What Lies Beneath

Twelve

Like my thoughts, my ceiling fan spun uncontrollably above me as I lay flat on my back, following its turn cycle. What day was it again? Tuesday? Wednesday? Damnit, I wasn't sure anymore. I'd been losing track. And with the week breezing by so fast, I didn't think I'd ever catch up. My anxiety was kicking my ass again.

Beside me, my phone vibrated for the third time this evening. Probably Patty texting me again. She insisted that I keep her in the loop on Emerald's case, then proceeded to give me her phone number. I wasn't against it. But I was going to threaten to block her if she didn't stop blowing up my phone.

"Dinner's ready!" Junior poked his head in my room.

"Okay!" I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Then, I followed him out the door. On cue, a strong aroma of chicken alfredo and cheesy garlic bread graced my nose, from downstairs. I breathed in the fresh scent, my mouth watering at the thought of eating my first meal of the day. Not that my mother needed to know it was.

When we entered the kitchen, my mother's spine stuck out from her back as she stood hunched over the counter, stirring the last of the alfredo together in a large bowl. A playlist of 90's RnB music flowed from my mother's Alexa speaker; a list she'd put together a few months ago to keep herself motivated whenever she was busy.

I walked up to her shoulder, peeking inside the bowl. "Mhm, that smells good."

She smiled, shooing me off. "Both of you make sure you wash your hands!" Laughing, I backed away, and jogged towards the sink. Her smile was permanent on her face. I hadn't seen my mother smile like that in months. It did things to me. Good things that I craved to feel more.

Out of courtesy of missing dinner last night, I vowed to come straight home after school, and spend time with both of them. Part of me may have also been putting off that phone call with my father. But I'd tackle one issue at a time. Baby steps, as the saying went.

"Mom, what's this?" There was a stack of papers scattered across the kitchen table. I caught sight of the first few words on the top reading, "IN THE FAMILY COURT OF. . .", before she hurried over, gathering them together.

"Oh, it's just some paperwork I need to fill out and send to my lawyer." She rushed to the cabinets with the papers still in hand. I watched her grab a few plates and forks as she began fixing our food. She sat Junior's plate on the other side of the table in front of him, then replaced the papers that were in front of me with a plate, pushing my food towards me.

"Are those the custody papers? Is that what was in that yellow envelope that day? The one I brought in from the mailbox?" I moved my chicken alfredo around, peeking up at her. Hesitation masked her face, and she didn't answer.

"Hey mom, you know you don't have to keep hiding everything from me, right? I'm sixteen. Not exactly a kid." Sighing, I lowered my voice. "I know you guys fight about me all the time. I can hear you two on the phone at night sometimes . . . and when he was here last time."

"Oh. Right." She lowered her head, a soft laugh falling from her mouth. Her body sunk into the seat next to mine, defeated. "I forget my babies are all grown up now. . ." Junior and I shared a distant look, both unwilling to address the elephant in the room first.

My mother proceeded with a sigh, "This has just been a very tough time. I'm sorry you and Junior have to be dragged into this mess. Really, Tyler." Every day she found something else to sigh about. She wouldn't ever admit it aloud to us, but she was clearly tired—tired from all the arguing, all the fussing, and most importantly, trying not to give up in this battle. I was tired.

"I know. I'm sorry too. Junior has to suffer because of me." I looked down at my plate.

"Tyler, don't say that. Don't you ever blame yourself for this." She shook her head.