Fireworks

10

My mother used to want to know where I was at all times. Colton gave her a hard time the last few years of his life in that aspect. He was always out with friends if not at a party, and it drove my parents slightly crazy.

"You should be focusing on Cornell. I thought that's what you wanted." My mom would always say when he'd come home slightly drunk in the dark hours of the night.

"Mom, chillax. You know that's what I want, and it's what I'll get." He'd assure her, throwing an arm around her shoulder. He had a way of talking her down that neither dad nor I possessed, and he always ended up getting his way. It was why I never felt too bad ratting him out for doing one stupid thing or another. He never was punished. He was like a puppy, you just couldn't stay mad at him.

"I'll chillax when you get your acceptance letter," she'd say, though, by that time she was already melting into his embrace, her lips once pursed in a firm line slightly uplifting.

That was then.

Now, it was just me. Colton wasn't there to back me up this morning while I asked her about the fireworks tent, and he wasn't there to make fun of me afterwards for using words like 'hinder' and 'compatriot'. If Colton were here, mom would care if I go out or not anymore, and I would care to even bother reaching out to my friends.

I used to be fun.

Now I'm Hadlee Jason, the dead kid's little sister.

Maybe that's why I declined Isa's invitation to come out to Vinnie's with her and the rest of the work crew in celebration of my official joining of the team. They were going anyways, but Isa argued that it was in the name of my recent hiring.

Isa was bummed when I said I had to stay in, but said she'd order a Kitty Piddle for me. What I'm doing instead is reading by the light of the moon on my balcony again, waiting for my father's car to pull up.

He was out late again, and I had a feeling that despite the fact that he was only drunk 5 days ago, he was out at a bar again.

I was willing to wait, though.

I'm not sure how my parents are processing their grief. Well, I don't think my mom is, but maybe my dad just needs a few more months to come to terms with everything. My mom's denial is everlasting, but my dad... I feel like maybe he could pull through his heartache and get it together sometime soon. The first few months after Colton's funeral, he rarely left work. His office had called mom, a bit concerned. There's only so much paperwork to do as an anesthesiologist, but my dad was finding new facets of the business to drown in seemingly every night. Now he's on some sort of shame spiral or something, blaming himself for not being there to stop what happened. Or maybe his shame was in the fact that he wasn't always present when Colton was alive. Either way, he has some kind of guilt that he feels the need to drown in alcohol.

Psychoanalyzing my parent's grief probably isn't healthy, but they refused to get help and it concerns me. My mom hasn't even accepted he's gone and we're approaching the year mark.

I have grief counseling once a month, but all I really do is talk about how my parents are coping to get advice on helping them. I think my doctor knows it's a tactic of avoidance, but he never really brings it up unless I do. I always feel the need to apologize to him, for some reason.

As I'm about to finish up the last chapters of The Good Earth, a sweep of headlights announces my father's arrival.

I wait for him to exit his car to see if he's drunk or not, but suddenly our front door opens, and my mom bursts out.

"Where have you been, Henry? Do you realize it's almost 3 a.m.? We were supposed to talk tonight." my mom hisses, stalking closer to him as she speaks.

My dad looks tired, very tired. I can't tell if he's drunk or not, but he doesn't seem as sloppy as he was a few nights ago. He has hands up in a sort of surrender position when he says, "We can talk now. You could have just gone to bed without me. It's not like that's what you've been doing for the past eight months, anyways."

Yikes. So clearly he's a little drunk.

My mom seethes in silence for only a moment before saying, "And who do you blame that on? Listen, tonight I was willing to try. We agreed to talk no later than 12:00, and you're about three hours and an apology too late."

I feel kind of bad for my dad as she chews him out, but at the same time, I'm mad at him. If what they were going to talk about was Colton, then my dad messed up big time. She doesn't talk about him or what happened, never. If she agreed to at least try, that was a big deal.

"Amilia, we can talk any night you want. I'm just getting tired of always having to be the one to bring this up-"

"Well you won't have to bother anymore, Henry." she snaps. She starts going off again, and as quietly as I can I close my book and take my feet off the railing, slipping inside of my room. I close the door behind me as gently as possible and just lay on my bed.

Tomorrow is my first day of work.

That's exciting, right?