This Time Tomorrow

Chapter One

Present

I'm in the midst of refilling some asshole's Miller Lite when I see my cell light up from the corner of my eye. Sliding the now full mug across the bar, I turn and direct my attention to the vibrating device. Emblazoned across the screen is my mother's name, Fran Moore.

This is a routine of ours. She calls me on my birthday, or other important annual dates, and I forward said calls to voicemail. She leaves me a long voicemail claiming to miss me and I fail to return her calls. We haven't spoken directly to one another in nearly a decade.

Being that my birthday passed a few short days ago, I'm assuming she's calling to give her birthday wishes; I can do without.

The screen of my phone falls dark again and for the remainder of my shift, I don't give the missed call a second thought.

**

It's not until the next morning, as I'm sipping a painfully cold mug of black coffee, that her voicemail creeps its way back into my head.

With a mind of their own, my fingers maneuver along my phone screen. My thumb hovers above the play button and my entire body tenses as I brace myself to hear my Mother's voice for the first time in months.

A flicker of courage is all it takes and then her voice is filling my ears.

"Vera, sweetie, I know I didn't call you on your birthday last week. I'm sorry," Her voice sounds strained, off. A long pause and then, "something's happened." My heart is starting to panic now, my Mom is not the melodramatic type. This is serious, something-- "Roland passed away yesterday."

Everything goes black for just a second and a thump rings in my ears. My eyes are blinking rapidly, over and over until my vision clears. On the floor lies my phone which was in my palm only moments ago. I bend to retrieve it and start the voicemail over.

This time, I catch the end of her message. "I know it's short notice... his funeral is Thursday at 6." And then the line goes dead.

Dead. Dead, just like Roland.

**

Past

When Mom told me we were moving, I remember feeling relieved. But as I take in the sight of our new home, I almost wish we could just turn the truck around and go back to Jersey. Almost. The house's ugly yellow color is a fair price to pay to get away from Jersey and all of those... memories.

Mom says our family is here. Mickee and Roland and Jesse. They're our family, at least, all that we have left now that Daddy's... gone.

Mickee and Jesse came over to help us start unpacking. Mom waves Mickee over and I see them start talking amongst themselves. I walk right into the house, empty-handed. It's not until I'm standing in my soon-to-be bedroom, that I realize Jesse followed me.

I'm staring at the cobwebs in the corners of the empty room and Jesse looks with me. "Almost creepy isn't it?" I ask him. Jesse shrugs.

"Where's your dad?" I ask Jesse, wondering why Roland didn't come with him and Mickee to help us.

"Work," Jesse explains, "where's yours?"

I glare at Jesse. "That's rude, Jesse." He only blinks at me. I realize after a moment that he must not know where my Dad is. So I say, "He died."

Now he looks apologetic. Too late. "Maybe my dad can sometimes do dad stuff for you... since, y'know, your dad..."

I like that he didn't ask me if I was okay. It seems like that's all anyone ever asks me these days. For whatever reason, Jesse's words are more comforting than anything I've heard since my dad's funeral. I look down at my shoes, trying to hide the tear that slips from my eye. "Thanks."