I had gone back in to say my last goodbyes to Esme and Marie.
I could tell that Esme had kept crying after I had walked out of the house. Not because her eyes were so bloodshot, but because Marie was clinging onto her leg making faces up at her.
That's something Sawyer used to do with me when we were younger. We used to share a bed as kids, til he got old enough to be embarrassed about not sleeping on his own. He'd creep into my rooms at night when he'd hear me cry out for our mom. She usually wasn't around because of work and my dad was a heavy sleeper. He'd sit next to me and make faces at me til he got me to laugh. He'd help me count the glow in the dark stars that I had stuck to my ceiling. Eventually, once I was done crying about whatever it was that I was crying about, he'd lay down next to me and stay there til the next morning where he'd have to get up and sneak into his own room, just so our parents wouldn't worry about why we couldn't sleep on our own.
Every once in a while though, he'd be the one crying when he came into my room.
Sawyer and my dad never got along as well as everyone thought. I think it's because they were so similar. They'd butt heads over the simplest things, but Sawyer had a habit of crying if anyone raised their voice at him.
"how do you expect to grow up and take care of your family someday if you can't even man up enough not to cry."
And then there would be a door slamming. Followed by the sound of my dad kicking out the foot rest on the recliner. He'd sleep there on nights when he'd fight with Sawyer, right next to the door, as if Sawyer would grow the courage to pack up and walk straight out the door. Show him he is a real man. But he never did. Instead he'd come to my room and I'd read to him til he fell asleep. And when he would refuse to share a bed he'd lay on my cold wood floors and wake up the next morning with an ache in his neck, but he'd never go back to his own room.
But then came the day where he left. It was after an argument with our dad over something so trivial no one even remembers what exactly happened. I sat with my back against my bedroom door, waiting for the soft knocks, a book already in my lap waiting to be read to him as he slept on my floor.
"Grow up, Sawyer. Grow up and realize that you can't just run away from your problems. And don't you fucking dare start crying."
And the door slammed shut. And then it swung back open so hard the boom of it hitting the wall resonated through the hall, almost making my own door shake.
"I'm not fucking crying. I'm a fucking man dad, aren't you proud. I'm not fucking crying."
His voice cracked and I didn't know if it was because he was on the verge of tears or laughter.
"I'm gonna be a man and take care of Esme and the baby, and let me tell you, if the baby turns out to be a boy you can bet your ass he's gonna be twice the man that you fucking are."
That was the last I heard from Sawyer, for two weeks at least. He called me before he called either of my parents, not that they had made much of an effort to go out looking for him.
"Hey, Way."
His voice crackled over the line and I didn't recognize the number he was calling from. My parents had cut his line soon after he stormed out claiming that if he was a real man he could pay his own god damn bills.
"Hey, Sawyer."
I felt a weight lift off my chest.
"I'm surprised you answered."
I shrugged before I realized he couldn't actually see me, "I've picked up every call I've gotten since you left. You owe me, I've had to put up with telemarketers for days now."
