CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Well, that was nice. I’m so glad you came,” Estelle said. “Hope you had enough to eat . . .” She seemed to be fishing for a compliment as she looked at Kael, who nodded politely. She turned and handed me a Tupperware with pie inside for Elodie.
“I know it’s not cherry, but I think she will still like it.” She stood near the front door, awkwardly waiting for me to hug her. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn’t. It depended on my mood. It was more of a half-hug night.
“Let me know when Austin gets here. I’d stay and wait, but I have work in the morning, and Kael needs to get home.”
My dad waved from his chair in the living room, not caring enough to say a proper goodbye.
Kael stood in the doorway, half in, half out.
“Do you have plans this weekend? We’re driving up to Atlanta on Saturday for a few days, if you want to—” Estelle offered. My dad looked at her pointedly. Kael looked down at his boots.
“I’ll be working.” I loved Atlanta, but no way was I going with them. And wouldn’t their plans be changing with Austin coming to town?
“That’s too bad.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ear. She had shiny, wide earrings on. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe,” I said, descending the porch steps.
My dad and Kael were both dead silent.
“It was so nice to meet you, Martin. Drive safe.” Estelle smiled as I motioned for him to get off the porch. I wanted to leave, and fast. Once he caught up to me, I practically ran down the driveway and yanked my car door open.
“I told you those dinners are the worst.”
Even after suffering through it, Kael didn’t have a word to say.
“Do you have a family?” I assumed he wouldn’t answer, but anything was better than silence as we drove away, and I began to think about my brother and the trouble he continued to cause. I needed a distraction.
“Do I have a family?” he repeated, the words bouncing around in the small space of the car.
Muttering, I tried to correct myself. I was starting to feel nervous again. “I mean, obviously you have a family, otherwise you wouldn’t exist. But are they like that? Three courses, matching plates, all the beer, all that shit.”
“No,” he said, staring out the windshield of my car. “I don’t think many families are like that.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“Both.” He shrugged, buckling his seatbelt. “It depends if you’re looking at the intent, or the impact that intention has on other people.”
I slowed down to stop at the stop sign. I looked at him when the car was fully halted. “Huh?”
He turned, fixing his eyes on me. “Her intention is to impress you. To please you and your dad. The decorations, the folded napkins, the elaborate meal. She obviously cares not only what your dad thinks, but what you think.” He used his index finger to point at me.
“Continue,” I said, beginning to drive again. I was concentrating on our conversation and slowed down to below the speed limit.
“She wants to impress you, to make you see the effort she’s putting in.” He took a breath. “To you it’s all performative, and the impact it has on you is, well, it’s hell to even be there. So what I’m saying is that intention and impact aren’t connecting in the right way. But each of youthinkswhat you are doing and feeling is right.”
“Did you read that in a self-help book?” I scoffed at how wise he sounded, how maturely he was dissecting my family when I wanted to be a brat and complain about how awful my evil stepmother and father were.
“I think I did, actually. But I came up with my own interpretation after almost dying a few times,” he said, and I nearly choked on my breath.
“Sorry, I—” I began.
He held up his hand. “Sorry for what? Why is it your first instinct to say ‘sorry’? Did you send me to war? Did you hold my hand while I enlisted? Do you profit millions from sending me off?”
I was sort of stunned at the way he was speaking to me. It was like something inside of him had woken up and crawled out to play. There was a harshness laced with truth there, and honestly, I had never really thought about how a soldier felt after coming back from war. Especially a young one. I villainized my father for missing half of my life and I made sure to stay away from other soldiers, for the most part. Until now.
“Well, did you?” he repeated.