”

“Speaking of which,” I interject, “Has anyone seen the forecast? The paper said we were supposed to get like, eight inches overnight.”

Allie nods. “I think they’re saying ten, now. I still can’t believe it’s already December. The fall went way too fast.”

“I know,” Addie agrees, tearing off a bite-sized piece of bread. “I haven’t even started my Christmas shopping.”

I roll my eyes. “You have a month left.”

“And? That’s not such a long time. But if you want me to take you off my list, that would help a lot.” She smiles at me sweetly from across the table.

My mother purses her lips. “Actually, girls, your mother was hoping you would spend Christmas at her place.”

Addie’s jaw drops. Allie stares down at her soup, stirring it idly. I sit back in my chair, suddenly not sure that I’m hungry.

“She wants us to come back, doesn’t she?” Addie says after a moment. “Jesus Christ.”

“Addison! Please! And no, of course she doesn’t. This is your home. Your mother is well aware of that. But she would like to spend the holidays with you. She misses you.” My mother pulls at her eyebrow as she speaks, her forearm shielding her face.

Next to me, Allie chews on her cuticle. “It is Christmas, Addie. Maybe we should give her a shot.”

“Why? Why would this be any different than the last time we gave her a shot? I live here now. This is Adam’s last Christmas living here for real! She can’t seriously expect us to come back.”

“Addie,” my mother says, gentler this time, reaching over and putting her hand over Addison’s.

“It could be nice,” Allie says quietly.

Her sister’s eyes flash. “No. I’m not going. Fuck her. Jesus Christ.” She stands, almost knocking over her chair. “Enjoy the goddamn soup. Jesus.” She storms from the room. A moment later, the front door slams.

I scoot back my chair. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Allie grabs my arm. “Sit down. I’ll go.”

“You really think she wants to talk to you right now?”

“Adam!” my mother admonishes. “That was completely uncalled for.”

I roll my eyes. “Look, the longer I stand here the further away she gets. Do you want her out there walking without a coat on when it starts snowing?”

Allie stares down at her soup. “Fine. Go.”

I grab my coat from the hook in the hallway, and hang Addie’s over my arm. I shove my feet into my father’s old moccasins, hoping that I make it back before the snow starts falling.

As it turns out, I have nothing to worry about. She’s sitting on the bottom step of the front stoop, forehead resting on her knees, her breath rising around her like smoke. “Go back inside, Adam,” she says, not looking up.

I drape her coat over her and sit down beside her. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You can always volunteer for the living nativity. My mother wouldn’t dare send you off then.”

She lifts her head and glares at me, sniffling. “They’re going to make a new circle of hell one day, just for you.”

“It can’t be worse than watching the living nativity.”

She laughs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “This is just so... I wish she would just leave us alone. It didn’t work the first time she tried to take us back. I don’t know why she’s so bent on winning us over. She’s not going to change.”

“Right.”

“I just... I like it here. I was miserable there. She had her chance to win us back. She failed. I just... This is just... It’s so much better here. And the ironic thing is, this is exactly what they were trying to save us from in the first place. They didn’t want us to watch him die. But...”

“But this is your home.”

She nods. “I mean, yeah. We’ve lived here since we were six. When she tried to take us back, it was just like... And she was such a mess. And I know Allie loves her, and that she only ever came back here for me, but... But this is where I fit. I mean, your mom cooks dinner with me and yells at me if I break curfew. My mother just drinks a lot and talks about my father. What kind of Christmas is that?”

I crack my knuckles slowly, one by one.

“This is just so... Sudden. I haven’t even spoken to her since I left. Five years, Adam. Seriously? She decides now that she wants to see me? And she doesn’t even have the balls to tell me so herself?”

“It is kind of fucked up.”

“But?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. She’s your mother. That has to count for something, right?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Seriously? You are lecturing me on family loyalty?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You treat your mom like shit, that’s what that’s supposed to mean. Like you haven’t noticed. Jesus.”

I roll my eyes. “My mother isn’t half the woman you make her out to be.”

“She’s a thousand times the woman you make her out to be.”

“She’s manipulative and distant. I forget what about that qualified her for canonization.”

Addie sighs. “I’m so tired of having this conversation with you.”

“Then stop initiating it,” I snap.

She stands up abruptly, her coat falling to the stoop. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back within an hour. Don’t follow me.” She grabs her coat and pulls it on, walks a few steps, and stops. She turns to face me, her lower twitching in the corners, her eyes glistening. “Look, Adam, I know it’s kind of mean to say this to you because your father’s dying, but I really don’t think you have any idea how lucky you are. And the only thing that sucks more than having a mother who doesn’t love you is having a mother who doesn’t love you and knowing someone else whose mother loves the shit out of him who’s too stubborn and resentful to acknowledge it. She’s not evil, you idiot. She’s your mom. And you should just be grateful that there are so many people out there who are stupid enough to love you.”

She turns on her heel and walks away before I can think of a reply.

I sit on the stoop until my toes go numb, and the first flakes of snow melt on my outstretched palms.

Chapter 2
I am one who has seen affliction by the rod
of the Lord's wrath. He has driven me away
and made me walk in darkness rather than light.
Indeed, he has turned his hand against me
again and again, all day long.
He has made my skin and my flesh grow old
and has broken my bones.
Lamentations 3:1-4

“I know you think I’m a nag, and I know you hate me for asking you, but...”

I sigh. “I brought you this nice movie, and made this nice bowl of popcorn, and I even wore the damn green sweater that you’re so fond of, and you still won’t let it go.”

She nestles her head into the crook of my elbow. “It’s just really important to me. I can’t explain it better than that. I mean, what if you don’t have it? What if you’re spending all this time worrying about something that’s never going to happen? That’s just as likely as... The other thing.”

“As me going the way of Dad and Uncle Don. As me having Huntington’s. As me not being able to speak, or swallow, or wipe my own ass, or recognize my family. I can’t, Chelsea. I already told you that. Can we not talk about this?”

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever you want.” She grabs a kernel of popcorn and picks at it, letting little pieces of the hull fall to the floor.

I don’t know what I want. I wish it were as black and white as wanting or not wanting. I want to know if it’s negative. I don’t want to know if it’s positive. I want to live. I don’t want to die. Not so soon. Not like that. My mother still prays over it. Like she can change what was in me from my conception. Something so innately me that I’ve never known a moment without it. Like God will listen to her, if she just asks one more time.

“It’s just, I really think you should,” she says softly. “I know you don’t have to respect my opinion, or whatever, but...”

I sit up, my foot knocking the popcorn bowl over, spilling it everywhere. My arm jostles her head. She sits up and eyes me warily as I stand, crushing popcorn kernels into the carpet.

“I’m done,” I announce.

She stares at the ground. “Adam...”

“I can’t do this, Chelsea. I can’t. Ever since I turned eighteen, it’s all we talk about. At first it was fine. A few heart-to-hearts. What would it be like if I knew. Whatever. But shit, this is just ridiculous. It’s fucking ridiculous. I’m tired of every conversation turning into some kind of fucked-up PSA. I understand that you want me to get tested. And you know what? I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.” I grab the remote and hit OPEN, grabbing the DVD from the tray the instant it pops open. “Have a nice night. I’ll see myself out.” I snatch the DVD case from the floor and explode out the door and down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Chelsea follows behind me and stands at the top of the stairs. “Will you just listen for a second?”

“I’m done listening to you. Jesus. I’m so done with being preached at. I get enough of it from my mother. Who can’t fucking stand you, by the way.” That last part is unnecessary, and a complete lie, but it feels right. I want her to toss and turn, tonight. To worry about something besides me, for once.

She shouts something at me as I slam the door behind me. I don’t hear a word.

* * *

“As we near Christmas, let us remember not what we want from others but what we expect from ourselves. How can we be more caring this holiday season? More honest? More thoughtful? What can we do to change the world of a friend, or a stranger? How can we bring the joy of Christ’s incarnation to those around us? Who can we be? Who are we to doubt the magnificence of God’s plan, or to do anything but obey Him? This is my challenge to you, my friends – to give of yourselves freely, expecting nothing in return, and to walk in the footsteps of Christ.”

He ends the same way every week. “This is my challenge to you, my friends: to walk in the footsteps of Christ.” It makes you wonder how profound a sermon can possibly be when it always wraps up in the same tidy package. With Reverend James, the answer is not very. But the people here lap it up, including my mother. They love a challenge. Who can sell the most Tootsie Rolls for kids with special needs? Who can learn all the names of the soup kitchen regulars first? Whose feet land most precisely within the footsteps of Christ? This is what they thrive on, this petty competition. They fight over responsibility for church fundraisers and Bible study. Everyone wants to be the most charitable. Sometimes I think they missed the part about humility.

Addie nudges me. “Where’s Chelsea?”

I look across the aisle to where the Robbins’ always sit. Her parents are there, and her little brother, but Chelsea is nowhere to be seen.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Who cares?”

She gives me a look, but doesn’t reply. She wants us to get back together. She’s always had it in her head that Chelsea and I belong with each other. She’s the one who set us up. She likes it when everything works out according to plan, when all the ends are tidily tucked away. Life isn’t like that. She knows that as well as anyone. It certainly hasn’t happened that way for her.

My mother leans behind Allie and whispers something in Addie’s ear. Addie turns to me. “Your mother wants to know if you want to go to brunch.”

I shake my head. “Hospital,” I mouth to my mother. She nods.

Addie wrinkles her nose. “You’re passing up pancakes for a candy bar and a soda from the vending machine?”

“Lucky for me, there are other draws to the hospital besides its dining options.”

She rolls her eyes. “You could always go get pancakes with us first and go there right after.”

I shake my head. “I’m not that hungry, anyway. Besides, I want to talk to him about Chelsea.”

“Adam.” She chews on the inside of her lip, looking at me almost pityingly. “You know he can’t...”

“He listens to me. He’s my dad, Addie. Just because he doesn’t always remember that doesn’t mean I have to forget.”

My mother shoots us a warning look over Allie’s head. Talking during church is thoroughly discouraged.

But I’m tired of this. Tired of being dragged here every Sunday morning, as if spending enough time in this building will inspire God to heal him. Tired of watching my mother listen all-too-earnestly to everything Reverend James has to say, like maybe he has the answers she’s been looking for. I’m tired of the pitying looks from other churchgoers, the way they look away the second I meet their eyes, how they clamor to talk to me after the service. I’m tired of singing the praises of a God whose benevolence has never been turned in my direction. I’m tired of this. This church, these people, this artificial little community. I’m confused. I know what it’s like to be my father, to look around a room and wonder who these people are and why they’re acting like they know me, how I got here and when I can go home.

And so I do something I have never done before. Something that turns my mother white as a sheet, that draws every gaze away from Reverend James and towards my face.

I stand up and walk out.

* * *
Word count (this post): 2813
Word count (total): 6364

November 1st: Let's start at the very beginning

2008-11-01T08:37:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1

Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall.
Isaiah 40:30
"As you all know, my husband is ill. He has a horrible, horrible disease. He is dying. The man I married almost thirty years ago, the man I've loved since I was just a girl... We are going to lose him. I struggle every day to comprehend the magnitude of that loss. Some days, I am not proud to admit, I feel like Job. My entire life, I have been faithful. I have been good. And this is my reward. This! I watch my husband suffer, watch my son struggle to deal with his father's illness, watch a father-in-law who has been so much a father to me care for a son he will soon have to bury. Some days, I think, 'This is the Lord's work. This is it. Why do I do this? Why do I go to church every Sunday, why do I organize Bible study, why do I believe in the benevolence of God when He has brought so much suffering to our lives?' They aren't easy questions. Some mornings I sit here and they race through my head and I want to leave. Just get up and walk out. I want to hit my knees and shake my fists at God until he hears me, until he obeys me. Until he heals my husband, and takes care of my son, and somehow fixes everything that is broken around me."

She takes a deep breath, her exhalation booming over the speakers. She steps back for a moment, then forward again, her right hand pulling at her eyebrow. She takes the mic in both hands, her elbows resting on the podium. It's hard to see, but I think her eyes are closed.

"God told Job not to question him, because he could not understand. I believe that. I believe that I cannot understand what is happening in my life. I believe that it is happening for a reason, that it must be. I try to be humble. I try to recognize how foolish it is of me to demand God to bend His will to mine. I try. I am not always successful. There are days when I am arrogant and vengeful and rude. When my prayers are more like a Christmas list than a Thanksgiving celebration. But I try."

She looks over at me, her eyes shining. "Thank you all for being here this evening. You cannot possibly know what this means to Dennis. He had every intention of being here tonight, but unfortunately he had to go back to the hospital this afternoon. He really wanted to see every one of you, and thank you all personally for coming. This," she gestures toward the pews, her eyes lingering on me a little longer than I'd like, "is unbelievable. Denny would be so, so touched to see how many of you are here. This church means so much to him. You all mean so much to him. I... I know I'm babbling, and there's a potluck to get to, and the casseroles won't stay warm forever. It's almost time to eat, I promise!" An easy laughter echoes through the sanctuary. I stare down at my hands. "I just... I'm so incredibly blessed. And that, really, is the answer. All the days I ask God what I've done to deserve the pain my family is experiencing right now, the pain I am experiencing right now... I forget that just as fair of a question might be, What have I done to deserve all of you? You mean the world to me, every one of you. And with that, let's join together in prayer so everyone can fight over Debbie's macaroni and cheese, okay?"

Everyone laughs but me.

Chelsea's hand creeps over mine and squeezes my fingers. "She did a good job."

"I don't know what I'm doing here," I whisper. The man next to me shoots me a dirty look and prays louder, as if he has to make up for my silence.

Chelsea laces our hands together and lays her head on my shoulder. "This is for your father, Adam. You have to be here. It's important. He wants you to be here."

"He's alone. He shouldn't have to be alone. Not just so I can sit here and eat overcooked tuna casserole with hundreds of people who don't even know him."

She sighs, lifting her head to look at me. "Would you even be there right now, if you didn’t have to be here?”

“What?”

“Would you be there? Or would you be at home, watching TV or staring at the ceiling or doing homework or pretending to work on your college apps? Would you actually be at the hospital right now, or are you just using that as some noble kind of justification for not wanting to be here?”

“Jesus Christ, Chels.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone is here because they want to help you out. Stop acting like some insolent child and make them feel like you’re worth the charity.”

I sigh. “I hate it when you act like this.”

“I’m an incurable know-it-all. It’s what we do.”

I grimace. She smiles halfheartedly and squeezes my hand. “Have you thought about it any?” she says after a moment, as people around us begin to stand and push toward the doors, the prayer apparently finished.

“Thought about what?”

“What we talked about this morning.”

I shake my head. “I already told you no.”

“I just... I think you should reconsider.” She rips her thumbnail off with her teeth and flicks it to the ground.

I pull my hand from hers and stand. The man next to me eyes me warily, inching toward the aisle. “I know what you think,” I tell her. “But it’s not about you.”

“I know. It’s just... I really think you should.”

“I don’t.”

“Adam...”

“Jesus Christ, Chelsea. Let it go.”

The man next to us clears his throat uncomfortably. I spy my mother walking toward us, beaming in that unnerving way she has that manages to convince everyone but me of its sincerity.

“Adam!” She always sounds so excited to see me, and yet somehow I know that she never actually is. “Hi, Chelsea. Glad you could make it.” Chelsea grins and waves. She’s always liked my mother.

“So,” my mother says, nodding politely to the nervous man beside me, “How did I do?”

“It was good. Kind of personal.”

“People like ‘personal,’ Adam. They’re giving us money just to eat food they made themselves. I owe them ‘personal.’”

“I thought it was good, Mrs. Larsen,” Chelsea chimes in. “Seriously. I thought I might cry, and I don’t think I was the only one. It was really relatable.” In addition to liking my mother, Chelsea is on a constant quest to make my mother like her. Chelsea never thinks anyone likes her. Luckily for her, my mother likes everyone. Except me.

My mother smiles. “I’m glad someone thought so.” She shoots me a look. Don’t be so sullen.

“You have a good turn out,” I remark, forcing a smile.

“It is. Very good. It should really help.” She muffles a sneeze and crinkles her nose.

“Bless you!” Chelsea offers.

My mother smiles. Crocodile teeth. “Thanks, honey. Okay. I’m off to mingle. You two do the same, alright? I know a lot of people want to talk to you, Adam. They’re worried about you. Try to put their minds at ease, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever. Go mingle. Have fun.”

She smiles and waggles her fingers at us, then saunters off, grinning at someone in the distance.

Chelsea eyes me disapprovingly. “I really don’t understand why you hate her.”

“I really don’t understand how it’s any of your business.” I rub my eyes and shake my head. “Let’s just... I don’t know. I’m going to go find Addie. Go get something to eat, alright? I’ll find you later.”

She purses her lips and thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Go find her. I’ll be around.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it, her eyes lingering on mine a little longer than is comfortable. “I love you.”

“Yeah.”

Her lips slacken and she looks down at the ground. “I...” she begins, then turns on her heel and walks away, burying her hands in her pockets.

I pick up my coat and shrug it on as I push through the throngs standing in the aisles. Some people greet me as I shove past them. Some try to grab my arm. Everyone wants to talk to me. Everyone wants a piece of me. It’s suffocating.

I just want out.

My mother spots me as I near the door. Something dark crosses over her face. She excuses herself, exchanging fake lunch invitations and promises to keep in touch before heading toward me, her brow furrowed. I beat her out of the building, but she catches the door before it closes and chases after me. I don’t run. Not because I couldn’t outrun her, and not because I don’t want to. Because I don’t have anywhere to go.

“Adam, what are you doing?” Her voice is jarringly soft.

“I can’t do this.”

“They’re just trying to help. They want to help. They’re good people, Adam.” She pauses, taking a cautious step forward. “I promise.”

I shake my head. “They don’t know him. They don’t know me. Most of them don’t even know you. I’m tired of asking them for favors. I’m tired of having people I’ve never met before ask how I’m holding up. I just want all of these people to pack up their charity and go home.”

“That’s not fair.”

I turn to face her. “It’s not fair that you drag me into this sort of thing every time when I’ve told you how uncomfortable it makes me. It’s not fair that my father is dying alone because everyone who loves him is at some damn potluck. That is what is not fair.”

“Come back inside.”

“No! I’m not gonna do this anymore. I can’t. I just... I’m tired, okay? I want to go home. I have a lot of homework. I just... I can’t be here, okay?”

“No. It’s not okay.” She reaches out her hand and grabs my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “I need you to pretend. Pretend that you appreciate this. Pretend that it means something to you that people love you who don’t even know you. Pretend you’re grateful. Because I am tired – yes, Adam, I get tired, too -- because I am tired of explaining your outbursts and your absences. I am tired of making excuses for you. And I am tired of fighting with you. About this. About everything. I am tired of fighting this battle. I am tired of this war. If your father had asked you to come here, you would have been here in a heartbeat, and you would have stayed, and been happy to stay, and you would charmed the hell out of everyone in there. But he didn’t ask you, I did. And so you’re too damn tired to stay. But I am tired of hearing about how tired you are. Go inside, Adam. Go be tired inside, and I will, too.”

I stare at the ground for a long moment, then brush past her. Back through the doors of the church. Back into the throngs of people. This time, when someone calls my name, I stop. I smile.

A man I have never seen before in my life wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and offers a knowing nod. “So,” he says, a little louder than necessary, “How are you holding up?”

* * *

“Hey, champ! I was hoping you’d drop by.”

I drop my backpack on the chair next to him. “Hey, Grandad. He asleep?”

He nods. “Totally wiped out. Your mother came by to see him earlier. Talked his ear off.” He smiles, holding out the newspaper. “Sports section?”

“Thanks.” I move my backpack to the floor and take a seat beside him. “Good day?”

He shrugs. “Pretty basic. Still having trouble with that leg, but his memory seemed a little better today. He obviously remembered your mother when he saw her, which is good.”

“Mmm.” There’s only so much you can say. Unlike my mother, I know better than to hope for miracles. The only progress he makes, or can make, is closer and closer to death. I come home every day hoping to hear that he stayed the same as the day before. His memory is the only exception. Some days he knows me. He smiles at me, watches me attentively as I talk about my day, and tries to squeeze my hand, however feebly. Others, he looks confused and scared when I walk into his room. Those days, I’m just another person who helps him stand up and walk to the bathroom. Both kinds of days are excruciatingly painful, just in slightly different ways.

“You have much homework?”

I shake my head. “Hardly any. Spanish, but that should only take a minute. Calc test Friday.”

“Going to get an A?”

“Eh.” I shrug. “Calc isn’t really my thing.”

He nods. “I hear you.”

We settle into an easy silence, reading the paper and listening to Dad breathing. The nurse comes in and takes his vitals. “He looks good,” she remarks. My father’s illness has taught me that good is a relative term. She means that he looks good for a man who is dying. Better than those cancer patients on the third floor. Better than the burn victims in the ICU. He looks better today than he did Monday, the day he passed out in the bath and was sent immediately back to the hospital, but worse than last Friday, when he walked the ten steps to the bathroom on his own when none of us were watching. He does not look good. His cheeks are sunken; his left eye twitches, even when he sleeps. He looks like he is dying. He looks just like Uncle Don did, those last months before he died. He looks just like I might look, forty years from now. I try not to think about it.

It’s all that I can think about.

Dad wakes up just as I’m finishing my Spanish homework. Grandad is asleep next to me, his head resting on his shoulder. My father eyes me vacantly for a moment, then moans lightly, looking away.

I offer a smile. “Hey, Dad.”

His eyes are focused somewhere over my shoulder. “You need anything?” I continue.

He looks confused. That was how it started, back when I was too young to think anything of it. He would get lost driving home. He would forget words, simple words, words he used every day. He couldn’t remember the names of the boys I was in Cub Scouts with. He knew, then, that it was only a matter of time. His mother’s illness. The one that was killing his brother. He knew it would be his curse, too.

Now, the confusion is the only thing that ever gets to me. I can handle the weakness. I will lend him a shoulder whenever he needs one; will help him into his pajamas after his morning bath without ever dwelling on the significance. The twitching, the difficulty swallowing, none of it bothers me. It’s just how it is. But when the confusion is frustrating, some days even heartbreaking. Most days, he knows that he should recognize me. The frustration is palpable. It is that moment that you are enthusiastically greeted by a childhood friend you no longer recognize, stretched over days and weeks. Except that I am not some third grade classmate. I am his son.

Beside me, Grandad stirs. “Dennis? Are you awake?”

Dad moans again. Grandad stands and approaches the bed. “You thirsty, buddy?”

My father gives a slight nod.

“I’ll get it,” I offer.

Grandad shakes his head. “I’ll do it.” He grabs the plastic cup off Dad’s bedside table and heads toward the hallway.

I stand and shuffle toward my father, smiling halfheartedly. “I got an A on my chem test. The one I told you about last week, that I thought I did so bad on? I guess I’m smarter than I thought.”

He stares at me blankly. He has no idea what I’m talking about. He has no idea who I am.

“Addie’s cooking tonight, so I have to leave soon. You know how she is when people are late to dinner. But I’ll be back tomorrow, alright? Maybe you’ll be awake when I get here. I mean... I didn’t mean it like that. I know you need your sleep. I just like talking to you. And stuff.” I clear my throat awkwardly. These one-sided conversations never get any easier. “You’ll be back home soon, anyway. They say you’re doing really well. The nurse who was in here a little while ago said you looked good. That’s good, right?”

His eye twitches. For a moment it looks like he’s trying – trying to place me, trying to understand. But it’s gone as soon as it arrives. He stares vacantly ahead, his eyes not even turned in my direction.

When I was a kid, he quit his job to stay home with us. My mother was livid. She asked him what he planned to leave behind for us, for me, when he was gone. What would become of my college fund? How would we pay his hospital bills? He said he only had a couple more years left to work, anyway. That was true. He said that he had it taken care of. That wasn’t. But despite my mother’s protests, he stayed home. He was at all my Cub Scout meetings and T-ball games; he made the cake for my seventh birthday party; he taught me to ride a bike and play the piano. He clapped the loudest of anyone in the auditorium when Addie was in the chorus of the school musical. He limped his way to all of Allie’s junior high track meets, even though he sometimes forgot what he was doing there and left halfway through. He was right: within two years of quitting his job, it was obvious to us that he wouldn’t have been long for the workforce, anyway. He started leaving boiling pots of water on the stove and wandering off to take a nap. Sometimes he couldn’t tell the twins apart, even though they’d lived with us since they were six years old. His limp morphed into an exaggerated lurching, and he couldn’t walk up stairs without help. Those were the early years. We knew that worse was coming. We’d seen it before with the twins’ father, so bad he couldn’t stand to let them watch him live and sent them to stay with us. We knew it was only a matter of time until this. Until he could hardly move, couldn’t speak, was weak and absentminded and unable to eat solid food or even swallow, some days.

We knew that this was coming. We knew exactly what to expect. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

Grandad returns, carrying a cup of water. “Hey, buddy. I brought you something to drink.”

I retreat from Dad’s bedside and shoulder my backpack. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you tonight, Grandad?”

“Sure thing, champ.” He parts my father’s lips and pours a drop or two of water between them. Dad can’t swallow anymore. We’ve all learned how to coax individual droplets from a brimming glass, barely enough to moisten his lips. It’s one of many skills I wish every day I didn’t have to have.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Okay. I’ll be back tomorrow, Dad. Hopefully you can come home soon, alright? Mom is talking about hiring somebody, but we’ll see. You know how stubborn she is.”

Except he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know my mother, not right now at least, and he certainly doesn’t remember what she’s like. He would be lucky to put a name to her face if he thought about it all day. But we pretend. I do, she does, Grandad and Addie and Allie do. That he knows us. That he cares about us. That if we were in that bed, he would do the same for us.

* * *
Word Count: 3418

Some Kind of Preface

2008-10-15T11:20:00.000-07:00

This will be my fifth year blogging NaNoWriMo. I'm still young. My missteps are far greater than my successes. But anyone who writes a novel in thirty days (and does so annually, at that) has to learn not to expect much. High expectations just breed disappointment.

So this is my novel. My fifth novel. Parts of it will be ugly, trying too hard, poorly researched, cheesy, and gaping with plot holes. Parts of it will be better than that. Those are the two things I can promise. Those are the only two things that I promise myself.

If, for whatever reason, you choose to read along, don't be shy. Comments make me feel warm and fuzzy. I like to imagine someone besides me is actually spending some quality time with my novels. Constructive criticism is encouraged. Nonconstructive criticism is also welcome. I promise there is nothing you could be thinking that I haven't already said to myself, or won't be saying when I read this through in its entirety come December.

So don't be shy. Talk to me. And if you hate the music, let me know. I can get rid of it. Or you can manually pause it. Or you can mute your computer. The possibilities are endless.

With that said, my next update will be November 1st, and it will be packed with all the actually-edited-for-grammar promise that the first day of NaNo brings. Good luck to any other NaNoers reading this, and I'll see you in a couple of weeks!