Page 124 of Oh, Flutz!

I’ve heard people say that, as a parent, the kid you clash with the most is the one you’re most like. And maybe in our case it was true. Me and my dad. Neither of us ever could handle it.

Jesus Christ, it’s crushing me. The grief for someone I thought at times I never even loved, someone I wished and prayed and begged to leave me alone; and I wake up in the middle of the night from that nightmare I used to have when I was little that I’d look in the mirror and see him glaring back at me. Keeping my fists curled, and my head down, and pretending nothing’s wrong. Over and over and over. Waking up and trying to sleep and going to the rink and trying not to talk because I have no idea what’ll come out of my mouth if I let it. Turning into my father one silence at a time.

Imust've slipped backinto sleep when I wasn’t paying attention, because by the time I roll to the side and open my eyes, wiping the drool off my cheek with my tie, there isn’t as much sun sneaking through the blinds.

I lurch to my feet, opening the door and staggering through it down the hallway. I can still hear the sounds of solemn discussion and the clinking of cutlery coming from downstairs, and I’m about to go down just to check on my sister—I really shouldn’t have disappeared like that on her, that was really shitty of me, now that I think about it—but before I can decide whether I’m actually going to find her or just stand here feeling like a bad brother, I hear the sound of something clattering to the floor from the room at the opposite end of the hallway.

I whip my head up.He’s fallen, is my first thought, before my heart stops in my chest. Because of course he hasn’t. He isn’t in there anymore.

The ache tears through my rib cage again, and I lift a hand to where it hurts, prodding and massaging it as if I can roll it out until it’s gone. Trying not to sniffle too much, not to let my face sting too tight. It has to be Mom. That’s the only thing it can be.Shit. I think I was supposed to bring up food for her.

I take a few steps, until I’m standing in front of the crack of the door, seeing a familiar figure moving around. “Hey, Mom?” I ask quietly, not making any moves to go in.

Nothing. Just more shuffling sounds. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then push forward. “Mom, do you want—"

I trail off before I can ask about potato salad. My mother is running around her room. throwing clothes into her suitcase, opening and closing dresser drawers, pulling things out at random and tossing them onto the bed.

“Mom?” I ask, voice coming out like a little kid’s. “What are you doing?”

Nothing. “Mom.”

I go up to her and grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “Mom!What are you doing?”

“I have to get out of here. I can’t be here.”

And just like that, I know.

“I’m going to see your tío Alejandro and the rest of the family. They said I could stay as long as I need to. And I need to get out of here.”

“Family?” I ask, dazed. This can’t be happening. Not now. We’re in the middle of the wake. Half the town is downstairs. She’s not doing thisnow.

“Your uncle, remember? I’m so sorry, honey, but I can’t deal with this. I can’t be here.”

“What are you saying?” I ask slowly. “You’re just going to leave us right now?”

She sighs. “Honey, I know it doesn’t look good—“

I laugh, but I’m not smiling. “Oh, you’re damn right about that. Looks like you’re leaving your kids, your fifteen-year-old daughter, after their dad just died, to run away to Mexico.”

“It’s not like that, and you know it. I resent that you said that. I’m not going to be drinking margaritas on the beach, Bryan, I’m going to spend time with my family while I get my head on straight.”

“And what about this family?” I demand. “Huh, Mom?”

She rubs at her eyes. “You need to give me a little bit of time, okay? I really can’t be here right now—“

“You’re never here!” I burst out, and she snaps up to look at me. “Mom! You’ve never been here! All you do isleave!”

“Stop,” she spits, looking almost afraid, but there’s no way in hell I’m stopping now.

“Where were you in the hospital, huh? Any of the times? Where were you, when Dad was sitting alone in there for three days after the accident, after all the surgeries, not sure if he was ever gonna walk again, before you finally showed up? Where were you when Alexandra broke her arm in a hockey match, crying for Mommy, and I couldn’t even tell her where you were? Where were you, when I was breaking bones and tearing tendons left and right, or when I had pneumonia and Lian had to rush me to the ER because I had a 104 degree fever and had been unsupervised for two weeks? On that note, where were you when Dad kicked me out? Or every time he was sick? Where were you when hedied?”

“I was paying the bills! I was keeping everything running!”

“No you weren’t.Iwas!” I’ve never said this. I don’t even think I ever realized it—it was like I could never be angry about it before. But now, it’s hitting me. How screwed up it all was. How screwed up it made me.

“Ihad to take care of Dad whenever I was home, and try not to piss him off, not that it ever made a difference.Ihad to rush home after practice and school every day to make sure he and Alex were okay. I had to drop off and pick Alex up from school the second I got my permit. Not even my license, mypermit. Because you said I looked old enough that the cops wouldn’t care. Well, what if they had? What would you have done?”

“Bryan—“

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