Page 22 of Flame
I stroll through Foxx’s “unhaunted” kitchen and poke my head into the living room.
Oh, very nice. A large plant has been placed beside a picture window. There are two brown leather chairs with a small table between them. The sofa is made of the same material and houses three large fluffy pillows in various shades of blue. The hue picks up the colors in a painting hanging above the fireplace.
Everything about Foxx’s house is cozy.
My friends always joked that I lived in a museum because everything was for show, not for use. There were busts of poets, signed first editions of books, and vases from my parents’ trips around the world that were worth far more to them than the sculptures my brothers and I made in elementary school for Mother’s Day. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that my home feels quite the same as theirs. It’s beautiful and tasteful. Very elegant—except for the ghosts. But it’s also cold and hollow—probably because of the ghosts. It probably doesn’t help that I’m almost never there.
I sit on the couch and rest my head against a soft pillow. I check my texts to see if there have been any updates at home.
There’s one.
Jason: Are you doing okay?
I type out a quick response.
Me: I’m alive.
Jason: Good to hear.
Me: Is everything okay back there?
Jason: For the most part, yes. My assistant put in her letter of resignation, but I expected as much after hearing that she left with Dad. We’re going through her computer and things now to see if anything is amiss.
Me: If there’s anything I can do from here, let me know.
Jason: I think the less you have to do with anything, the better. Just for now. I need you to trust me.
I sigh. “You’re overreacting, big guy.”
Me: Don’t I always?
Jason: If only our siblings took direction as well as you.
Me: Never thought I’d hear you say that about me.
Jason: It’s odd, isn’t it?
Me: I’m going to call Mom. She always calls my work cell phone, and I left it in the office THANKS TO YOU.
Jason: You’re welcome for that. And Mom is still in meetings. I could kill Dad for putting her through this.
Me: Get in line, bud.
I pause, waiting to see if my heart will hurt. But it doesn’t.
I keep expecting it to happen—to have a breakdown out of sadness or an outburst of anger or a meltdown from mental exhaustion over everything that’s happened. I’m ready to give myself space to feel and honor whatever emotions arise. Except, none of them do. Not toward Dad, at least. Fuck him.
Down deep in the recesses of my soul, I knew something was off for a couple of years. I watched the man I knew growing up—the one I loved and idolized—change before my eyes. It was so subtle that it was hardly noticeable. But I noticed. I just didn’t do anything about it.
And, if I had, maybe some of this bullshit could’ve been prevented.
Jason: I’ll call you tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything.
Me: I will.
Jason: Thank you for cooperating today. It means a lot to me.
Me: I expect a huge Christmas present for this inconvenience. HUGE. MASSIVE. EXPENSIVE.
