Page 134 of Switch!
“He has to love it here,” I say, looking toward the entryway. “They’re so nice!”
“They are. I just hope you can fake it until—”
She stops talking when Terrance comes down the stairs. About the same time, we hear Ruth calling us to dinner. We enter a large kitchen that opens into a dining room. The table and chairs are different, but I remember sitting here every morning, eating cereal before school and digging through box after box to reach the prizes. That seems weird. Since when did they put toys in cereal?
Ruth is standing next to the table, beaming at me as we all sit down. My chair is next to hers. She keeps reaching over to place a hand over mine, patting it affectionately or squeezing. Terrence serves, my stomach grumbling as a generous portion of beef is scooped onto my plate, along with potatoes and carrots—succulent and soft from roasting in the meat’s juices for so long.
“Now I’m glad you didn’t let us get fast food on the way here,” Trixie says, eyeing her plate greedily.
“Welcome home,” Ruth says with an emotional smile. “Now dig in!”
I’m careful not to drool as the first forkful hovers beneath my nose. Patrick knows this exact recipe and sometimes made it himself, although his never turned out this good.
“Had I known you were coming,” Ruth says, ignoring her food, “I would have made your favorite. Did you want to surprise us? I don’t mind, of course. It’s just that we haven’t heard a peep out of you for months, and well…”
“Don’t start grilling the boy already,” Terrence says warmly.
“How could I not? I’ve been worried sick! We were making plans to come see you, whether you wanted us to or not.”
“Really?” I ask.
Ruth nods. “We have flights picked out for Christmas. We were about to buy them too. Should we still? Or are you here to stay?”
I look to Trixie for guidance, but I’m not sure she’s even listening. She seems determined to be the first to clear her plate.
“I don’t know,” I answer lamely.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” Ruth says. She finally picks up her fork, which doesn’t get used. Instead her face crinkles with worry. “Why now?” she asks. “Did Laura finally get through to you?”
I don’t hide my surprise. “You’ve talked to her?”
“Enough,” Terrence says, firmly this time. “Let the poor boy eat! There’s time for all of that later. You need to eat too, darlin’. I can tell your blood sugar is low. You always get flustered.”
Ruth nods and finally takes a bite. After chewing and swallowing, she turns a pleasant expression on Trixie. “So! How do you and Patrick know each other?”
“We’re neighbors,” Trixie says, not missing a beat. “He used to help me with my math homework before I graduated from high school. Any chance I could get some extra carrots?”
“Sure,” Terrence says, rising to scoop more onto her plate. “So you two are study buddies, huh?”
“We were,” Trixie says, nodding her thanks. “We’d get talking about more than just Calculus, and eventually Patrick opened up to me about, well, everything.”
“I needed someone to talk to,” I say, picking up on that thread. ”I couldn’t keep shutting everyone out while pretending it never happened.” I look at Ruth. “That’s why I didn’t answer your calls. It was too difficult emotionally.” It’s the truth. Each time she called, Patrick felt vulnerable. Raw. He couldn’t hide his feelings from his mother, and the questions she asked were too complicated for him to grapple with. So he blocked his parents’ phone numbers, and did the same to anyone else who tried reaching out to him. Laura included. That’s news to me. Memories are tricky, especially when they’re not your own. Figuring out which are the most relevant is almost impossible. I’m often in the dark until some specific event triggers them.
Ruth is still looking between me and Trixie, like our story doesn’t make sense. “You must be very close to travel all this way together.”
“Just friends,” Trixie reiterates. “I kept pushing him to make this trip, and he wouldn’t agree until I offered to go with him.”
“I wasn’t sure how I’d react,” I explain. “I made a lot of happy memories with Serena here, but those can hurt the worst.”
“I understand,” Ruth says, shaking her head. “If I had lost you at that age, or even now… That’s what makes the silence so difficult, honey. In the future, even if you don’t want to talk, I’d rather you tell me that. I can give you your space, but I still need to know that you’re all right.”
Terrence doesn’t ask his wife to change subjects this time. Instead he’s nodding while his chin trembles.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling guilty, despite not being the responsible party. “I was going through a rough patch.”
“It was reallyreallybad,” Trixie says. “Please don’t be mad at him. Patrick had a lot he needed to work through.”
“Of course,” Ruth says, her tone sympathetic. “We’re just happy to have you home again. Thank you, Trixie, for helping him get here. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”
