Page 49 of The Moon Also Rises
A silence falls between us as we set about racing around Mario Kart Stadium. We’re just racing this time and Roxana’s Yoshi is far ahead of me but I’m not feeling competitive, and indeed the topic of conversation has me more than a little distracted but as more quiet minutes pass I start to feel something like relief. But it doesn’t last long.
“Why don’t we talk about it? Why don’tyoutalk about it?” Roxie flashes me a quick look and I look at her long enough to notice her wide, curious eyes.
I swallow, audibly. “There’s not much to talk about. It wasn’t a happy time in my life.”
“But it must have been at first. You must have thought it a good idea at one point. I mean why else would you have done it, signed up in the first place?”
“It was her,” Mama says. We both turn to see her standing at the door.
“Pardon?”
“You joined it because of her. Michelle.” She nods at me.
“It wasn’t that simple.” My shoulders sink and I try to focus on the game but even that feels wrong.
“Yes, it was. Even before you left LA, you were already cutting us off, cutting us out of your life. You hadn’t been home in years.”
“It wasn’t just Michelle!” I raise my voice. “I have to accept responsibility for my own actions.”
I may not have stuck it out at rehab, but I remember that much, and it makes sense to me. I’m not going to move past this if I just keep blaming Michelle or Gee.
“And aren’t you?” Mama says, her voice louder too. “You’ve got a new job. You’re living in a new city. You come and see your family every week. You’ve shrunk your life down to a small and safe space that I know doesn’t always make you happy. Can’t you forgive yourself like we’ve forgiven you?”
“I—” My mouth hangs open because I have no words, no explanation. At least not one I think my mother wants to hear. It’s at this moment that Roxie’s Yoshi completes the course in first place, and I throw down my Joycon in defeat, and not just because of the lost race.
“I don’t say all this to upset you, Rami.” Mom takes more steps into the room. “I say this so we can maybe talk a bit about what happened, because I think that would help. Roxie’s right. We should talk about it more.”
I pull in a breath and lean back in my chair. “Well, maybe we should wait for Radia to be here. As Roxie said, she’d hate to miss out.” It’s not like me to grab humour as a way out of a difficult conversation and it shows. Mom comes to sit beside me, and she and Roxana look at each other.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Roxie says with a small shrug. “Sometimes I misread a room or a moment. Blame it on my autism?”
“There’s nothing to blame on anything. Your autism is never a problem,” I say, and I shift forward so I can hold her stare, knowing full well she wouldn’t like it if I squeezed her arm like I would like to. But her eyes find me and I realise then that it’s going to be a lot easier to look my sister in the eye and say what I need to say rather than hold my mother’s gaze, but I know she’s listening. “I probably should be better at talking about what happened, and I hope one day I will be. But it still hurts. I’m still very, very embarrassed about what happened. I am still so…” The crack in my voice is tiny, but the way I stop speaking and press my lips together is much more noticeable. “I’m still so sad and angry at myself for not being here when Baba was sick and when he… died. I just find it hard to talk about.”
“That makes sense.” Roxie nods at me.
The warmth from Mama’s hand on my arm surprises me. “We’ll be here, ready whenever you are.”
And I believe her. I don’t deserve it, but I believe her. And I appreciate her, more than she may ever know.
Chapter Fourteen
Jake
Am I allowed to be pissed off Rami didn’t wake me up to say goodbye?
No, I know I’m not. He did the most considerate thing when you factor how his alarm must have gone off less than four hours after we fell asleep. The great care he must have taken to not wake me up as he showered, dressed and left the room should have me smiling at his thoughtfulness, but instead I find myself questioning why he didn’t want to say goodbye. Was it our kiss? Was it bad? Did he regret it? I try to replay the way he danced for me. I try to recall how long we kissed on that bench outside. I can easily remember how deliciously hard he was when my hand brushed against him… But what if that was a fluke? What if I’m not his type?
I admit it may be these spiralling thoughts that have me feeling pissed off more than Rami’s actions. Perhaps that’s why I spend the entire drive back to London aggressively chewing my way through a bag of Percy Pig sweets and tutting when Radio 1 plays songs I don’t recognise. When I’m stuck in a traffic jam on the M25, I finally give in and call my sister on speakerphone so I can be distracted from my taunting thoughts.
“You didn’t send me a photo!” she practically yells when she answers.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Morning? It’s nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. Must have been a good night.”
My smile surprises me. “It was actually.”
“So why no photo? Take one of him now and send it to me.”
