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We waited for our food, and I marveled at how quickly it was handed to us on a plastic tray. Ricky laughed at the look of confusion that passed over my face as he accepted our order and turned to head toward the tables and chairs.

"They call it fast food for a reason, man."

"Yeah, but that was really fast," I argued as I followed him to a table sandwiched between two bench seats. "Food cooked that fast can't be good for you, right? Is it even real?"

Ricky barked with a laugh as he dropped onto one of the benches while I took the other.

"Nobody said it was good for you, dude, but it tastes fuckin' amazing."

He handed a box to me, along with a carton of fries and a cup full of soda.

I opened the box, and inside was one of the saddest-looking burgers I'd ever seen, but, man, it smelled incredible.

Shredded lettuce dropped to the table as I gripped it in both hands and lifted it to my mouth.

Ricky smirked as I took a bite, like he was already anticipating the reaction he knew I'd have, and when the blended tastes of the hamburger, cheese, onion, lettuce, and sauce I couldn't quite put my finger on exploded against my taste buds, I slumped back against the seat and shook my head as I chewed .

"That son of a bitch," I muttered with my mouth full.

Ricky snorted, amused. "What?"

He took a bite of his own burger and chewed, unfazed.

"My dad," I said, plucking a fry from the carton and popping it into my mouth. Instantly, I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut. "Oh my God."

We ate silently, apart from the occasional obscene moan that worked its way up my throat.

Even the Coca-Cola tasted different, somehow crisper and fresher than the cans Ricky had given me at lunchtime, and I decided that McDonald's was my favorite food.

Maybe not the fanciest, maybe not the most health-conscious, but I loved it.

I should've brought Grace and Lucy.

A fresh wave of guilt swept over me as I chewed the last bite of Big Mac. My sisters would've loved this. Hell, for all I knew, they'd been to McDonald's before. On one of their class trips or after school with one of their friends. Dad didn't expect as much from them.

“They’re girls who will eventually be women,” he always said.

And while they had their chores, he saw less importance in what they said or did. It was a primitive, outdated look at gender roles, but in some ways, they were better off.

But how would that change once I was gone?

I glanced at Ricky as he wiped his greasy fingers with a paper napkin.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked abruptly .

His brows tipped with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean”—I gestured toward the ceiling—"now that school is done, what are your plans?"

It felt silly that I hadn't thought to ask before. It was stupid, horrible even, that I hadn't had time to care.

He shrugged and dropped the napkin to the tray.

"Well, I don't know. I thought about going to the community college or something, but I don't really know what I'd wanna major in at this point.

Mom isn't pushing me out of the house or anything though.

She told me to take a year or two to think about it, if I wanted to, so …

" He lifted one shoulder to his ear. "I might just keep working here for a while and enjoy my freedom a little. "

I tried not to be jealous as I nodded. I had other things to focus on.

“So, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon?”

“Honestly, I don’t see myself ever leaving my mom,” he admitted with an almost-embarrassed grimace. “She’d be all alone. I don’t want that to happen.”

Another tinge of jealousy pinched at my heart as I pushed my mind forward and asked, "Could you do me a favor then?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

I held his gaze as I said, "Check in on my sisters, okay? I mean, while I'm gone."

He barely nodded his head, understanding flickering in his dark eyes as he replied, "I can do that."

"Take care of them," I pressed, dropping my gaze to the table. "They're not your responsibility—I get that—but I don't know what he'll do— "

"Max, dude, I got your back," he interrupted, dipping his head to find my eyes once again. "I'll watch out for them. And if I feel like there's anything going on, I'll kick his ass."

I laughed. "Yeah, sure. Just … I don't know. Send me a letter or—"

"You think I'm kidding? If I think he's hurting your little sisters, I swear I will kick his ass."

I allowed a moment to pass to stare into his eyes and gauge his sincerity.

Ricky stared back, his resolve unmoving.

My happy-go-lucky friend—the one quick to drop a joke, the one who thought fun was more of a priority than anything else—now looked like he could easily kill a man if the opportunity came up.

"Thanks, Ricky," I said quietly, unable to bring my voice above a whisper.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "You got it."

I glanced out the window adjacent to our table.

I looked out at the bustling main street area of our little Massachusetts town I never had the chance to enjoy in all of my eighteen years.

I should've been allowed to roam these streets with my friends, like every other teenager.

I should've been able to get a job here with Ricky, flipping cheap, delicious burgers for a few bucks an hour.

I should've been given the chance to call Laura my girlfriend for even just a few months.

Oh God, Laura …

My heart sank as I dropped my elbow to the table, raking my hand through my hair.

"Your dad's a real piece of shit," Ricky muttered, apparently reading my mind.

"Yeah, he is."

He huffed an unamused laugh. "And here, I always thought people with money had it made."

I tried to mimic his chuckle but fell short. "It's not all it’s cracked up to be."

"But, hey, once you're done with the military, you're afreeman, right? You don't have to do what your dad says. You can get a place of your own. You can … I dunno … do whatever the hell you want, right?”

There was an air of hopefulness in his tone that I immediately resented.

What he was saying sounded like a dream, the sweetest one, but I knew better than anyone, that was exactly what it was.

A dream. And I knew that, as long as my father was alive, it was unlikely I'd ever find a lifefreeof his wrath.

And still, I smiled and nodded.

"Right," I replied.

Because dreams couldn’t ever come true if you didn't allow them to take life, even if it was all in your mind.

***

"Let's go, Maxwell."

There was a cruel irony in having my father see me off, but there was no one else.

He hurried down the porch steps and into his car. I would've thought there'd be an extra spring in his step today, knowing he was about to be rid of me for at least the next couple of months, but he was just as angry as usual for having to do anything to help me leave.

Lucy and Grace stood at the bottom of the stairs, their hands wringing in the hems of their identical shirts. They were trying their best not to cry, biting their wriggling lips and keeping their eyes forward and not on me.

"It's ten weeks," I reminded them. "Ten weeks, and then I'll be back."

Grace's bottom lip trembled fiercely, and she swallowed as Lucy's mouth opened with a shuddering sob.

"It'll be okay," I promised.

Grace blinked rapidly. "N-no, it won't," she croaked. "You're leaving ."

"But not forever," I reminded her.

The back of my eyes pricked with tears, and the bridge of my nose stung.

I wanted to lose it, to completely break down in the middle of the living room, but wanting to do something was different than actually doing it.

And there was no way in hell I was going to cry.

Not in front of them.Not when I had to face our father outside.

"I hate Daddy," Lucy whispered angrily.

"Me too," Grace agreed.

I barely bobbed my head with a nod as my eyes fell on a faded stain from where our old dog— poor Smoky —had shit years ago.

So do I , I almost said before our private conversation was interrupted by a tired voice I hardly knew but recognized immediately.

"Don't talk about your father like that.”

I turned my head slowly to watch with exaggerated boredom as my mother descended the stairs.

God, I almost laughed, seeing her in her robe and slippers, her hair a complete wreck and her eyelids barely open.

The woman had spent most of my childhood absent, cocooned in …

whatever state she was forever in. Depression.

Drunk. Disinterest. I didn't know. Yet there she was, pulling herself out of bed long enough to, what? Say goodbye?

"If he didn't want us to talk about him like that, then maybe he shouldn't give us reason to," I replied, hoping my tone matched the indifference on my face.

"Your father works hard to give us this beautiful life," she murmured, holding on to the banister with both hands, as if to keep herself from falling over.

"And what a life it's been," I fired back sardonically, narrowing my glare.

She tipped her chin up, looking down at me over her nose. "All you had to do was listen ," she said, her voice the equivalent of a frosty winter chill, and I wasn't sure if I hated her or my father more.

But I didn't reply. What the hell was the point?

I bent down and grabbed my bags in both hands. There wasn't much to bring; I didn't have much as it was. Lucy and Grace watched through watery eyes as I took a step toward them.

"Everything is going to be okay."

They didn't argue this time, not under the watchful gaze of our mother. They just nodded, avoiding my eyes.

I turned to walk out the door when Mom spoke again.

"I always did sort of care, you know," she said, projecting her voice just a little more than usual. "It was just hard for me to … be a mother to you. ”

And what the hell was I supposed to say to that?

Nothing—that was what.

I took a step closer to the door.