yours.

[48] Jasper

Miles doesn't come for me the next day. But that's okay. I'm sure he's just busy.

I'm sure he is.

I can't help glancing out of the front window a fifth time, trying to see if he's on his way over. His red car is still parked out in the street, so I know he's still around here somewhere. I wrap my arms around myself. Is it something I said?

I did leave kind of abruptly last night, but I was too tired to really think anything through. Surely he knows that. Surely he doesn't think I left him again.

I pace the living room until I just can't take any more and drift deeper into the house, into the kitchen. It's very similar to Miles' in terms of layout, but where his cabinets and counters were light, the ones in my house are dark. My mother is standing by the open fridge, staring blankly at its contents. My eyes widen as I spot her, and I take an instinctive step back, frightened. I've been trying my best to avoid her ever since she caught Miles and me kissing in the store the other day, but it looks like now, I may have to face her.

"Mum?" I say timidly. "Are you all right?"

She turns, surprised, and lets the fridge door shut. Her dark pupils dilate slightly when she says, "Oh, yes. Yes, I am. Are you?"

I nod, pulling absently at the sleeve of my hoodie. It's one I've never worn with Miles before -- I thought he'd like it. "Are you about to make something?" I ask, gesturing to the fridge. Cooking and baking are some of the only things she's been able to really concentrate on recently.

"I... no."

Things get even more awkward when I realize I don't have a response for her. She keeps watching me, her eyes examining every inch of my face as if she's trying to figure something out. Or figure me out, maybe. I swallow. 

Then I remember my father's words about my mother's loneliness and my apathy towards her. It's true, I haven't done nearly enough to help her this summer. Maybe, in some strange, depressing way, this is an opportunity to do my part. "I was about to... watch a movie," I lie uneasily. "Would you like to join me?"

My mother blinks a bit, her gaze still probing, and I have to wonder if she's thinking about... me, and Miles. And the new things she's learned about me. "Of course, Jasper. I'll be over in a minute."

Taking the hint, I turn and head into the family room, slumping onto the couch there and clicking on the TV. I scroll through channels until I find a movie I think my mother will like -- some romantic tragedy -- and sit back, relieved. She joins me on the couch a bit later. There's a noticeable strip of space between us, one that neither of us tries to cross.

We watch the movie in silence for a while -- not that I'm really thinking about anything other than Miles and his inexplicable absence. After nearly ten minutes, my mother finally speaks.

"Do you miss your brother?"

The question catches me off guard, and I blink a few times before answering, "Of course."

"I do, too," she says softly. I glance over at her and see a slight film of tears coating her eyes. "All the time. Every day." She sighs, looking down at her upturned palms. "It's like sometimes I wake up, and I... Somehow, I forget he's gone. And then I remember, and it's like losing him all over again." 

A tear drops to her hand, and I sigh, "Oh, Mum..."

But she keeps talking. "And when I see you, and you two look -- looked -- so similar... it's even more difficult to believe he's dead." She gets choked up on the last word, and I reach out to embrace her. She starts as I approach, and I freeze.

It's... me, I come to realize. It's my fault she can't move on.

"And I... I'm sorry, Jasper, if I've been so distant all this time, it's just... I keep trying to convince myself he's still here through you, and I know it's not true, and it's destroying me," she sobs, tears streaming openly down her pale cheeks. "I just... I want my son back." Her chest heaves as she cries, and I want to help her, but I can't, not when her words have managed to seize my thoughts entirely.

I want my son back.

Not one of my sons or my other son. Just "my son."

"I'm your son, too. And I'm right here."

My mother glances up at me, her watery gaze full of shock. "Of course, Max, I didn't mean--"

But I've already risen from the couch, heading toward the stairs. "My name," I say, my voice low and full of reserve, "is Jasper."

Finally accepting Miles isn't coming for me at all, I head upstairs to lock myself in my room, where I can stress and cry and hate myself all I want.