“Mushrooms,” I said. “Can we get mushrooms on the pizza?” My ears were ringing, and I was clutching the pillow in my lap.
Guy shook his head slightly and looked at his hands splayed on the counter.
I closed my eyes, then opened them. “And I’m sorry. You surprised me is all. You’re right, it was nothing and we are friends. I do need you to write me that letter, but I also like coming over here. Please don’t make me go. I don’t—I have nowhere to go. Please.”
We held eye contact for long seconds, then Guy picked up his phone and dialed. Still looking at me, he lifted it to his ear. I didn’t start to breathe again until he said, “Yeah, for delivery. Mushrooms.”
ADAM
At home on Sunday night, I was half-asleep when I heard quiet knocking on the back door in the kitchen. I rolled over in my bed to check the time. It was close to midnight. Sitting up, I listened.
I knew Mom was still up. Some nights, it was like she was keeping watch to make sure no one came in or out while she was sleeping. She’d never rest again if she knew that meant nothing bad would ever happen to her remaining sons.
From upstairs I heard her chair slide across the wooden floor in the kitchen, as though she had scooted back from the table.
I listened to her walk toward the back door and then stop before reaching it. Whoever she saw through the window didn’t make her call out for Jeremy or me, but she wasn’t moving either. I was out of bed in a heartbeat, hurrying down the hall, my sock-covered feet nearly slipping down the narrow, steep, twisting staircase that had been original to the house when it was built in the 1850s.
I reached the kitchen as Mom opened the door, revealing Daniel on our back porch.
Déjà vu hit me hard. There’d been so many nights growing up when I’d wake up and find Daniel in our kitchen with Mom. Sometimes Greg would be there, too. Sometimes Daniel wouldn’t even come inside. Mom always acted like it was completely normal for him to come knocking on our kitchen door late at night, even if he was visibly hurt. It was like she knew that a startled or overly compassionate response from her would send him running. I think that was where Greg got his easy touch with animals. She’d leave the door open and turn away, say something about how she was getting herself a cup of tea and offer to pour him one, too. Sometimes it would take the entire pot before he’d let her tend whatever injury he had.
Most of the time, Daniel’s injuries weren’t physical though, and talking to him, sometimes until the sun came up, was the only comfort she could give him.
Watching Daniel, who looked so much older than he’d been the last time he came to our back door, I knew this visit wasn’t about him seeking solace from her.
For one, Mom was the one who went still and skittish. I’d been so happy when I ran into Daniel a few weeks ago, even though I couldn’t see him or think about him without remembering Greg—maybe because of that. But Mom didn’t want to think about Greg, or rather, she did, but on her very controlled terms.
Daniel showing up after more than two years, forcing those memories on her, had to be a shock. His gaze flicked over Mom’s shoulder to me, and I drew back into the shadow of the stairway, mindful to avoid stepping on the creaky floorboard. It felt like my being there would make things different, maybe easier for Mom, but not in a way that might make things better.
“Daniel?” Her back was to me, but I could imagine her eyes cataloging his face, noticing the new scar on his eyebrow and taking in all the ways he’d changed since she saw him last. I knew, for her, that also meant seeing the extra years that Greg never got to have.
“Hi, Mrs. Moynihan.”
Instinct snapped her into motion after that. She beckoned him inside and put the kettle on the stove to boil, her body seeming to tell her what to do even when her mind might have refused.
He watched the stiff line of her shoulders and the rapid blinking of her eyes.
“I ran into Adam in the city a few weeks ago. Did he tell you?”
Mom’s arm stilled in the process of pulling the honey bear bottle down from the cabinet next to the fridge. “No, he didn’t mention it.”
“I met a friend of his, too, a girl.”
I thought I almost saw Mom smile as she turned. “Jolene.”
Daniel nodded. “He seemed happy.”
Mom inclined her head a little and sat down across from him, placing two steaming mugs on the table.
“But he told me that things aren’t...good.”
Unflinching, Mom shook her head and stirred honey into her mug. “No, we’re okay. We’re all okay. It’s hard when they go to their dad’s, but we’re okay.”
Daniel was the one to flinch, and he did it every time she said the word okay. I hadn’t told him about my parents’ separation, but he seemed to take that revelation in stride. He’d liked my dad fine, but Dad moving out wouldn’t necessarily affect him the way it did the rest of us. I would guess it meant something to him only because it hurt her.
“I meant to come by sooner. I must have driven by a dozen times.”
Mom focused on the swirling liquid in her mug. “I’m sure you were busy.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, his bluntness catching her off guard so that her spoon clinked against her mug. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”
“No.” Mom squeezed her eyes shut before opening them. “That’s not true.”
“I didn’t want you to have to see me.”
She didn’t react to that, as if she’d been expecting him to say something along those lines.
Daniel lowered his arms under the table. “I didn’t want you to pretend to smile at me and tell me it was okay when we both know I’m the reason he’s gone.”
She sucked in a breath that was mostly a sob.
“Anyway, I’m leaving soon. My mom will be getting out of the hospital next month, and I’ve already got most of her stuff packed.”
Her watery eyes focused on him. “I’m so sorry, Daniel.”
“It’s gonna be better, a new start...without him.”
Mom reached out a hand, and her fingers lightly tapped the table, asking for his. Daniel kept his hands in his lap. “No, that’s not why—” He lowered his head. “I never told you why I didn’t come that night.” Mom’s fingers curled back, and I felt mine mirroring hers. “I never told you, because I don’t have a good reason. He wasn’t drinking or mad, and she wasn’t scared. I just didn’t want to leave her when she was happy.”
Mom’s shoulders shook, and Daniel’s voice broke.