world–”
“Conor,
stop
this–”
“
I don’t want to live with grandma
,” Conor said, his voice suddenly strong and filled with a thickness that felt like it was choking him. He kept his eyes firmly on the Coke bottle label, his thumbnail scraping the wet paper away. “Why can’t I come and live with you? Why can’t I come to America?”
His father licked his lips. “You mean when–”
“Grandma’s house is an old lady’s house,” Conor said.
His father gave another small laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell her you called her an old lady.”
“You can’t touch anything or sit anywhere,” Conor said. “You can’t leave a mess for even two seconds. And she’s only got internet out in her office and I’m not allowed in there.”
“I’m sure we can talk to her about those things. I’m sure there’s lots of room to make it easier, make you comfortable there.”
“I don’t
want
to be comfortable there!” Conor said, raising his voice. “I want my own room in my own house.”
“You wouldn’t have that in America,” his father said. “We barely have room for the three of us, Con. Your grandma has a lot more money and space than we do. Plus, you’re in school here, your friends are here, your whole
life
is here. It would be unfair to just take you out of all that.”
“Unfair to who?” Conor asked.
His father sighed. “This is what I meant,” he said. “This is what I meant when I said you were going to have to be brave.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Conor said. “As if it means anything.”
“I’m sorry,” his father said. “I know it seems really unfair, and I wish it was different–”
“Do you?”
“Of
course
I do.” His father leaned in over the table. “But this way is best. You’ll see.”
Conor swallowed, still not meeting his eye. Then he swallowed again. “Can we can talk about it more when Mum gets better?”
His father slowly sat back in his chair again. “Of course we can, buddy. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Conor looked at him again. “
Buddy
?”
His father smiled. “Sorry.” He lifted his wine glass and took a drink long enough to drain the whole glass. He set it down with a small gasp, then he gave Conor a quizzical look. “What was all that you were saying about a tree?”
But the waitress came and silence fell as she put their pizzas in front of them. “Americano,” Conor frowned, looking down at his. “If it could talk, I wonder if it would sound like you.”
AMERICANS DON’T GET MUCH HOLIDAY
“Doesn’t look like your grandma’s home yet,” Conor’s father said, pulling up the rental car in front of her house.
“She sometimes goes back to the hospital after I go to bed,” Conor said. “The nurses let her sleep in a chair.”
His dad nodded. “She may not like me,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad lady.”
Conor stared out of the window at her house. “How long are you here for?” he asked. He’d been afraid to ask before now.
His father let out a long breath, the kind of breath that said bad news was coming. “Just a few days, I’m afraid.”
Conor turned to him. “That’s
all
?”
“Americans don’t get much holiday.”
“You’re not American.”
“But I live there now.” He grinned. “You’re the one who made fun of my accent all night.”
“Why did you come then?” Conor asked. “Why bother coming at all?”
His father waited a moment before answering. “I came because your mum asked me to.” He looked like he was going to say more, but he didn’t.
Conor didn’t say anything either.
“I’ll come back, though,” his father said. “You know, when I need to.” His voice brightened. “And you’ll visit us at Christmas! That’ll be good fun.”
“In your cramped house where there’s no room for me,” Conor said.
“Conor–”
“And then I’ll come back here for school.”
“Con–”
“Why did you come?” Conor asked again, his voice
“Conor,
stop
this–”
“
I don’t want to live with grandma
,” Conor said, his voice suddenly strong and filled with a thickness that felt like it was choking him. He kept his eyes firmly on the Coke bottle label, his thumbnail scraping the wet paper away. “Why can’t I come and live with you? Why can’t I come to America?”
His father licked his lips. “You mean when–”
“Grandma’s house is an old lady’s house,” Conor said.
His father gave another small laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell her you called her an old lady.”
“You can’t touch anything or sit anywhere,” Conor said. “You can’t leave a mess for even two seconds. And she’s only got internet out in her office and I’m not allowed in there.”
“I’m sure we can talk to her about those things. I’m sure there’s lots of room to make it easier, make you comfortable there.”
“I don’t
want
to be comfortable there!” Conor said, raising his voice. “I want my own room in my own house.”
“You wouldn’t have that in America,” his father said. “We barely have room for the three of us, Con. Your grandma has a lot more money and space than we do. Plus, you’re in school here, your friends are here, your whole
life
is here. It would be unfair to just take you out of all that.”
“Unfair to who?” Conor asked.
His father sighed. “This is what I meant,” he said. “This is what I meant when I said you were going to have to be brave.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Conor said. “As if it means anything.”
“I’m sorry,” his father said. “I know it seems really unfair, and I wish it was different–”
“Do you?”
“Of
course
I do.” His father leaned in over the table. “But this way is best. You’ll see.”
Conor swallowed, still not meeting his eye. Then he swallowed again. “Can we can talk about it more when Mum gets better?”
His father slowly sat back in his chair again. “Of course we can, buddy. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Conor looked at him again. “
Buddy
?”
His father smiled. “Sorry.” He lifted his wine glass and took a drink long enough to drain the whole glass. He set it down with a small gasp, then he gave Conor a quizzical look. “What was all that you were saying about a tree?”
But the waitress came and silence fell as she put their pizzas in front of them. “Americano,” Conor frowned, looking down at his. “If it could talk, I wonder if it would sound like you.”
AMERICANS DON’T GET MUCH HOLIDAY
“Doesn’t look like your grandma’s home yet,” Conor’s father said, pulling up the rental car in front of her house.
“She sometimes goes back to the hospital after I go to bed,” Conor said. “The nurses let her sleep in a chair.”
His dad nodded. “She may not like me,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad lady.”
Conor stared out of the window at her house. “How long are you here for?” he asked. He’d been afraid to ask before now.
His father let out a long breath, the kind of breath that said bad news was coming. “Just a few days, I’m afraid.”
Conor turned to him. “That’s
all
?”
“Americans don’t get much holiday.”
“You’re not American.”
“But I live there now.” He grinned. “You’re the one who made fun of my accent all night.”
“Why did you come then?” Conor asked. “Why bother coming at all?”
His father waited a moment before answering. “I came because your mum asked me to.” He looked like he was going to say more, but he didn’t.
Conor didn’t say anything either.
“I’ll come back, though,” his father said. “You know, when I need to.” His voice brightened. “And you’ll visit us at Christmas! That’ll be good fun.”
“In your cramped house where there’s no room for me,” Conor said.
“Conor–”
“And then I’ll come back here for school.”
“Con–”
“Why did you come?” Conor asked again, his voice
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