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Audrey
Damn. Her email had a finality to it. I read it again, and my shoulders tensed at the formality of it again. Had my comment upset her? I was teasing her via email. Sure, not the best route, but she didn’t think I meant anything negative about being no fun, yeah?
Audrey,
I was joking with my last email. What time are you going to the library tomorrow? I’ll join you and help.
I could picture her frown and her eyebrows drawing together, and that didn’t sit well. From what I knew about her, she was all studies and work. She didn’t have a lot of friends, and hell, if she was like me, she wanted to have fun but couldn’t. An idea struck, but it required my dad to actually help out. Unease flowed in my gut as I typed out a text to him. I hated the relationship we had now, where it was all stress and anger. I knew he was struggling, but so was I. He escaped the feelings and left me here to pick up the mess. Chewing my hangnail, I typed out my text.
Theo: Something came up at school, and I have to study. Can you be home?
Dad: Can’t you study at home? Plus, you’re drafted. Who cares about the grades?
Theo: Dad. I can’t watch your children tomorrow.
Dad: Your siblings need you, Theo. I’m not sure I can be home.
Theo: I’m leaving the house at noon. Find someone else then.
Damn. It felt good to send those words to him. We’d argued once after my mom had her stroke, where he told me to drop out and move home until we figured things out, and I refused. He didn’t think my schooling was important anymore, not when I could go straight to the Acorns and receive money—even though that would mean he would have to parent. He was delusional. He wanted me to skip class and handle everything at home so he could work.
I refused.
I silenced my phone after Audrey responded with I’m there all day, mostly.
Audrey was becoming an interesting distraction from my shitshow of a life at home. I’d find her, convince her she was fun, and complete my half of the project. It was the least I could do. The girl who swore she hated me kept doing kind things for me, and I wanted to do something nice for her.
7
Audrey
Quentin and my weekly get-togethers used to be my favorite part of the week, but disappointment wedged its way into my neck. No matter which way I twisted, my shoulders pinched with stress.
Quentin was late. Again.
It was only ten minutes, but he hadn’t responded to my text. I had a tight study schedule today, tutoring slots for more cash, along with meeting for our group project, but my plans never mattered to Quentin. My studies always came second to his hockey. I didn’t mind it in high school as he was working on getting a full-ride scholarship, but that happened, and me prioritizing him just never stopped.
I worked my ass off to get straight A’s and receive semester scholarships to save money. Quentin didn’t realize that I tutored all summer or on Sundays so he could have spending money. He didn’t know mom hit me up every other week for cash so she could buy food and live the life dad wanted for her. I hid all of it from Quentin so he could have somewhat of a normal life. I was the one to carry the scars and burden, not him, so his dismissal of my feelings hurt.
It did even more as my mom’s text from last night flashed in my mind. Despite sending her a hundred bucks, she wanted more. She had to have more.
Ugh.
I didn’t even want to be in this family anymore, but then my dad’s voice would say people struggle in different ways. Have you tried breaking through to them?
I tried, Dad. I really did.
I hated feeling this bitterness creep up. I tried so hard, hoped to find a full-time job nearby and start my life. Would my mom be begging for money my whole life? Would Quentin always need me to help him behind the scenes? My future wasn’t as exciting even more with those unknowns. How sad was that?
Getting straight A’s, making sure Quentin was good, and finding a nursing job were all I’d cared about for so many years. I lost myself along the way, and my brother didn’t even respect me enough to text.
Audrey: I’m leaving. Text me if you ever want to get lunch again.
I fired off the text, letting my temper get the best of me. Quentin had always been emotional, and this injury had really set him back. He was more demanding, pouty, and only focused on the negatives instead of the positives.
My phone buzzed. Quentin called me.
“Hi, Quentin,” I said, letting my irritation boil over.
