A Reason to Exist

Chapter 46

After school, I dropped my bag in my room and went in to the kitchen.

'You look tired,' mum said. 'Did you get enough sleep? What time did you go to bed?'

Dad was already being accused of negligence. I was tired. The weekend had been exhausting, but not in the way she thinks.

'I had plenty of sleep,' I said. 'I was in bed by 10pm each night. I ate well. I slept well. Dad made sure I brushed my teeth. Amazing, hey? I get by on his watch just as well as I do with you.'

I didn't mean to go in for the attack. It just happened. My frustration is a fragile house of cards, a black joker collapsed on the floor. One dig at my father and I want to fight back. But then I saw the hurt look on her face and I felt bad.

'How was your weekend?' I asked.

'It was fine. I had a lovely time with Tate, just the two of us.' She was willing to fight back. An eye for an eye.

'That's good.' I wondered what she'd think if she really knew what Tate had been up to on Friday night. How did he even escape her watch? She was probably in bed that night with her headphones on, listening to a meditation.

'What's for dinner?'

'Shepherd's pie.'

'I'll probably head out after dinner for a walk with Tucker.'

She put down the potato peeler. 'Make sure you do your homework. My mother always encouraged us not to have a boyfriend in high school. She wanted us to concentrate on our studies. Boys can be distracting. You'll realise one day it was pointless.'

'Pointless?'

'Yeah, pointless. A waste of time.'

'How can having fun with someone be pointless?'

'If you are thinking of having sex with him we should talk to Anita. She has very good views on teenagers ...'

'Anita, your chiropractor? I am not talking to Anita about sex.'

'She's very open minded ...'

My mother had probably spent the weekend fretting about Tucker and building her team of experts to guide her. She'd probably been reading blog posts on how to manage your teen's first love; advice for having bedroom doors open and when to say yes to their first sleepover. She'd probably prepared a menu plan of anaphrodisiac meals to feed me to ward off sexual desire.

She'd jumped the gun. I wasn't even thinking about sex with Tucker. I was thinking about love and friendship and having someone by my side who is on my side. The kissing was a bonus, but the real prize was true friendship and what he brought into my sheltered existence.

'Tucker is good for me.'

'In what way?'

'He has courage, he doesn't shy away from things like I do,' I said. 'I like the way he approaches the world.'

'Hmm.' She began dicing a carrot.

'He doesn't stress out about anything. He's straight up and calls a spade a spade. He doesn't take anything too seriously. It's refreshing. He's funny and likeable. Everyone likes him. You go anywhere with him and everyone wants to be his friend. He's truly amazing. He can walk into a supermarket and make the guy packing the shelves laugh. You should see him skate. He has no fear. His tricks are out of this world. He has a massive following on YouTube.'

'Have you done your homework?' mum asked. This conversation was closing shut with a rock stuck underneath, making a scratchy sound.

'Yes.'

'Well make sure you do it before you go out. As I said, I don't want this relationship affecting your studies. You have to be serious about your homework if you want to go to university. You don't want to end up as just somebody's wife. Looking after kids, cooking and housework is demeaning work. You need to have something else in your life to give it meaning.'

I was receiving the lesson plan of two generations of dissatisfied women.

'Where's Tate?'

'In his bedroom, doing his homework.'

As suspected, when I swung open his door he was playing something on his ipad.

'How was your weekend?' I asked.

'Fine.'

'How was the rehearsal?'

'Good,' he said without looking up from his screen.

I sat on the edge of his bed. He kept his gaze on the ipad screen. I studied his innocent face; his blue eyes (mum's), his upturned nose (dad's), his dark curly hair (dad's), his thin lips (mum's). He is the sum of both of them, but the equation of neither. His emotions, a hacked algorithm, his behaviour, an abnormal bell curve, his perspective, against logic. I felt so mixed up looking at this sibling of mine and wondering what had gone so wrong. His mental state was a paradox.

When my parents divorced, Tate's emotions divorced. His feelings stunted. He didn't talk about what was happening. He went quiet and introspective. Even when mum tried to give him a sheet of fifty feeling words from her psychologist, he couldn't find one word to describe how he was feeling.

Some siblings get closer in the face of adversity. But Tate and I had drifted. We hardly communicated. We were brother and sister in name only, sharing a roof, a shower, a sink, a toilet, and little more. Our relationship had been cryogenically frozen. I wanted to break us out of the meat locker, thaw us out and revive our connection.

He looked at me. 'What?'

'Nothing.' I stood up and walked away, thinking perhaps I'd try again tomorrow.