Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IT'S UNUSUALLY LOUD when Holden enters his house at the crack of dawn, his footsteps soft on the carpeted floor and the click of the door behind him almost noiseless. The subtle smell of marmalade hugs the air when he steps into the little hallway that separates the living room from the kitchen.
He hears the argument taking place between his parents and shock draws itself on his face, but he stays away, choosing to hang near the staircase and not meddle in the ongoing affair. He's out of sight from where he's standing, but can hear the strained bits of conversation transpiring.
His hands massage his forehead as pain spreads out above his eyes and extends to his ears, a direct result of snagging third-row seats at a concert so early in the morning. But, seeing the smile on his friend's face was worth it.
He's about to retire to his bedroom when the conversation becomes fainter, but decides to stay planted as it picks up in volume again.
"I don't care if he's eighteen. He's just not ready. Do you not understand?"
It's his mom, her usually-feeble voice rising with every word she utters and becoming exponentially higher than anything his dad attempts to respond with.
"She has the right to meet him, that's all I'm saying."
He hears shuffling, causing his feet to step up two stairs on instinct. There's a dip in the tone of their conversation as his mom says vulnerably, "And I'm saying we did for him what Kourtney couldn't. We've raised that boy since he was born."
His breath hitches just as his dad murmurs a string of expletives. "I know."
"Your sister hasn't done anything for him."
"I know." His dad's voice is more aggressive this time and Holden can almost imagine him taking his glasses off and massaging his temples to fight off an impending headache. "But, if she's asking for him now, I can't refuse her."
"Yes, you can." His mother's voice is firm, her footsteps defiant as they edge closer to where the living room ends and the hallway begins, and Holden's own edge up the staircase.
"For God's sake," his dad's voice bellows, evoking Holden's fingertips to stir against the railing of the staircase, "she's my damn sister and she wants to see her son!"
He lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding and forces his numb legs up the stairs and into the safety of his bedroom just before his mother exits the living room.
He slides against his bedroom door, his heart thundering and his mind running through a thousand thoughts simultaneously. He hears muffled sounds from downstairs of doors slamming and plates crashing against the tiled floor, but he drowns them all out.
