Anthony moved the lettuce around his plate. He had a glassy-eyed look that told me he wasn’t really here. Uncle Victor held his burger in one hand and a letter in the other, his brow meshed as he read.
Childish hope made me approach the kitchen table. “Is it from Mom and Dad?”
My uncle held the slip of paper out to me by way of response. I took it and stepped into my “room” to give myself the illusion of privacy.
Dear Victor, Jasmine, and Charles,
Dan and I are pleased to announce that we’ve arrived safely at our little summer home in Scotland. It’s so beautiful up here, kids. I’ll send pictures as soon as I can and give more details about our vacation once it’s through. Dan’s back is still very sensitive and it’s getting harder for him to move around which, of course, is infuriating to him. He hates it when I do everything for him, but he really needs his rest. I hope all is well with you, kids, and you too, Vic. We miss you terribly but you must know how hard it was for me to get away from the hospital even to come spend a few weeks here.
Dan’s gotten a part-time job as a web designer and consultant for a technical support company, which is something he’s been able to do at home. Giving him something to do, even something as tiresome as this, was a huge relief for both of us. He never was the lazy type which, I’m sure, is where both Jazzy and Charlie got it from. I’d love to hear about what’s going on in your lives, what classes you’re taking this semester. Details about your friends are always appreciated. The more the better!
Vic, Dan’s been saying how it’s about time you started dating again and I agree with him. The kids are all grown up now. Make time for yourself, honey. You deserve it. We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for our family and all you continually do every day. The check enclosed is a little more than we usually send because we know the twins just had a birthday. Buy them something nice for us, please. Someday soon we’ll hitch a plane ride to Seattle, but for now, take care and write back.
Love always,
Joyce (Mom)
I tossed the letter aside. It spun through the air and landed on my bed. Why did I wait so impatiently for those stupid letters? My mom just used different words to say the same thing. Nothing had changed. They were still haunted by the memory of what they’d done to us and too scared to come see us. Of course, they were eternally grateful to Uncle Vic because he willingly did what they couldn’t. It was disgusting, how hard she tried to sound like she was interested in what was going on in our lives. As if a few cheery lines and false promises could make everything better.
I formed a fist and slammed it against the wall, making the men at the table jump. Hand throbbing, stomach simmering, eyes burning, throat aching, I stormed across the room.
“Charles,” my uncle said. “Where are you going?”
I shut the elevator door behind me.
◆◆◆
I took one last swing at the broken down 1990s’ TV set and watched the shards of glass fly in all directions with satisfaction. Breathing heavily, I surveyed the mounds of debris from everything I’d destroyed. Loud techno music pumped through the speakers installed in the ceiling.
It was probably juvenile but I told myself there were worse things I could be doing than supporting the local rage room. Responsible enough for Uncle Vic, no one had to get hurt, and I could work out every toxic thought in my head for forty-five dollars. Win, win, win.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I made my way to the locker rooms to change out of all the protective gear they’d forced me to wear. I was standing in line at my favorite taco truck maybe twenty minutes later. A couple was arguing nearby. Ordinarily, I would’ve ignored the grown-ass adults making a scene on the street, but the female’s voice sounded oddly familiar.
“Just because you gave me a beer doesn’t mean you own me, asshole!”
I turned to see a girl with short red hair, switchblade open and pressed against the throat of a rail-thin guy who looked about ready to piss himself. She wore a gray hoodie sweatshirt which was probably too thin to offer any warmth, ripped black jeans that clung to her slender hips and exposed her pale knees, along with well-worn neon pink sneakers. All she needed were rough tattoos and she’d look like she belonged in a gang.
“S-Sorry,” the guy stammered, stepping back. “My bad.”
I rolled my eyes and paid for my tacos before stepping away from the truck. Of course. Of course it was Esmer.
Her scowl stayed fixed on the guy’s retreating form as he hightailed it down the street with what appeared to be a six pack under his arm. Well, it was a five pack now.
Some of the onlookers whooped and cheered.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Esmer snapped her knife closed with a flick of her wrist and shoved it into her back pocket.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I thought I’d spoken quietly enough to go unheard over the other conversations happening around the busy street, but Esmer’s eyes still found mine.
“Oh, heya, Charlie boy.” She smirked as she sauntered over to me. “Fancy meeting you here. Of all the taco trucks in all the towns in all the world—”
I raised a hand to cut her off. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”
Esmer shrugged, swishing the remaining beer around in her can. “Just hanging. Same as you.”
“You shouldn’t be wandering around the city alone at night. It’s
