The Summer We Let Go

Chapter Three

Leo

          I sigh when I hear the car door slam shut, the sound of my mom's voice carrying in through my bedroom window. "Leo, come help me carry these bags in!"

          She'll just yell for me again if I don't get up, but I stare at my ceiling a moment longer before indolently rising off my bed and sluggishly walking out of my room and to the front door.

          She opens it before I get the chance, screen swinging into her back as she watches her steps through the several pairs of shoes, cursing quietly. "Leo!"

          "Right here, mom."

          "Oh!" She jumps a little, then looks up at me, long dark hair pulled back in a disheveled bun. "Good. Go get the rest of the bags in the car; I've got to get ready for work."

          I take in her scrubs and roll my eyes before slipping past her and jogging down the steps to her car. You would think working a shift as a nursing assistant would be enough to pay the bills and buy food, but she has to take up another job at Target to help pay off the student loan debt she built up just to work the first job. That's America for you. The only reason you get paid more in a career if you go to college is because you need the money to pay back what you borrowed in order to go to college in the first place. Which is why I'm not going. There's no point. I don't want to work in a big fancy office, and I'm too stupid to work in medical or teaching or whatever. So again, no point.

          I loop the bag handles on my arms until I can't fit anymore, then grab the last few and head back inside, awkwardly walking sideways through the narrow entryway and into the kitchen. I set them all down on the island in the middle. I sigh as I ready myself to put it all away, hating the long and boring process of shelving and storing. Guess I'll start with the cold stuff.

          "Hey, Leo?" Mom calls from the bathroom. I finish sliding the milk into the fridge and lean over to the see through the kitchen entrance, where I find my mom poking her head out of the bathroom, red shirt in place of the teal scrubs and a bobby pin in her mouth. She talks while tying her hair, lips barely keeping the pin secure. "Could you mow the lawn while I'm at work, too? And maybe weed whack?"

          "Yeah, sure," I mumble, turning back to the groceries.

          "Do you have work today?" She calls, more clearly this time now that she has probably removed the pin from between her teeth.

          I wish she would just leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to converse right now and I can't concentrate on answering questions and trying to find the right spot to put the food. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I try to calm myself so I don't snap my words and start a lecture from her. "Not today. Tomorrow."

          "Oh, okay."

          Finally. I finish up with the fridge and move on to the last things. I'm going to have to walk up to the gas station later and buy some chips and Mountain Dew. Those were clearly forgotten. Not that I gave her a list—and not that she'd appreciate one in the first place. Mom doesn't like lists. Despises them, actually. Because they remind her so much of my dad. I'm not sure why, really. Maybe he gave them to her frequently and she became infuriated. Or maybe he would write them everywhere about everything and now when she sees a list she's reminded of the relationship she once had and a deep-down part of her longs to have him back. Not likely, but possible.

          I don't remember much of my father. I don't remember anything about him, essentially. He walked out on us the day I was born. Literally. As the story goes, my mom was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance, Rachel was in pre-school, and after a few hours of labor I popped out. She tried calling and calling my dad, leaving voicemail after voicemail, but he never picked up or called back. So a friend of my mom's watched Rachel for a couple days until she could be released with me from the hospital. When she got home, all of his shit was gone, and she hasn't heard from him since.