Page 197 of Falling for You
He scowls, dropping down onto the sofa. ‘Why?’
‘Mom talks about her a lot.’ I shrug. ‘I was hoping I might be able to persuade her to visit her back home.’
He scrunches up his face, his eyes fixed on the TV. ‘She won’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘She’s too selfish.’
I focus on the TV as two cheery presenters sit on a sofa and interview a sad-looking elderly man.
He glances at me. ‘What have you done to your hand?’
‘Ah,’ I say, looking at my bandage. ‘I punched your light. I’ll get you a new one.’
He frowns. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, fine.’ We fall back into silence and I sit down next to him. ‘Are you working tonight?’ I ask.
Stevie shakes his head.
‘This weekend?’ I press further. He stuffs his sandwich into his mouth as the theme tune forBargain Huntstarts up and shakes his head again.
‘Did you want to do something?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asks, his mouth full of congealed bread and his eyebrows still scrunched together angrily. I feel myself bristle.
Why does he have to be so angry all the time? And with me? I’m just asking if he wants to spend time together.
‘Well, it’s Thanksgiving,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light.
‘They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here.’
I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Yeah, but we do,’ I say slowly. ‘I could cook us up a Thanksgiving dinner. I can try and make us some yams?’ Stevie doesn’t say anything, but just cocks his head to the side non-committally. ‘We could call Mom and Dad,’ I continue. ‘We could try and time it so that we eat at the same time and FaceTime them or something. Pretend we’re all together.’
Stevie swallows his mouthful. ‘What’s the point?’
I can’t help it now; the hot anger I’ve been trying to keep at bay bubbles up inside me. ‘What’s the point in having dinner?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No,’ I say flatly. ‘I don’t.’
He glares at me, leaning forward on his elbows. The only light is from the TV, which is flickering madly as the adverts pop through the living room. ‘Forget it,’ he says, getting to his feet.
‘It’s nice to call Mom and Dad on Thanksgiving because they’re ourparents?’ I snap, finally losing control. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
Stevie doesn’t answer, walking into the kitchen. But nowthe anger is out I can’t control it; it’s like everything I’ve kept in my bubbling, angry jar for the past month is now free. It’s exploding through my body, making the blood under my skin hot and my heart race.
‘No,’ I say, getting to my feet and following him. ‘Don’t walk away from me, Stevie. You have something to say. Say it. What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to speak to Mom?’
‘Because she’s not there!’ he cries, spinning round to face me. ‘You saw her the other day! She put us through hell and then couldn’t even remember. There is no point in talking to her.’
I stare at him, anger buzzing through me. ‘No point?’ I repeat. ‘No point in speaking to your own mom?’
He looks at me squarely in the face and although his jaw is tight and jutted forward, I can see the glimmer of fear behind his eyes.
‘No,’ he says eventually, dropping his plate on the side with a clatter. ‘There is no point.’
