Page 66 of Puck You
“What?”
Again, I waited, no longer willing to speak through a door.After a long moment of silence, I convinced myself she was planning to ignore me altogether, but then I heard a loud sigh of irritation followed by heavy footsteps.The door flew open.
“What?”
Gabby was buried beneath a large sweatshirt and oversized sweatpants, hood pulled over her head.She looked tired.I tried not to think about how much she resembled our mother, especially with those dark circles under her eyes.
“It’s time for dinner.”
“And you couldn’t have just said that?”
“Sure, I could have.But Dad asked me to check for signs of life,” I said with a smirk.
“I doubt he said that,” she scoffed.
I was so tired of her attitude and general lack of consideration.“I didn’t want to wait the thirty minutes it would have taken you to get out of bed.We’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon cooking, and I’m hungry.”
I braced myself for a snarky remark that never came.Instead, Gabby slipped by me through the gap in the doorway and stomped away.Downstairs, the table was covered in food.Beside the steaming plate of pierogies was an impressive display of topping selections and three smoked sausages.My stomach groaned in anticipation.
“You want any wine?”Dad asked me, holding up a bottle of red.
I nodded and accepted the glass with a thankful smile.
“Can I have a glass?”Gabby asked.
“You can have a sip,” my dad conceded, holding out his glass for her to try.
An air of annoyance surrounded her like a force field.“What’s the point of having one sip?”
“And that is exactly why you’re too young to have a glass,” he said.
We all loaded up, though that was a generous term for the meager amount of food on Gabby’s plate.I resisted the urge to comment.The last two times I’d told her she should eat more, she’d given me a scathing look and assured me that she wasn’t as hungry since quitting dance.
As usual, my dad and I spent dinner chatting about school, work, and hockey while Gabby sat in silence and pushed her food around the plate.I tried several times to pull her into the conversation, but each attempt was met with a lackluster response or an eye roll.When dinner ended, Gabby practically ran from the tableand back to the safety of her room as my father and I cleaned up.Though I had half a mind to chase after her, I’d put off speaking with my dad all week.Tonight was my last chance to have the conversation I’d been dreading.It has to be done, I assured myself.The moment Gabby’s bedroom door slammed shut, I ripped off the bandage.
“She needs to see a therapist.Someone who isn’t us that she can talk to.”
There was a long silence.It had taken me over five days to work up the courage to have this talk for a reason.I was bringing up old wounds that were painful to revisit, but this could no longer go ignored.
“I don’t know, Grace.”There was an unspoken fear in his words as he turned on the sink and began rinsing off the dirty plates.
“Depression doesn’t just go away.You know that better than anyone.”
His grip tightened around the sponge, and a rush of watery bubbles burst out and over his fingers.“And you think putting her on a bunch of medications until she’s numb is the answer?”
“No one said anything about medication.”I spoke in a low tone, trying to keep my voice down.“But she needs to talk to a professional.Do you even recognize her right now?She barely leaves her room let alone says more than two words.I really think she hates me, Dad.”
“She doesn’t hate—”
A knock echoed through the house.I let out a shaky breath and poked my head into the hall.Sam peered through the front window.When she caught my eyes, she held up a bottle of wine and grinned.
“I’ll be right back.”
Sam started talking a mile a minute when I opened the door.“My mom got me this really good—”
“Mind waiting up in my room for a few minutes?”
Her brow furrowed in a look of concern.I’ll tell you later, I mouthed as she slipped off her shoes and hung her coat on the banister.With a nod, Sam headed upstairs.My dad was right where I’d left him when I returned to the kitchen, hovering over the sink with a dirty plate in hand.
