I know what matters too.
That's why I have this secret. Why I have this problem.
Why everyone at the table thinks I'm a goddamn asshole when really, I'm trying to protect them.
Family comes first.
The last thing I want to do is ruin them by telling them the truth.
“I don't know what you want from me,” I say, defeated. “Just tell me what you want.”
Fig opens her mouth. “I want you to stop being so grumpy. Be the brother I remember. The one who laughed at dinner, who came over just because and told stories all night at the fire pit. I miss him.”
“It’s like we’re walking on eggshells,” Lemon says softly.
“And it’s exhausting, Rye,” Fig says with a half-laugh.
There's a few chuckles at that comment—at the moment, her teenage antics are a bit exhausting themselves. Fig just rolls her eyes, crossing her arms.
“Hey,” Graham says, winking at our little sister. “Don't laugh at Fig for speaking her truth. Even if she’s her usual drama queen.” I know he is trying to lighten the mood—but it’s too late.
“Well,I'm exhaustedby this family meeting,” I tell everyone at the table.
I take my plate and carry it into the kitchen. Wanting to be done with this night—done with all of it. Clearly no one in this family is happy with me or the way I've been acting and handling things. Point taken. Understood. I'll go home now and get out of their goddamn hair.
My father, though, meets me in the kitchen. “Son.”
“What?” I turn to him. “You know, I really didn't appreciate that blindside. If you were upset with the way work was going, you could have talked to me.”
“We are all worried about you.”
“I don't know if it was worry in people's voices or if everyone's just sick and tired of me,” I say.
“I think people are sick and tired of you too,” Dad says with a teasing chuckle, running a hand through his beard. “Rye, I don't know what's going on with you. But these last few months, hell, this last year, you're not yourself. I'm worried about you, son.”
“Are you?” I ask.
“Ever since Luke died…” Dad shakes his head, missing his best friend. “I know the business has changed with him gone. And maybe I put too much on your plate. Maybe I expected too much.”
“No,that's not it. That's not itat all,” I repeat more intensely. I reach for my keys on the counter. Grab my jacket on the back of a kitchen chair. “I'm leaving,” I say. “I'll see you at the site tomorrow.”
“No,” Dad says, “actually, you won't.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask my father. We've been working side by side for the last decade. Ever since I graduated high school I've been working on his crew, until I startedleadinghis crew.
“I'm saying it's time for you to leave town for a bit right now. You got to figure out your shit before you come back to the job site and before you come back to family dinner. Before you come back Home.”
“You're kicking me out of town?”
“Yeah,” Dad says. “I am. You need to go to the Rough Forest. Go to the family hunting cabin.”
I give a sharp laugh. “You want me to go to the middle of bumfuck nowhere? Is there even running water out there? It's fucking February.”
“It'll be March first in a week,” he says, “you'll be fine. And yeah, there's water. There's a well up there.”
“Has anyone in the family been there in the last few years?” I ask.
“I'm not sure,” Dad says, “why don't you go up there and find out. Pack your truck and head up to the mountains.”