Page 22 of Always Love You More

The last time I got in a fight at school, our father had been the one to pick me up. He was about to go run drills with Carson and was pissed I interrupted him. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t just leave me there. I got a whole lecture on the way to the field about reining in my temper.

Where does he think I learned it from?

He watches me and Johnny like he knows we’re lying, but I don’t think he cares enough to give it the energy. “You missed dinner,” he says to me, unpausing the tape.

I take that as my cue to leave, starting for the kitchen.

“Make something quick,” he calls after me. “It’s late. I’m hungry.”

I let his words roll off me because if I don’t, they’ll only make me angry.

Opening the fridge, I search for something fast I can make, but the shelves are nearly empty. Well, except the door that’s fully stocked with beer.

I move on to the cabinets, pulling out some tuna and bread. I also find a half-eaten package of cheese in the fridge, so I decide on tuna melts. There are a few potatoes left that aren’t too bad, so I start to heat some oil, cut off the sprouted parts, then chop the rest.

The hot oil begins to pop below me and beads of sweat run down my back. I push open the window above the sink, wishing we had AC.

I just get the last of the fried potatoes out when I hear my name being called.

Shutting off the burner, I move into the living room, where our father holds his beer out, not bothering to stop what he’s saying to Carson. I take it from him and bring back a cold one.

“You almost done?” he asks.

“Five more minutes.”

I hurry back into the kitchen and finish mixing the tuna salad. I throw the sandwiches under the broiler and then plate everything up, bringing two of them into the living room.

I hand one to our father and one to Carson before collecting the empty beer bottles from the coffee table.

“Thanks,” our father offers, just as Carson grunts in agreement.

I nod and turn back to the kitchen.

The beer bottles clank against each other as I drop them into the bin. I grab one from the fridge for myself and finally sink into a seat at the table with my dinner.

I’m about to take a bite when the house phone rings.

Just like always, there’s a moment when I think it might be her. I don’t know when I’m going to get over the delusion that my mother will just randomly call one day.

It’s been over ten years since she left.

“Will you pick up the goddamn phone already!” our father hollers, his voice springing me into action.

I push my chair back and grab the phone, twisting the cord around my hand. “Hello.”

“Hey,” my sister says, and a part of me deflates.

Of course it’s not her, I tell myself.Don’t be stupid.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?” I answer. “Sorry, what’s up?”

“Just calling to check in,” she says.

Cathleen’s more of a mother than a sister to me. She’s the oldest of all of us and stepped up, practically raising us, after our mother left. She moved out last year to go live with her boyfriend. Now she’s miles away, and I hardly ever see her. I know it was hard for her to leave, but she deserves it after all the shit she had to put up with.

“How’s school been?” she asks.