Page 66 of Yard Sale

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I know about your dad. I mean, about Grandpa and…and Grandma and everything. They never realize I’m in the room when Dad and Uncle Peter start talking shit.”

I had no idea what to say to that.

“Our family’s kind of fucked, isn’t it?”

I burst into laughter, unable to stop myself, and I felt a little better when I heard Oliver hiding his with his hand. “They’re kind of fucked, yeah.”

Oliver sighed, and I could hear the chair creaking as he leaned back against it. The drumming started again, and then he said, “I tested, like, positive or whatever.”

I froze. “You…what?”

“For RP. For that gene. Dad figured it out. He took us all out to see a meteor shower last year, and I couldn’t see the stars. He told me my eyes were just tired, but I knew he was panicking. Then I failed my driving test because I couldn’t see the lights they were flashing. Mom had a complete meltdown.”

I was struggling to focus on what he was saying. “Oliver…”

“I’m, uh…I’m scared. Like, really fucking scared. Mom and Dad think I’m going to do something stupid, like walk into traffic.” The tone of his voice told me he’d thought about it. Probably more than once. “Dad told me you were coming this week. I think he thought I’d stop freaking out if I saw my cool, rich hockey player uncle living his best life or whatever. But no offense, bruh, you don’t look like you’re living your best life.”

I sat there for a minute, then shifted my body toward him. “How much can you see?”

“I don’t know. A good amount. It’s all weird and foggy on the sides, and a couple of spots in the center of my right eye, but I don’t always notice them. I don’t hang out anywhere at night though—I keep tripping on shit, so I’ve kind of fallen out with my friends.”

I remembered that a little too keenly. “You’ll make different friends, but you might want to give yours some grace. People get less shitty when they get older.”

He snorted. “My friends are douchebags. They’re all, like, Fraternity Legacy dicks, and Mom thinks I won’t even make it through my sophomore year of college if my eyes get worse.”

“Your mom is full of shit,” I spat, then took a breath because she was full of shit. But she was also probably scared. She was pregnant again, which meant more chances of having a kid like Oliver. Like me. “I’m not going to lie to you and say this doesn’t suck sometimes. I’m probably a few months out from having no vision at all. No light, no dark. No nothing. My retinas are almost completely dead, and all the treatment I had didn’t do jack shit.”

He met my words with a heavy, heavy silence.

“I get scared a lot too,” I went on. “I’ve had years to cope, and some days, I don’t want to get out of bed. I’m not even sure I want to go back to hockey if I can’t see at all because everything I learned relied on what little vision I had left. I don’t know what kind of player I am without that.”

“So you’re saying there’s no point?”

I scoffed. “I’m saying that you have to nut up and learn to pivot because life is shit sometimes. But it can also bring you amazing people and good money and best friends and a hot-as-fuck…girlfriend?”

Oliver whispered a laugh. “I’m pan. And I’m not picky.”

I felt a small punch of relief to hear that. “I’m not going to say it won’t be terrible and scary, but so many things are terrible and scary.” I leaned back and rolled the hem of my shirt up, then down, then up, then down. “I have a friend—he actually became my coach. His name is Tucker Banks.”

“I’ve seen him on ESPN,” Oliver said softly. “Dad watches your games when no one’s around,” he added when I gave a startled hum.

I didn’t know what to say or think about my brother treating my hockey games like they were something to be ashamed of, but I also expected it. It had been going on so long it was hard to care anymore.

“Well, my friend Tucker was drafted to the NHL when he was in college. Then he made a bad decision and lost both his legs, one eye, and a good part of his vision in his other eye.”

“Dang,” Oliver whispered.

I felt a smile flit across my mouth. Tucker would probably appreciate that reaction. “He was angry for a lot of years. He’d start to do well, then he’d let his anger get in the way, and everything would come crashing down around him. But he figured it out. Now he’s married, he’s a professional hockey coach, and⁠—”

“Let me guess. Happy?” Oliver asked.

I shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes he’s more content than happy. He spends a lot of time pissed off because that’s just how hockey coaches are. What I’m trying to say is that his life is just as frustrating as his able-bodied twin brother’s life. Or the guy down the street’s life. Or mine. Or yours. Or Aravind’s.”

Oliver was quiet again, apart from his drumming fingers. “Mom and Dad left me here on purpose, by the way. They were hoping you’d be, like…I don’t know. Inspirational or something.”

I bristled. “Yeah. You’ll get that a lot. Every time you smile with your white cane in your hand, people will be like, oh my god, you’re so brave.”

“I don’t have one.”