Yes. Fine! You got me. I finally agree with my parents. I now understand why they never let go of Joy’s death.
All those years of having raw eggs pelted at their cars. Paint cans thrown on our front porch. People yelling in our faces at the very church where Joy was baptized.
It. Broke. Me. Every second of it.
And maybe I hated my parents for those moments because all I wanted was to be a normal teen.
But now I get it.
Some things are worth fighting for. Period. When it comes to entitled bitches who kill your sister, call her a cunt, spit in your face, and laugh at your mother. Those bitches are worth the fight, too. Fighting to make them take responsibility.
Which is what I plan to do. I won’t stop, and I won’t rest until this is made right. Not because I’m angry, but because I loved Joy. My friend and my sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The vibe at my parents’ house feels like a minefield because my parents have been downstairs fighting all morning. They don’t agree about the money, and now I feel guilty because I created a huge wedge. I know I’m right, but what does it matter if I’m only causing them more pain?
I head downstairs and find them squabbling in the kitchen over dish placement. Mom insists that Dad is trying to piss her off by putting the bowls in the wrong spot.
I stand in the doorway and square my shoulders. “Guys.”
Both heads turn.
“I know you want to talk, but I have something to say first. I apologize for threatening you. I shouldn’t have said you’ll lose me if you take the money. It was wrong. I would never do that to you.”
“So you’ve come to your senses,” says Dad. “Knew you would.” He nods at Mom like he’s won their argument.
“Yes,” I say. “I have. Which is why my position about taking the money hasn’t changed.”
Dad frowns. “But you just said—”
“I said I regret telling you I’ll stop being your son, but I stand by everything else. Taking money in exchange for silence is a hard no for me. But,” I draw a deep breath, “I now recognize that we’ve each dealt with Joy’s murder in different ways. It only makes sense that we do the same when it comes to closure.”
Mom’s eyes fill with big wet tears.
What I wouldn’t give to see those eyes dry for an entire day. A week. A month. Which is why I say something that’s hard for me. “Take the money. Get closure. Move away from this town and find a way to be happy again. That’s all I want for you guys, and I really mean it.” I pause, pulling on the new strength I’ve found. “But understand that I’ve got to find closure in my own way, too. I’m not ready to let go because I’ve only started unpacking years of baggage. I don’t know what it’s going to take to move on, but I’m trying to figure that out.” I have pieces of the puzzle—like making sure Manda and her friends are held accountable—but what comes after that? How do you make peace with life once you’re done fighting?
“All we want is for you to be happy, Huff.” Mom grabs a paper towel from the roll by the sink to blot her face.
Dad puts his arm around her shoulder to comfort her. “See. We don’t disagree on everything.”
She bobs her head and wipes her nose. “Like Huff needing to see Dr. Shultz.” She gives me a poignant look.
I raise my hands in surrender. “If it’ll make you both happy, I’ll go.”
“Good,” says Mom, “because you have an appointment in an hour.”
I’d roll my eyes, but I’m done with all that. If I don’t want to do something, I say so. If I want to do it, I do it. Like a man.
“Hey, did you make me any of those pancakes?” I ask. They’re the best. With coconut shavings and dark chocolate sprinkles.
She points to the fridge, and I do a fist pump.
Hey. Don’t judge me. I might be my own man now, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving my mom’s cooking. That will never change no matter how old I am.
My pediatrician hands me a red lollipop and gives me a sharp pat on the arm. “Nothing to worry about, Huff. You’re in tip-top shape. Tell your mother I send my regards.”
I take the treat because, well, I’m not crazy. Lollipops are delicious. But I did have to break the news to Dr. Shultz that I won’t be seeing him anymore. The only reason he kept me as a patient this long was because my parents guilted him to death. “He’s so small. He’s so weak. You know his entire medical record from when he was a preemie,” they’d say.