Page 25 of The Story of You

I didn’t know what he “got”, and I didn’t want to ask.

By November, Oliver could sit up. He could interact with the world by reaching for things. He tried to talk. His first word wasn’t “Mama” or “Dada”. It was “Baba”. Lots of infants used that to mean “bottle”, but we knew it meant Silas. I loved it. Whining or babbling? Didn’t matter. It was his stamp of ownership on me.

I was careful not to refer to myself as his parent in any way. It bothered both of my parents for different reasons so when he cried with a long round of “Baba, Baba, Baba” I told him “Big brother was here” until I had him in my arms.

Sometimes he didn’t want Mama. He would cry bloody murder if Father tried to pick him up at all. He tolerated Darius but I was the clear favorite. He got easier to look after even with his increased mobility because I continued to learn new things about parenting and evolved my system.

Accepting my situation helped too. I stayed home now. I didn’t know for how long, but I knew my place was at home helping my family. I still wanted to be a teenager doing teenage things, but I kept in mind what Father had said: my social life meant little by comparison to Mother’s illness.

I recited that to myself when I heard my friends were getting together on Saturday nights. When I heard about the sophomore Halloween dance. When I got invited to birthday parties that took place in the evening hours. I believed Mama would get better and I could resume all of that at some point.

Mama didn’t get better.

She got worse and as little help as she was, when I didn’t have it anymore, I realized that she had been contributing quite a bit. We hadn’t needed the housekeeper in some time and when I got behind despite my best efforts (which included making Darius do chores when he got home from school) I knew I would have to approach Father about it.

Things had been okay. I was careful, sure, but there had only been the usual outbursts at Darius, which I didn’t like but even he could admit he pushed Father more than he should. On the whole, life had improved, and Father’s spirits were optimistic.

I was doing up the dishes as he went over a case for work, sipping on the coffee I had made and served him. “Sir,” I said. “Do you think we could get Louise back for a bit? Things are piling up.” I also threw in Oliver’s new stages of development as the reason even though it was because of Mother’s decreased capacity to do anything during the day. I wasn’t going to blame her. Father would have taken my head off.

He sat back and considered me with his handsome face as my heart hammered and my nerves swam with illogical fear. “If I do that for you, what will you do for me?”

What will I do for him? How about raise his children? How about give up school? How about take care of his sick wife? That’s what I say to him in my head when I think about this. I still have fictitious arguments with him. Ones he’ll never hear, and I’ll never say.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t stupid enough to say any of that. I swallowed hard and went in a different direction. “What would you like me to do for you, sir?”

“Something simple. You’re always walking around here in giant clothing like you don’t care about yourself. Appearance dictates perception, Silas. I’d like to see you in nicer things. Whatever happened to those shirts you used to wear?”

I knew the ones he meant. “The concert shirts, sir?”

“Yeah. Wear those and smile. I know they made you happy. I want to see that again.”

“I outgrew them. I don’t have any left.”

His face twisted. “Didn’t your uncle buy you one?”

How the fuck had he known about that? “Right. I forgot about that one.”

“And you can buy more. I told you that the credit card I gave you was for whatever you wanted. I know you’re not a spendthrift. Spend some more on yourself. Buy more of those shirts and for heaven’s sake grow your hair out. I don’t like it short like that.”

He’d given me a list: wear crop tops, grow your hair out, and smile. He wasn’t asking. My gaze fell to Oliver sleeping in his bouncer. “I can do all of that, sir.”

“Good. I’ll have Louise here by Monday.”

I took Darius shopping with me and Oliver. They needed new stuff too. Oliver was a surprise baby. Mother didn’t have any of our stuff left to hand down when he came around. There was no baby shower due to Mama’s cancer diagnosis. I had to keep up with his growing needs. Father never gave me a spending limit. He wanted me to get whatever everyone needed. He didn’t want to be bothered with it. Since I couldn’t drive, he was forced to take us for groceries. Darry, Oliver, and I would go into the store, get what we needed, and he would wait outside reading the paper. I asked once if he’d watch Oliver in the car since he was asleep. It would take Darius and me thirty minutes rather than the sixty it took with Oliver—we had a system down—but he replied, “Stay-at-home spouses do it every day, Silas.”

I never asked again.

So, I wore the crop tops and I waited for my hair to grow out—I left it down in the meantime, Oliver yanked it to shit—but smiling was harder.

“It’s nice to see you wearing those again, you feel like my brother when you do,” Darius said.

“Good.” I had a hungry Oliver, fussing on my shoulder, chewing his hand as he waited for me to warm his formula. Father was out and Mama couldn’t get out of bed that day. I’d just brought Darry home from school. “I aim to please you.”

He knew I was being a sarcastic fuck. “Dick.”

I smirked at him.

“It does beg the question, why did you stop and why did you suddenly start again?”