Read Online Dismantling Evan by Venessa Kimball - Free Book Online

thirty,” says Mom. “We had Mexican food. Enchiladas, quesadillas, charro beans. I called for you about an hour ago, but I guess you had your music on.”
    I take the earbuds from around my neck and unplug from my iPhone, placing it on my bureau. “It helps me work.”
    Smiling excitedly now, mom says, “Take a break honey. I made you a plate. Come down and have a bite.”
    I’m not hungry, but I don’t want to get into an argument. “Can I bring it up?” I open my hands to show evidence of the state of my room. “I would like to work a little more on this.”
    “Looks like we may have to get you a desk and chair in here. You have so much room now,” she comments as I pick up my camera from the bureau.
    Noticing it in my hand, she steps into the room and toward me. I figure she is going to say something about her memories of using the camera and how it has taken so many pictures, but she doesn’t. She places her hands on top of mine and asks, “You tired?”
    She asks every night without fail; she worries too much.
    I move around her, toward the door to head down stairs. “No,” I reply
    She follows behind me and says, “I’ll get you something to help you sleep after you have eaten.”
    The insomnia is back with vengeance. It doesn’t bother me too much. I sleep every night, but sometimes as little as two hours and never more than six. Plus, I don’t want to become dependent on a pill to make me sleep when I was doing fine. “No, it’s all right. I’m good.”
    “You need to sleep Evan. You tossed and turned all night last night in the hotel.”
    I thought I had disguised my sleeplessness by laying there awake quietly and as still as humanly possible, but I guess she was up listening.
    “Sleeping in a new place is hard for everyone,” she continues with her efforts to convince me to take the Xanax.
    I don’t respond as I walk into the kitchen. Dad is sitting at the table with random stacks of unpacked boxes around him, eating a bowl of ice cream. He looks up and asks me, “Been busy?”
    The remnants of take-out Tex-Mex is evident; foil wrapped flour tortillas, Styrofoam bowl of beef fajitas, a side of rice and beans, chips and salsa, and a small bowl of guacamole. My stomach rumbles, contradicting my thoughts of not being hungry. It smells delicious and I quickly make up a taco with a side of rice and beans. “Yeah all the boxes are unpacked,” I respond.
    “We need to get her a desk, Aaron. She has so much room in there,” Mom says as she transfers a stack of plates from a box into the cabinet.
    “We can pick one out tomorrow. A good break from unpacking,” comments Dad between bites. “What do you say, Evan?”
    I want one, but I really don’t feel like looking for a desk. I chew quickly and swallow a bite of my taco and shift on my feet before I answer, “You guys go. I will like whatever you pick out.”
    They eye each other with a cautious look. That look means they aren’t comfortable leaving me alone. I look from Dad to Mom. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m an invalid.”
    Dad wads up his napkin, wipes his mouth, and sits back in his chair as he says, “We know you aren’t an invalid, Evan.”
    I take another bite of my taco and drop my gaze to my plate as mom chimes in, “Evan, it isn’t that we don’t think you can handle staying here alone.” She stumbles a bit over her words, solidifying the onslaught of a lie in progress. “It is a new place, a new home. What if...”
    Annoyed by her tiptoeing around the fact that they don’t trust me by myself, I snap at her. “What if I what? What if I lose it, have a breakdown while you are gone?”
    Dad warns, “She didn’t say that, Evan.”
    I grimace as I turn, open the refrigerator door, and grab a bottle of water. “Whatever. She didn’t have to,” I mumble.
    I close the door to the refrigerator, pick up my plate with only the remaining edges of the tortilla left, and toss it into the waste basket. I look from