“Blair.”
She turns to me and I dump the glass over my head, blinking through the rush of cold water soaking my head.
Blair’s jaw drops. “Wh—”
She busts out laughing, hugging her stomach.
Water drips from my hair into my eye. “I mean it.”
“Okay, you mean it.” There’s a light in Blair’s eyes as she reaches up to push the wet clumps of hair back from my forehead. “You’re so weird.”
A weight lifts from my shoulders and a soft smile curves my mouth. “I’ll grab some logs to put in the firepit.”
Blair gathers her popcorn, book, and a new glass of water to take out on the deck. My chest feels warm as I watch her go.
* * *
Later, a rare conversation with Dad drove me outside. Like an idiot, I answered the call. Any morsel of attention Dad offers makes me forget logic and the patterns he follows.
All he wanted to talk about was his expectations for me. He has my whole life planned out. Pre-med. Medical school. Continuing the renowned reputation the Murphy name carries in the medical field.
Fuck anything I might want. Fuck the fact I don’t really want to do whatever he expects. Fuck that I’m his son.
Dad only cares about his goals and plans.
I sit in my spot on the roof outside of my bedroom window with a lit cigarette dangling from my fingers. I take a drag and tip my head back to blow out a plume of smoke. The nicotine takes off the edge.
Agitation grips me, making me jittery and belligerent. I’m filled with an angry energy, prepared to whip the jagged lash at anything.
It’s always like this whenever I talk to Dad. Mom, too, to a lesser extent. At least she pretends she has a maternal bone in her body, but it’s never been enough.
They both leave me hollow, opening the chasm of my insides to brim with the lonely rage engulfing me, drowning me beneath choppy waters. I can’t keep my head above the current.
Squinting at the sky, I spot a shooting star. Make a wish.
It’s stupid, but I started doing it as a kid and can’t stop.
A heavy sigh leaves me. But I didn’t just start it, did I? It’s because of Blair. Weeks later and I’m still reeling from remembering our brief connection, and realizing she’s the reason my private ritual began thanks to what Blair told me when we were kids.
Her encouragement to wish on stars was my single saving grace that kept me from being swallowed all these years.
I massage my temple with my thumb knuckle and let the cigarette burn down to the butt, mesmerized by the ash.
I’ve told the stars so much in my life.
They wait for me as I peer at the sky. Blair’s freckles pop into my head. They remind me of the stars.
I lick my lips and rub my fingertips together.
Blair was my first wish, but I always thought it didn’t come true.
I also wished for a brother and sister. Lucas was always there, but I wanted more family to play with. I even wished to be a part of Lucas’ family instead of my own.
I begged the shooting stars to send my parents home for longer than a few days. To make them talk to me. To take an interest in me past how much money they’ve sent, how my grades are, and if I’ll go pre-med.
I’m their son, not one of their petri dish research experiments.
The work they do as doctors might be important to help so many people, but can’t a kid just want the attention of his parents?