Page 8 of Pieces of Us

‘Burritos.’ He’s more curt than usual. He must have had a bad day at work. Following him to the kitchen, I can feel that he’s distracted. It’s in his gait; he’s stiff, as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Flopping into a stool at the breakfast bar, I notice his laptop is set up.

‘Mum calling or something?’ It’s the only explanation as to why the laptop would be open while we eat dinner. Sometimes, we share a meal together. I’ve never known any difference when it comes to my parents, so while others find it strange, this is just my normal.

Dad hums without answering.

I stuff the softshell with all the fillings before shovelling it in my mouth. Dad hasn't started assembling his yet. Instead, he places his chin in his hand, staring at me.

‘What?’ I mumble over my food.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ he claps back, his gaze diverting to the blank screen.

Silence stretches on as he watches me eat. When I’m almost done, FaceTime blares through the laptop speakers, jolting both Dad and I.

‘Crystal. Hi, hon, how are you?’ Dad asks Mum as her face appears on the screen. She too seems pensive. It’s especially noticeable, because she’s the most carefree person I know. She’s a relatively famous make-up artist in Sydney, and often looks as glamorous as some of the stars she works with. I have basic features of hers, but they aren’t as emphasised or highlighted.

‘Good, Marky. Um, do you want to take this?’ She flits her eyes away from me.

Dad sighs, raking his hand through his hair while he takes a long sip of the bourbon he’s poured himself.

‘Just spill it already.’ I’m antsy. My eyes dart back and forth between the parent on the screen and the parent pansying in the kitchen.

‘You got into that really selective school,’ Mum blurts before her hand covers her mouth.

‘What?’ I slouch back in the chair. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Remember a few years ago, when we were toying with the idea to send you to a more academic school, so you’d have a better chance at getting into uni?’ Dad starts to explain. ‘The one down in Sydney,’ he goes on. My stomach drops. No, it doesn’t drop. It feels like it falls out of my body, leaving a gaping hole.

I shake my head. This can’t be what I’m hearing. I beg Dad with my eyes to tell me that I’m not thinking what I know is true, but the look of abject apology screams back at me. Mum averts her gaze from the screen, unable to hide how sorry she is that she’s half the reason for ruining my life.

‘It’s going to open up so many doors. And you get to live with your Mum, which will be so special,’ Dad explains. When I don’t say anything, because words fail me, Mum jumps in.

‘The school has an amazing journalism elective, which we’ve already enrolled you into. Year twelve is about to start, so it’s the best time to do this.’

‘But…’ I blink.

‘This is the best move, honey.’

New.

A new home.

A new state.

A new school.

A new start.

Without Linc.

Without Lily.

Without Dad, my friends and every part of what makes up my heart.

‘So that’s it?’ I baulk, standing up. I hear the rattle of the wooden stool bouncing as it hits the hardwood floor.

‘Honey, it’s not forever. We’re only looking out for your future,’ Dad says, reaching over to hold my hand, but I jerk it away as if his touch will scold me.

---