Miles
I
t’s already well after eight by the time I arrive at my mother’s place, and I still haven’t had dinner. I should have stopped to grab takeout on the way over. And asked Kitty if she wanted anything, although I assume she’s already eaten by this hour.
I knock on the door before I let myself in, so I don’t scare the crap out of her. Especially since she’s worried about ghosts.
“Hello!” I call out. “It’s Miles!”
“I’m in the living room!” Kitty replies.
I round the corner and find Kitty in my mom’s lounger, Prince Francis curled up in her lap. I’m envious of the little gremlin. “I hope I come back as a cat or a lap dog in my next life.”
“It’s the life, isn’t it? Being eternally cute, snoozing when you feel like it, never having to make your own meals.” She scratches behind Prince Francis’s ear, and he tips his chin up and headbutts
her hand, telling her he’s not done with pets. “How was the home? Did your mother like it?”
I shrug, uncertain if I want to get into this with her or not. “Eh, she doesn’t really understand why she can’t come back here.”
Her expression shifts from hopeful to sympathetic. “Oh no. I’m so sorry, Miles. Does that mean it didn’t go well?”
“It’s going to take her some time to get used to the idea, but once she’s in there and living the retirement life, I’m sure she’ll be okay.” Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll will it to be true.
“I can imagine it’s been a lot for her, being in the hospital, not really understanding where she is or how long she’ll be there.” Kitty’s empathy is soothing, but it also reinforces all the worries I’m still not sure what to do with.
“Yeah. This whole thing is a lot to get my head around, so I can only fathom what it’s like for her.” I don’t know when Kitty got so easy to talk to, but this is a lot nicer than the earlier bickering matches.
“Change is scary.”
“It is, isn’t it? Anyway.” I wave a hand around in the air, not wanting to drag Kitty’s mood into the dumps along with mine. “You had some issues last night. I probably should have filled you in before now, but, uh—I honestly didn’t realize that room hadn’t changed since my parents’ divorce.” Which sounds doubly horrible since Kitty lost her dad and stuck by her mom all these years. Hell, she still lives with her so she can help with the house.
“I thought the room I’m sleeping in used to be yours.” She scratches Prince Francis under the chin.
“It is. It was. The other room belonged to my brother.”
“Oh. I thought you said you were an only child.” She absently scratches between Prince Francis’s ears. “Does he live far away or something?”
I shake my head and rub the back of my neck, too over-whelmed with everything to soften the revelation. “He died when I was eleven.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” She stops petting Prince Francis and carefully lifts him from her lap, setting him on the lounger. It’s then that I notice the cat is wearing a tiny sweatshirt. “I didn’t realize,” she says softly.
“I probably should have told you sooner. I don’t really like to talk about it. Basically, when that happened, my family fell apart.”
She gives me a soft, sad smile. “I get it. Or sympathize, at least, about not wanting to talk about it. But maybe we could look at the room and make sure there isn’t anything living in there that shouldn’t be?” She clasps her hands. “I didn’t want to go snooping around while you weren’t here.”
“I should have given the go-ahead to look around.”
“Eh, I sort of wanted backup, in case there really is a portal to another dimension behind the closet door.” She gives me a hesitant smile, and I return it with one of my own.
“Let’s have a look.” I incline my head toward the stairs.
She follows me down the hall to my brother’s bedroom. My palms dampen as I approach the closed door, and I remind myself that it’s just a room. As a math and logic person, I’ve never put a lot of stock in the idea of haunted houses. There’s always an
explanation. So there really isn’t a reason for the heart palpitations, or the sudden roll in my stomach, apart from the memories I can’t let go of.
I turn the knob and push the door open. The blinds are closed, the room dark. I reach around the corner for the light switch, then skim down, because it’s been years since I’ve been in this room, and the switch is a lot lower now that I’m a good foot taller.
I exhale in a whoosh as I take in the space. “Maybe the whole room is a portal to another dimension,” I mutter. “Nothing has changed. It looks the same as it did the day he died.”
I run a hand through my hair and grip the back of my neck. All the should-haves and what-ifs are surfacing. I should have known about this. I should have been there for my mom instead of letting her push us all away.
Kitty’s palm settles between my shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.” I clear my throat before I continue. “It’s like a time capsule. A snapshot of our life right before it changed forever.”
“I’m here to listen if you want, or if you need a minute on your own, just let me know.”
She drops her hand, and I reach behind me and find the sleeve of her shirt. “If you aren’t just being nice and you mean that, I want you to stay.”
“I’m not just being nice. Tell me what you need, Miles.” She squeezes my forearm gently.
“My mom always kept this door closed whenever I visited, and I never checked his room before now,” I admit. “It brings up a lot of painful memories.”
“I imagine it does. How old was your brother when he passed?”
“He was eight.”
“Was he sick?” Her voice is soft and warm, like a blanket I want to be wrapped in.
I shake my head. “No. He got hit by a car.”
She gasps and her fingers wrap around mine, squeezing once before she releases my hand. “Oh, Miles. That’s awful.”
I nod slowly, not wanting to step back in time with the memories I’ve tried so hard to shove in a box and bury, but the lid pops off and the past surfaces all the same. “He’d just gotten a brand-new bike. I was playing video games in the living room, and he asked if I could go outside with him because he wasn’t allowed to ride without supervision. My mom was in the backyard in the garden, picking tomatoes. Those are the small details I remember. I found the tomatoes later, scattered all over the patio. She must have dropped them when she heard . . . ” I shake my head, wanting to stop the words, but needing to get them out more. “She’d asked me to keep an eye on Toby. My dad was out playing golf with a client. I told Toby I just needed to beat this level, and then I’d come out and watch him. I must have taken too long.” I cross over to the dresser, where a stack of books sits. A thin layer of dust coats the top, enough to tell me that my mom must clean his room fairly regularly.
“His helmet wasn’t on properly, and it was close to dinnertime. One of our neighbors ordered pizza, and the driver took the corner too fast. Toby didn’t suffer, at least.”
“That must have been so horrible for you.” Kitty’s voice trembles with the same emotions that swirl in my gut. It’s an odd comfort, knowing your pain is shared with someone.
“I felt responsible. Still do, I guess. Beating that level was such a trivial thing. Sometimes I wish I would have pressed Pause. Then Toby would still be here. And maybe our family wouldn’t have fallen apart, and my mom wouldn’t be so lost in the past.”
Kitty’s hand settles on my shoulder. “You were a kid, Miles. It’s not your fault. But the what-ifs are the hardest to let go of.”
I clear my throat again. I don’t know how to respond to that, because in a lot of ways I feel like a different choice may have changed everything. “Seeing this . . . maybe she wanted to stay in the past, where she still had a family.”
“Where the good memories were?” Kitty asks.
“Yeah. It sort of seems like that could be possible. I wish she would have let me help more. I wish I’d known she was struggling like this.”
“Sometimes we keep our pain to ourselves because it’s too hard to share,” Kitty says softly.
I’ve shied away from the reality of our family’s loss, because there’s so much guilt tied to it. “That’s remarkably true.”
Prince Francis weaves between our feet and heads straight for the closet door. He plunks his naked butt on the carpet and
meows loudly, then looks over his shoulder at us and meows again, unaware of the conversation he’s interrupting.
“Do you want me to open the closet door?” Kitty asks.
“Probably a good idea.” It also prevents me from using Kitty as a therapist.
Kitty crosses the room and slowly opens the door. The inside looks like any other closet that belonged to an eight-year-old boy. There’s a Nerf gun on the floor, clothes on hangers, an outfit tossed in a laundry basket.
Prince Francis disappears inside and returns less than thirty seconds later with a toy mouse in his mouth. He trots out of the room and down the hall, toward the living room.
“Well at least we can confirm that there is no portal to another dimension in the closet,” Kitty says, then grimaces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be making jokes.”
“The levity is appreciated.”
“Well, that mystery is solved, I guess. I feel kind of silly that I immediately jumped to the whole ghost-portal to another dimension scenario, but to be fair, I’ve been reading some weird paranormal books lately.” Kitty pushes her glasses up her nose and opens her mouth to say something else.
Which is the exact moment my stomach rumbles like there’s a beast living inside it.
Her eyes go wide. “Was that your stomach?”
“Either that or I’ve swallowed a demi-gorgon.”
“Have you eaten dinner yet? Or maybe you just have an extremely high metabolism? My sister is a string bean, and she eats
every two hours and can consume more food than most grown men without putting on an ounce. I clearly didn’t get the same genes.” She pats her curvy hip.
“I happen to like your genes, and I don’t mean the ones made out of denim.” I would like to summon a portal or maybe let the demi-gorgon in my stomach banish me to another realm until Kitty smiles.
Kitty narrows her eyes. “Are you making a joke, or is that a compliment?”
“Can it be both, but with a strong lean toward a compliment since the joke part is kind of cheesy?” I quirk a brow and give her a chagrined smile.
She bites her lip for a second, her grin widening. “Speaking of cheesy, I made bacon mac and cheese for dinner. There are lots of leftovers if you or the demi-gorgon living in your stomach is interested.”
My stomach rumbles again, but quieter this time. “My stomach likes the sound of that.”
“Come on, then. Let’s feed your beast.”
I follow Kitty to the kitchen. She pulls a huge casserole dish out of the fridge and scoops a generous amount onto a plate, then puts it in the microwave to reheat it. It’s a bit strange to watch her move around the kitchen with ease and surety, but she’s spent a lot more time here than I have recently, so it makes sense.
I hunt around in the cabinets for a glass. I find them next to the fridge. The same plastic ones my brother and I used when
we were little are still on the lowest shelf. The adult glasses came from a garage sale, when gas stations carried Olympics glassware in the eighties and every time you filled your tank you got a new one. I pull two from the cupboard and check the fridge, but the only thing in there that’s drinkable is coffee cream and orange juice. Juice and mac and cheese don’t go well together, so I pour myself a glass of water instead and do the same for Kitty. “The only meals I’ve eaten here over the past decade have been around the holidays.”
“Being here with all the memories you left behind can’t be easy, especially with your mom in the hospital.” The microwave dings, and she removes the plate. She holds it out to me. “Normally I stick my finger in the middle to see if it’s hot all the way through, but I don’t think you want me fingering your food.”
I cough-choke on my water. I don’t think she means it the way my brain has interpreted it.
Kitty’s eyes go wide and she slaps a palm over her mouth. “Oh my gosh. That came out
so
wrong.”
I set the glass on the table and smack my chest a couple of times to get the water out of my windpipe. When the coughing subsides, I cross the kitchen, where Kitty is still standing with the plate in one hand and the other in front of her mouth. “I’m sure your hands are clean, but I can finger my own food.”
Her hand falls to her side and she gives me a look, but it’s clear she’s fighting a smile. “I meant that you didn’t want my fingers in your food.”
“I know, but I like that we’re both channeling our inner
teenage boys.” I stick my finger in the center of the mac and cheese casserole. “It needs a couple more minutes.” I suck the cheese off the end of my finger and Kitty’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. I like this banter better than the therapy session.
She uses a fork to stir the food before she covers it again and puts it back in the microwave.
Kitty leans against the counter. “You said your parents are divorced? Where does your dad live?”
“He’s on the west coast. He moved out there when I went to college in the city. There wasn’t much of a reason for him to stay, and he has siblings out that way.” I tuck my hands in my pockets.
“Weren’t you a reason to stay?” she asks softly, then shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m prying, and it’s rude.”
“No. It’s okay.” As hard as these memories are to talk about, burying them doesn’t seem to be an effective strategy for moving forward. “My dad would leave early for work to commute to the city, so my mom got me off to school. But after Toby died, she rarely got out of bed, she stopped cooking, and it was up to me to handle all the household stuff my dad couldn’t manage with his hours.” I fall back into the past, into the months and years that followed my brother’s death. “It was clear to all of us that my mom wasn’t dealing well. My dad did everything he could—therapy, family therapy, adjusting his hours at work. I remember there being medication, and her being flat for a long while . . . numb, I guess? Then things shifted. We weren’t allowed
to go in Toby’s bedroom, and she refused to clean it out. After a while, she started sleeping in his room. I think that’s when things with my parents really started to erode.”
“That must have been hard for your dad. Grieving the loss of his son and watching his wife fall apart,” Kitty says softly.
“It was, harder than I realized at the time maybe. I think I saw him cry once when Toby died, and then he just sort of shut off? Put on a strong front for my mom’s sake, because she was struggling. I can’t really imagine what it was like for them, losing a child.” I rub my chin. “But my mom, she wasn’t moving forward. My dad really tried, but then the fights started. And they got worse until they finally separated. She was the one who asked for a divorce. So my dad ended up moving to the city where his job was, and I went with him. It was messy and hard, and I visited here every other weekend. I think my mom was hurt that I chose to live with Dad, but I had hockey all the time and a schedule she couldn’t manage.”
I swallow down the guilt. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there for her. She just wouldn’t let us help her. Sort of shut us out. And I couldn’t stay in that house with all the memories of what happened, and the fighting. I went to high school in the city, and you know what it’s like being a teenager, friends over everything. I always had sports on the weekend, so those visits got fewer and further between. I feel shitty about it now, because she essentially lost everything. I wish I could have seen outside myself more back then.”
“You were young, and the loss was yours too. You can feel
empathy, but it sounds like moving in with your dad was probably the best thing for your mental health.”
“Yeah, but I still wish it would have gone differently.”
The microwave beeps again. This time the plate is steaming, and Kitty needs to use oven mitts to take it out. I offer to do it, but she waves me away and tells me she’s got it. She sets it on the table, then drops into the chair to the left of me. “When we look at the past through an adult lens, it’s easy to beat ourselves up over the things we could have or maybe should have done differently. But at thirteen you didn’t have the life experience to be able to make those kinds of informed choices, and you were a kid who lost his brother.”
So many times, I came home from school and found her crying in Toby’s bedroom. It made me feel powerless, and in some ways irrelevant. I understood the pain of the loss, but I needed a mother, and she couldn’t be that. Not then. “It felt like it was my fault that he was gone.”
Kitty reaches across the table and squeezes my forearm. “Oh, Miles. This was a tragedy and not yours to own.”
“I was supposed to be watching him, though.”
“That’s a big responsibility for a child, and he was impatient, as kids sometimes are. You are not to blame for what happened. The person who hit him was. Like you said before, it’s easy to get caught up in the what-ifs, and your mother’s grief overshadowed her ability to be a good parent, but that’s not your fault either.”
I nod once, but that memory is a deep wound I don’t know
how to heal. “I see her struggle through different eyes now. And when I think back to my coming to visit while I was in college . . . and her sometimes calling me Toby . . . I feel like I missed a lot of signs, that I was too wrapped up in myself to see what was happening to her.”
Kitty’s smile is full of sadness and empathy. “The best and the worst thing about hindsight is that it’s always twenty-twenty.”
“That is absolutely the truth.” I dig my fork into the mac and cheese, finally taking a bite.
It’s delicious and comforting and exactly what I need.
“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose a sibling the way you did, or the way you also lost your mother, but I do know what it’s like to lose a parent. Moving forward can be tough. Sometimes we get stuck in the loop and don’t know how to get out of it,” Kitty says.
“It’s hard not to make it mine, you know?” I take another bite.
“I do. I often wonder what would have happened if I’d found my dad sooner.”
“You found him?” My stomach sinks, and my heart seems to skip a couple of beats.
“He’d been up in the attic by himself. He was supposed to bring the Christmas tree down. I assumed he’d found old albums or something and got caught up in whatever else was up there. He did that pretty much every year, would go up to get the tree and end up finding a treasure. It was my night to make dinner, and I was so focused on what I was doing that I didn’t realize how long he’d been gone. By the time I went to check on him, it
was too late to save him.” She folds a paper towel into smaller and smaller squares. “All this to say, while I can’t relate completely, I can empathize.”
I reach over and cover her hand with mine. “I’m sorry for what happened to your family.”
“And I’m sorry for what happened to yours.”
Our eyes meet and lock, and I feel this connection we share in more than just the physical contact. Under her sunshine are some dark clouds, and it’s a reminder that we all have struggles.
A bolt of lightning followed by a boom of thunder makes the house shake, and Prince Francis comes bounding into the room. He launches himself onto the kitchen table and scampers over to Kitty, then promptly tries to crawl inside her shirt.
She pulls her hand out from under mine and gives Prince Francis a reassuring pet. “It’s okay, buddy, just a little thunder.”
Another bolt of lightning shoots across the sky, lighting up the night, and rain patters the roof.
We continue to talk, sharing stories, talking about what it was like to grow up without a parent, while the storm rages on outside. I’m exhausted from the day and enjoying Kitty’s company and the comfort she brings, so I call my neighbors to see if they can keep Wilfred for a sleepover. I feel bad, but Wilfred and their dog, Herman, are besties, and they’re more than happy to dog sit, allowing me to stay the night with Kitty. She offers to set up her cot in the living room, but I tell her it’s fine—I’ll sleep in my mother’s bedroom, and she can stay in mine.
We have an awkward moment in the hall when we’re both
heading for our respective rooms, neither of us sure what to do. But eventually Kitty steps up and gives me a hug. “I’m glad the storm gave us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”
I wrap my arms around her. “Me, too.”
Of all the curveballs life has thrown at me lately, I’m grateful for the ray of sunshine named Kitty.