Page 26 of The Story of You

“That’s two questions.” I knew he associated the shirts with me and that it meant something to him. I didn’t want to ruin it for him. “I guess I didn’t feel like myself for a while. I feel like myself again,” I lied.

Either I was getting good at lying or Darius wanted the illusion as badly as I did. He believed me. That’s no small feat. Darius has always had people-reading superpowers, which is why he’s good at business, which is how I know that when he loses big on a deal, it’s something he let fall through the cracks because he was off drinking or something else irresponsible.

I don’t know what I expected. I guess I thought I’d catch long glances from Father or find him leering at me. None of that happened. He didn’t seem to notice what I was wearing at all, but he did praise me more.

“Wow, that stew was amazing. You made that?” he said to me.

“Yes, sir.” I smiled.

“God, this coffee. You’ve perfected it, son.” He’d pair it with his beautiful smile.

His smile told me I didn’t have to worry. That he was happy. That he was pleased. Unconsciously, I did things I knew would please him, so he’d bestow me with more praise. So, he’d remain in the happy state he seemed to be in even though Mama hadn’t left her bed in three days. She hadn’t wanted to bother with Oliver for two of those days.

Which plagued me. Would Oliver sense Mama’s disinterest?

I worried Father would lose it like he had when Mama’s health was at its worst, but things had changed. He still looked after her, and woe betide you if you said or did anything to make her feel bad, but it was like he’d moved on.

He’d come home to lay with her until she fell asleep, but then he’d go out. I made sure everyone was in bed before he’d get back. There were a lot of nights with Darius climbing in with Oliver and me. I felt better with them there, but a voice niggled at me—Mama was downstairs alone in her room. I couldn’t risk bringing the baby in there though. Father would have had my head.

We were a house divided. It was us three brothers. Mama in her room and Father … wherever he went.

Mama was officially diagnosed with depression in December and after far too long in my opinion. She went on medication. It didn’t do a lot, but it got Mama out of bed. She was apathetic most of the time but there were moments. Like when Oliver pulled himself up to the coffee table for the first time. It was Christmas break. Darius was home. Oliver was eight and a half months. He played with some blocks as I folded laundry. Mother watched TV and Darius complained about his boredom while I told him that if he was bored, he could go clean his room. He rolled around on the carpet instead, huffing.

Oliver crawled away from his blocks, deciding he wanted me and what I was involved in. He got up to his knees and then he reached for my leg and pulled. “Come on, Oli. You can do it. Keep going,” I said.

Darius sat up and even Mama turned to watch, a rare smile creeping onto her face. “C’mon, Oli,” she said, her voice a familiar light in the dreary mist that had spread through the house.

“You got this,” Darry cheered from where he sat near the coffee table.

We were all rooting for him. For those minutes, we felt like a family. Oliver pulled himself up to standing and he smiled at me, his new bottom teeth poking out of his gums. “Baba,” he said, having gotten what he wanted.

I scooped him up and we all cheered. I took him to Mama who kissed him and made a big deal. I took him to Darius who grabbed his hand and told him he’d be a superstar one day. “Let’s bake a cake,” I told everyone because, why not? It might not have been a big deal to other families, but to us, Oli’s newest milestone was the highlight of our lives.

Uncle Pax came for Christmas. I wore the shirt he gave me even though it was December. I’d been wearing more clothes because it was cold, figuring I could get away with it. Father praised me less—I noticed that and worried I was crazy for noticing. Mama was able to help again, we didn’t need the housekeeper as much. I could have ended the weird bargain by chopping off my hair and wearing sweatshirts, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to feel like I was in an exchange. I wore whatever I wanted to again.

Or so I told myself.

Uncle Pax had a surprise for me—a set of keys. “I’m giving her to you. She needs some tuning up but I’m here for a week and I’ll show you how.”

I looked to Father to make sure that was okay, and he nodded. “Paxxy discussed it with me. She’s all yours.”

I would turn sixteen in February. Uncle Pax was giving me his ’73 Monte Carlo. It had a new coat of forest green paint and a sleek design. The tires had white rims.

Uncle Pax looked so much like Father it hurt. Some days were hard working with him because it made me long for my dad. Father was nothing like the man he was before Mother’s cancer diagnosis, and I fuckingmissedhim.

He put on a face for Uncle Pax though. He’d take Oliver while I went with Uncle Pax to work on the car. He even went with Darius on his own to get groceries, leaving the baby with Mother. To Uncle Pax, we looked normal.

I didn’t think about it. I was too excited about the car and what it could mean for me, Darius, and Oliver. It was in good shape. There was plenty of room in the back for a car seat—that’s the stuff I thought about—and the trunk was spacious for a stroller and whatever else I needed to tote along. I’d be able to go get the groceries myself.

“Oliver sure is attached to you,” he said one day as oil drained into the pan.

Sometimes Oliver wanted me and when he did, fuck everyone else. “Yeah, well I babysit him a lot so Mother and Father can get time together,” I lied. Lies came easily by then. I’d had to tell a lot of them. I told them often enough I believed some of them myself.

“That’s good, Silas. You’re a good kid.” God help me, I pretended it was Father saying that to me.

Uncle Pax rented a car he would drive home. When he left so did the sunshine.

ChapterEight