Facade

A little pang hits my chest. I always figured I would go to college. It was the route I was supposed to take, only things got rough and I haven’t made it there yet.

The bell dings and my heart jumps. “Order up,” Do

In. Out. In. Out. I take a couple deep breaths as my shaky hand grabs the plate. I can do this. I have to do this.

Taking slow steps, I make it to Adrian’s table. “Here—” I have to clear my throat for my voice to work. “Here’s your food. Do you need anything else?” I set the plate in front of him.

Adrian closes his book and raises his eyebrows. “Are you offering?”

I want to say something to him, to tell him that’s disgusting, but when your dad kills a member of someone else’s family, it’s a little hard to be mean to them.

“Water?” I ask.

“Space,” he replies, and I wonder if that might be the most honest thing he’s said to me. There’s no malice in his voice. No flirtation either, only truth.

“Sure… anything. Just get my attention if you need me.” It’s not the best thing to say. I know I should be going to his table to make sure everything is okay, but I won’t. Not unless he calls me over. It’s the least I can do, really.

For the next two hours I go about my business. Pretend it matters that I’m sweeping the floor, filling the sugar containers. Adrian eats, pushes his plate away, and then alternates between The Count and scribbling in his notebook. I wonder what he’s writing but know I don’t have a right.

I came here for him, but I don’t have a plan. For some reason, I don’t think it would work to sit down and tell him I’m sorry. That I hate what my father did and I hate what Adrian’s family lost and that I would do anything, anything to make it go away.

I did it before with his sister, but that was different. One look at me and she’d known. She’d known who I was and we sat down and cried as I told her I was sorry.

She said she didn’t hate me, that it wasn’t my fault. I told her she lost more than I ever did, so she asked what I lost too. We talked about my mom and the gambling debts, which led to depression and suicide attempts.

And that’s when she told me about her brother. That she hadn’t just lost Ashton, this beautiful little boy, but two members of her family. Adrian too. He’d never been able to handle things well, and he’d disappeared right after Ashton died.

The private investigator found him only a couple hours away in Brenton, she’d said offhandedly. The pain in her eyes when she told me she couldn’t go to him ripped me apart. But she knew him and said you couldn’t push Adrian; otherwise he’d run again. At least this way she knew he was safe.

And here I am, trying to push him. Trying to dig up his past just so I can try and give myself a better future. I’ve never felt so selfish in my life. I want to vomit. Tears sting my eyes and I remember how Mom used to tell me a good cry could be cathartic. Now she just takes pills or puts a razor to her wrists.

Suddenly, I don’t know if I can do this. Don’t know if I can do any of it. What was I thinking, coming here? Trying to dredge up his past the way I want to. It’s not okay. Not fair. Maddox was right.

I think about how small Mom looked in that hospital bed. Maybe we deserve it. Maddox seems to think he does. Maybe it’s all our faults for trusting in Dad or sticking by his side before we knew how bad things were. For not looking into his lies and treasuring the time he was home.

Maybe we’re supposed to continue living with it.

Adrian stands but doesn’t look at me. I never gave him his ticket, but right now, I don’t care. I’ll cover it and pretend he paid. Whatever I have to do to make this right.

He stuffs his book in the pocket of his black hoodie. The other pocket belongs to his spiral notebook. Without a glance in my direction, he walks out. I wait until the headlights swing across the wall before I walk to his table.

There’s a twenty-dollar bill and a single piece of paper. The paper trembles, an extension of my hand.

Space,

I asked.

She agreed.

It wasn’t what caught my attention.

Her eyes.

Me too,

They seemed to say,

I need space too

Thank you

I fall into his seat. Clutch the paper to my chest. And cry.

* * *

I get off work at 6:00 a.m. and head to the little apartment my brother and I are sharing. I guess that’s the good thing about not having many ties anymore. We can pack up and move at any second. Maddox hates that part because it made it easier for me to come here. He’ll be glad when he finds out I don’t think I should go through with it.

Maddox is passed out on the couch when I get home. We could only afford a one-bedroom place and it’s just like him to give the room to me. I guess it’s just like me to take it too.

After the fastest shower in history, I throw on my sweats and a sweatshirt. I climb into bed, my body tired. Even my mind is, but it’s not shutting off enough to get any downtime.

I read Adrian’s poem what feels like five million times. It’s so strange how you get it in your head who someone is before you meet them. Or even after you meet them, you get that one look and know how they are. It’s bullshit ninety-nine percent of the time, but that doesn’t stop people from doing it.

The words on this paper aren’t who I saw when I thought of the boy who’s tied into my life so much, yet doesn’t know it. Questions rain down on me in a powerful thunderstorm: Does he write often? Does it help him deal? Is this something he shares with everyone?

Curiosity swims inside me, filling up every nook and cra

“Stupid.”

I look over at the clock. It’s one of the only things unpacked in my room. Bringing in money is much more important than making the place homey.

It’s 10:00 a.m. and I haven’t slept a wink yet. I roll out of bed. My brother’s out on the tiny patio smoking a cigarette. It takes two tries to get the glass door to slide open right. “Hey,” I say, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and leaning against the wall.

“You’re up early.” I can tell by the scratchiness in Maddox’s voice that he just woke up too.

“Couldn’t sleep… Have you called to check on Mom today?” I know the answer to that question before I asked it.

“Did she worry about us when things got bad?”

“Mad—”

“Laney.”

“Stop it.”

“You stop it.”

I swat him on the back of the head. “I’m not twelve. It’s not going to help to mimic me.”

He takes a drag from his cigarette and lets the smoke out slowly. “Think we’ll be here long enough for you to register for a class or something? You should.”

“So should you. I don’t have the money or the time right now.”

“I’d make it happen.”

I sigh, hating the fact that my brother feels the weight of our family on his shoulders. That he would do anything for me but nothing for himself. That he blames himself so much for everything falling apart that it’s the real reason he struggles with Mom. It hurts too much to see her. And… well, I think it’s the way she treats me, too, that makes me feel like crap. He shouldn’t lose his only parent because she can’t seem to stand the sight of me. “I know you would… I met Adrian last night.”

At that he whips around to face me. “That fast? What happened?” His voice is a mixture of concern and a

I shrug. “He was the guy who tried to… help me with the boxes yesterday. I didn’t know it, though. Then he happened to show up at the diner last night and I figured out who he was.”

“Fuck,” Maddox groans.

I’m pretty sure there’s a small tint of curiosity in his gray eyes. He’ll never ask, though. Not Maddox.