Page 81 of Afterglow
“Can’t be doing that good,” Parker’s voice cuts through. He approaches from the rear of the house, arms crossing when he gets to the back of the group. “Not with that shitty contract.”
“Oh,Parker. Have some manners.” My mother grimaces, dismissing him with a wave. “Not everything is about hockey.”
His eyes roll to one side, averting them from Mom’s glare. Her expression softens when her focus returns to Bea. “Introduce her to me, Fletcher.”
“She’s,” I begin shyly, “Behraz.”
“Hi, Beh-raz.” The careful enunciation emphasizes theh. “Did I say it right?”
“Yeah-yes.” Bea nods. “Hi…Fletcher’s Mom.” She immediately backpedals. “I mean,uh,Mrs. Donovan?”
“Please.” Mom chokes on a laugh. “It’s Riona. Seems like both of my sons have poor manners.”
My loyal companion, the raging blush, worsens. “Sorry, this is my mom.”
“I didn’t realize,” Bea replies dryly, then addresses my mom. “I’m the girlfriend.”
Stifled laughter from the group has my blush worsening.
“I like you already.” Mom wags a finger at her. “Fletch needs to have more fun people around him.”
“Morefun?” Piper chuckles, throwing up her arms. “He plays games for a living. His whole life is fun!”
“Lucky bastard,” Dylan finally speaks up. “The rest of us are rotting in Summerside like overgrown Chanterelles.” Laughter and high-fives are exchanged between my brothers-in-law as their wives chide them.
There’s a crash, followed by a crunch from the basement. The adults erupt in a roar, arguing over whose kids it must have been, who started it, and who rightfully ended it.
“Go say hi to your dad,” Mom yells to me over the commotion. The stampede goes to the basement, taking an unwilling Parker with them. “He’s resting, but he’s awake.”
Of course, he’s awake. Who could sleep in all this racket?
Our socked feet echo muted steps as we climb the stairs.
“Why do they call you Annie?”
My head sways in disappointment. “I have red hair.”
The soft curve of her eyebrow rises, unconvinced. “You all have red hair.”
“And I have the most freckles. Plus, I was an awkward, gangly kid. I spent most of my childhood reading in my bedroom andthen fleeing to the fields to recreate dramatic scenes on my own.” We turn at the landing.
Behraz shrugs. “I don’t get it.”
“They call me Anne of Green Gables, Bea. Ann with an e, Anne, Annie.”
She rolls her eyes as we reach the top of the stairwell. “That’s so…”
“…Lame?”
“Yes!” she says with a snap and a point, eyes brightening. “Lame. That’s the word I was looking for.” A scoff exits her lips with a sputter as we pad down the hallway. “It’s not even an insult. Anne was freaking amazing.” Lifting our clasped hands, she kisses my knuckles one by one. “But you’re still Gilbert to me.”
Wrinkles in my cheeks form from the contented grin stretching my face. It fades when I realize we’re at my parents’ bedroom door. I knock.
A grumble sounds from behind it.
“Dad?” The door creaks open. I peek through the sliver of light.
His sleeping form reclines against the headboard, supported by a few pillows, a generous beer belly covered by a summer blanket. The skin on his face and neck appears dull, speckled in red rashes, small lesions, and wrinkled like paper money. One large leg rests outside the sheets, the calf, ankle, and foot swollen and elevated on a triangle pillow. A few lottery tickets are strewn next to his limp hand, sitting by a discarded pen.
