Page 21 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

Dad reaches for her hand under the table. I see it. The way his fingers curl around hers is like he’s reassuring her. He still does that for her, not me, but that’s okay.

“We have to get her through this, remind her we’re still here.” He says that all the time now.

She doesn’t pull away as she had been. That feels like something.

I take a bite of stuffing, and it tastes like nothing or maybe everything. I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Halfway through, Aunt Josie starts talking about a neighbor’s dog that stole a turkey off someone’s porch last year. She laughs. Loud, like always. It feels normal for a second.

Then Mom makes a sound, not a word. Just… something breaking deep inside of her, trying to escape.

She pushes her chair back so hard it falls to the floor as she stands up.

“I can’t,” she says, barely a voice.

Dad picks up the chair and stands right beside her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay⁠—”

“I can’t do this,” she says again, shaking her head, already backing away from the table like it’s burning her.

My chest tightens so fast, so hard, I can’t breathe.

“Mom—” I start, but my voice doesn’t come out right.

She looks at me, and she’s there, really there.

Her eyes fill, and she presses her hand to her mouth like she’s trying to hold that thing that’s broken back so it won’t escape. “I’m sorry.”

Then she’s gone, down the hall, up the stairs, and within seconds her bedroom door closes.

Dad stands there for a second like he’s deciding something. “Thank you all for trying.” Then he goes after her.

We all just sit there, plates half full.

Aunt Maggie reaches over and squeezes my hand. No tears fall, but they’re still there, suspended as I sit staring at the empty spaces at the table. At the places where they should be, at the place where she was, I realize something I don’t want to realize. This isn’t a bad day; it’s just what days are now, and I don’t know how to fix it.

Aunt Josie stands, and I look up at her, eyes filled with tears. She whispers, “I shouldn’t have —”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Aunt Maggie whispers as she stands too.

A tear falls from Aunt Josie’s eye. “Dog, Maggie, I said dog.”

It was Thanksgiving night that I found out the cause of the accident: a dog ran out into the road, and they swerved to miss it and hit a tree. My brothers were both in the front seat with Mom. When the car rolled, they were ejected. Tessa heard Ryan's dad, Danny, telling her dad —Uncle John—about it.

“Whoever was sitting in the middle grabbed the wheel,” Tessa whispered.

“Jasper,” I whispered back.

I started spending more time at Tessa’s house after Thanksgiving. At first, it was just after school. Then dinner, and then the entire weekend.

Nobody talks about it like it’s weird. Ryan’s there a lot, too. Not really with me. Just… there.

He stays close to Alex, who still isn’t talking. Not at school, not at home that much either, not really at all. I try not to make him, which means I have to remind myself not to start a conversation with him, because he looks pained when he answers, and he always answers me.

At Tessa’s, Alex sits on the arm of the couch or on the floor with his knees pulled up while everyone else talks around him. Ryan’s usually beside him, with a hoodie on, hood up always. He wears a black hat now. We’re all pretending things are normal, even though none of us know what normal is supposed to be now. But Ryan's hat tells me the truth: we’re all different now.

Sometimes Ryan looks at me like he wants to say something, but he never does, but it’s okay. Everything is harder now, even words. It’s just nice to have him close. It feels like before.

Every day Dad calls after school and says, “Call if you need me.” On Fridays, he knows I’m not coming home.