Page 88 of This I Know
That’s funny. The impression she’d given me the other night was one of reluctance and potential for contempt, like this was something she just wanted to get over with. Instead, here she is enjoying herself.
I want to hug her.
All of a sudden, my mom’s alarm-like work pager goes off, the sound blaring through the entire house. She sighs and practically slams her drink down on the table.
“Please, tell me that’s not what I think it is,” she says, walking over to it, pressing some buttons and reading it. “It is. Avery, Ethan … I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go back in.” In a hurry, she shuffles her things around on the counter, searching for her phone and keys. “We’ll have to do this again, you two.”
None of this is surprising; my mom’s schedule is insane, and in the back of my mind I suspected something like this to happen. I excuse myself from the table, leaving Ethan for a moment to join my mom as she walks out.
“Avery, he’s lovely,” she says as she pulls on a sweater from the coat closet, “but he’s not to stay here tonight. Is that understood?”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I know something like that would give you a heart attack, and I wouldn’t do that to you.”
She has no time for jokes. “Good. I’ll text you.” She kisses me on the cheek, then leaves.
“Well, that went well,” I say back at the table.
“Your mom works some long hours.”
I sit down again and pick at my plate. We’re both pretty much finished. “She does, but it’s part of the job and I think we’ve both gotten used to it. She’s paid well, though, and that’s what keeps her motivated.” I push my plate away and lean back. “She said we can’t stay here tonight.”
I glance at the time above the stove. It’s still early. We look at each other.
“Okay,” Ethan says. “Want to go to my place?”
He read my mind.
“I think it’s out of batteries.”
“You’re probably right, but I have another one,” Ethan says. “Do me a favor. I think my spare’s in that drawer. The top one on the left. Can you grab it? It’s a better controller than this one, anyway. You’ll probably kick my ass with it.”
For the last hour, we’ve been playing video games in Ethan’s room like the couple of teenagers that we still are. I pull open the drawer, and my eyes meet with an explosion of beautiful color. There’s no controller. Instead, the drawer is full of dry, pressed flowers of all kinds; blue ones and purple ones and yellow ones, and there’s one on the top that’s bright red. I pick it up and twirl it in my fingers, not believing what I’m seeing – what’s he doing with these? – and what I’m thinking – this must be a sign from the universe.
I stare at the flower as it dances in my fingers. Maybe he’s my guardian angel.
He’s behind me in an instant. He slams the drawer shut.
“Theleft.” There’s panic in his voice, but his tone isn’t mean.
I hold up the red flower. “Why do you have these?” I re-open the drawer, and he doesn’t try to stop me. He moves back two feet. I pick up another flower, this time a blue one.
He swallows hard. He goes to the left drawer and pulls out the controller. “They were my dad’s. I made them with him.”
“Oh. Well, they’re really pretty.” I take a seat next to him. “Can I tell you a story?”
He looks at me. There’s something in him, something going on deep down that I can sense but can’t see. There’s something he’s keeping from me.
“Sure.”
“When I was recovering in the hospital, I think a stranger left a flower just like this for me. Either that, or … well, you’ll probably think I’m crazy.”
He stiffly shakes his head. “Tell me.”
“Well, no one I talked to knows who left this flower, and I used to have dreams about someone in my room.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“It was just the drugs, I’m sure. But I still think those things have meaning, you know?” I set the flower down on his dresser. “Do you believe in fate?”
