her , but it won’t hurt so much, later.” She leans toward me slowly and bumps her shoulder softly against mine.
I stare at my shoes in the sand and don’t answer. I’ve already let this girl in on way too much. I’m feeling too much, which means I’m hurting too much. Something ’s gotta give , or I ’m going to break apart.
- - -
Dad and I have scrambled eggs for dinner. I’m slowly learning there are only a few things he cooks well. H e just doesn’t mind repetition. A t all.
He cleans our plates and sits across from me before I have a chance to get up. Dad sets a stack of mail between us on the table. “Antony, I know you don’t want to deal with this, but you’re almost eighteen , and there are some t hings that have to be taken care of .”
“I don’t want…” I start to get up. Each letter is another reminder I’ve lost something I didn’t want to lose.
“I know you don’t want to think about this yet, but you can’t put it off forever .”
“Put what off? What on earth can’t wait? ”
“Your friends from the Today S how really want you on for an interview because they want to be able to bring to the forefront the issues in Darfur your mom was going to cover.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s still neatly trimmed.
“No.” No way I’m doing that. How the hell am I supposed to hold myself together while talking about Mom and why she di… But even the word gets caught in my brain, unwilling to be heard, even by me.
“There have b een offers on the apartment and— ”
“And it’s not for sale,” I say, folding my arms. I’m doing my best not to l ook at the stack of envelopes— each one of those papers is simply another reminder of what I’ve lost. How I’ll never get it back and how I’ll never be the same.
“That’s a lot of money every month.” He clasps his hands together over the table.
“I have money. I’m not giving up the apartment.”
“Fair enough.” He sighs. “I’ve sorted out the junk mail. T his is what’s left. The letter from the attorney is there.”
Each one of Dad’s words tightens my resolve. Nothing needs me right this moment. I need to make sure I can actually deal with it before I start .
“I know what it says.” Th is is all pointless and is simply forcing us to talk about the one thing I don’t want to talk about.
“What’s that?” Dad ’s eyebrows rise, incredulous.
“Mom was meticulous about her money and her will, D ad . I get everything.” I stand up, needing out. Needing air.
“But…”
“Later. I’ll do it later.” When everything stops feeling so fuzzy , and when I stop hurting so bad. Later. Right now, I need the dark quiet of my miniature room.
Eight
I push my legs up the hill to the coffee shop, not an easy feat before my first shot of caffeine for the day. I glance up just before grabbing the handle to see Amber standing next to Kent . He’s smiling and looking down. She’s smiling down and looking up and then he leans down and kisses her cheek.
My brain starts to swirl around in the same ridiculous emotional mess that my chest and gut are in. I want to puke. Really, I should have known that was coming, and it shouldn’t hurt like it does.
“What can I get you?” The guy behind the counter asks.
“Chai Tea L atte and a Cappuccino.” It rolls right off my tongue.
“Yeah, no problem.” He picks up two cups. “Chai Tea…”
Chai Tea… Mom’s drink. My heart hammers , making me dizzy . “Just the Cappuccino.”
I ordered for Mom.
It hits me hard. What a stupid thing to make me feel like this — like I’m drowning waiting for a coffee .
“Have a s eat. I’ll bring it out in a sec.”
I stand by the window, afraid to sit, but not wanting to leave without my drink . My sanity is shaken . As soon as the cup hits my hand I’m out the door. No tip, n o look, no thanks. Just out.
As I breathe in, the
I stare at my shoes in the sand and don’t answer. I’ve already let this girl in on way too much. I’m feeling too much, which means I’m hurting too much. Something ’s gotta give , or I ’m going to break apart.
- - -
Dad and I have scrambled eggs for dinner. I’m slowly learning there are only a few things he cooks well. H e just doesn’t mind repetition. A t all.
He cleans our plates and sits across from me before I have a chance to get up. Dad sets a stack of mail between us on the table. “Antony, I know you don’t want to deal with this, but you’re almost eighteen , and there are some t hings that have to be taken care of .”
“I don’t want…” I start to get up. Each letter is another reminder I’ve lost something I didn’t want to lose.
“I know you don’t want to think about this yet, but you can’t put it off forever .”
“Put what off? What on earth can’t wait? ”
“Your friends from the Today S how really want you on for an interview because they want to be able to bring to the forefront the issues in Darfur your mom was going to cover.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s still neatly trimmed.
“No.” No way I’m doing that. How the hell am I supposed to hold myself together while talking about Mom and why she di… But even the word gets caught in my brain, unwilling to be heard, even by me.
“There have b een offers on the apartment and— ”
“And it’s not for sale,” I say, folding my arms. I’m doing my best not to l ook at the stack of envelopes— each one of those papers is simply another reminder of what I’ve lost. How I’ll never get it back and how I’ll never be the same.
“That’s a lot of money every month.” He clasps his hands together over the table.
“I have money. I’m not giving up the apartment.”
“Fair enough.” He sighs. “I’ve sorted out the junk mail. T his is what’s left. The letter from the attorney is there.”
Each one of Dad’s words tightens my resolve. Nothing needs me right this moment. I need to make sure I can actually deal with it before I start .
“I know what it says.” Th is is all pointless and is simply forcing us to talk about the one thing I don’t want to talk about.
“What’s that?” Dad ’s eyebrows rise, incredulous.
“Mom was meticulous about her money and her will, D ad . I get everything.” I stand up, needing out. Needing air.
“But…”
“Later. I’ll do it later.” When everything stops feeling so fuzzy , and when I stop hurting so bad. Later. Right now, I need the dark quiet of my miniature room.
Eight
I push my legs up the hill to the coffee shop, not an easy feat before my first shot of caffeine for the day. I glance up just before grabbing the handle to see Amber standing next to Kent . He’s smiling and looking down. She’s smiling down and looking up and then he leans down and kisses her cheek.
My brain starts to swirl around in the same ridiculous emotional mess that my chest and gut are in. I want to puke. Really, I should have known that was coming, and it shouldn’t hurt like it does.
“What can I get you?” The guy behind the counter asks.
“Chai Tea L atte and a Cappuccino.” It rolls right off my tongue.
“Yeah, no problem.” He picks up two cups. “Chai Tea…”
Chai Tea… Mom’s drink. My heart hammers , making me dizzy . “Just the Cappuccino.”
I ordered for Mom.
It hits me hard. What a stupid thing to make me feel like this — like I’m drowning waiting for a coffee .
“Have a s eat. I’ll bring it out in a sec.”
I stand by the window, afraid to sit, but not wanting to leave without my drink . My sanity is shaken . As soon as the cup hits my hand I’m out the door. No tip, n o look, no thanks. Just out.
As I breathe in, the
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