distinctly sour mood.
I thought about asking him what was up, but he usually told me things when he was ready. When we got home, he was all about slamming doors and throwing things around. Naturally, I followed suit and threw down my bookbag and kicked off my shoes. One of them hit the cupboard with a heavy bang, and he looked at me funny.
“What? Aren’t we all mad about something?” I asked in response to his expression. He just shook his head and walked into the living room. Sighing, I went after him. “What?”
I don’t even know if the living room could really be considered
“decorated.” There was a couch and two matching chairs from somebody’s expensive shabby chic collection, and an antique coffee table in the center of the room. A few cardboard boxes were stacked behind the couch, holding all of Maggie’s knick knacks and family photos which we never, ever put up. A few books were scattered across the coffee table, mostly Matt’s architecture books and a few of Maggie’s choices, which were things by Nicholas Sparks or had Oprah’s stamp of approval. The books were supposed to go on a built-in book shelf on either side of the fire place, but nobody ever got around to putting them away. Whenever we moved somewhere new, Maggie would quickly paint all the rooms, and that was the end of her decorating. Matt picked up one of his 27
books and flopped heavily on the couch, preparing to ignore me by looking at famous buildings in Rome.
“Where’s Maggie?” I had noticed an unfamiliar silence, without any sounds of music upstairs or Maggie harassing us about our lives. Matt grunted and angrily flipped the page. “Oh. Is that what this is about?”
“It’s not about anything,” Matt replied curtly.
“She’s there, isn’t she?” I sat down in the chair next to him, and he just shook his head, refusing to even talk about it. “It really doesn’t bother me, Matt.”
“She promised she’d be back by now,” Matt muttered.
“It’s like a two hour drive. How did you expect her to be back by now?”
“She said she’d make sure you wouldn’t find out!” Matt had softened a little and warily looked at me out of the corner of his eye. He incorrectly assumed that I was more sensitive than I really was and always made a big show of protecting me from things that I didn’t need protection from.
“You know, if you didn’t have this attitude, I wouldn’t have even know she was there,” I pointed out gently. He furrowed his brow and shook his head again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Matt sighed and rested his head on the back of the couch. “I didn’t want her to go. I don’t know why I agree to let her do this stuff.”
“You let her?” I laughed a little and leaned back in the chair, pulling my knees up to my chest. “She’s 36 years old and she’s your guardian! You don’t let her do anything.”
Matt humphed and went back to pretending to read his book. Maggie was technically both of our guardians, but Matt had probably done more
“guardianing” than anyone else. He was disturbingly mature for his age, especially when he had been a teenager. Most nights, he’d skip parties and dates to stay home and try to get me to do some homework. Of course, this was 28
almost entirely my fault since I never responded to anybody else’s attempts at help.
“I don’t know why this bothers you so much,” I said when Matt seemed content to stew in silence. Sometimes I’d let him, but other times I couldn’t help but poke and prod him. “It doesn’t even bother me.”
“It should!” Matt looked at me seriously, and it could still surprise me how much hurt he was carrying around after all these years.
“Hello, hello!” Maggie chirped, coming in the door side into the kitchen. Matt glowered down at the book, getting angrier at the happy sound of her voice. “Anybody home?”
“Living room!” I told her.
Maggie walked into the living room, her big
I thought about asking him what was up, but he usually told me things when he was ready. When we got home, he was all about slamming doors and throwing things around. Naturally, I followed suit and threw down my bookbag and kicked off my shoes. One of them hit the cupboard with a heavy bang, and he looked at me funny.
“What? Aren’t we all mad about something?” I asked in response to his expression. He just shook his head and walked into the living room. Sighing, I went after him. “What?”
I don’t even know if the living room could really be considered
“decorated.” There was a couch and two matching chairs from somebody’s expensive shabby chic collection, and an antique coffee table in the center of the room. A few cardboard boxes were stacked behind the couch, holding all of Maggie’s knick knacks and family photos which we never, ever put up. A few books were scattered across the coffee table, mostly Matt’s architecture books and a few of Maggie’s choices, which were things by Nicholas Sparks or had Oprah’s stamp of approval. The books were supposed to go on a built-in book shelf on either side of the fire place, but nobody ever got around to putting them away. Whenever we moved somewhere new, Maggie would quickly paint all the rooms, and that was the end of her decorating. Matt picked up one of his 27
books and flopped heavily on the couch, preparing to ignore me by looking at famous buildings in Rome.
“Where’s Maggie?” I had noticed an unfamiliar silence, without any sounds of music upstairs or Maggie harassing us about our lives. Matt grunted and angrily flipped the page. “Oh. Is that what this is about?”
“It’s not about anything,” Matt replied curtly.
“She’s there, isn’t she?” I sat down in the chair next to him, and he just shook his head, refusing to even talk about it. “It really doesn’t bother me, Matt.”
“She promised she’d be back by now,” Matt muttered.
“It’s like a two hour drive. How did you expect her to be back by now?”
“She said she’d make sure you wouldn’t find out!” Matt had softened a little and warily looked at me out of the corner of his eye. He incorrectly assumed that I was more sensitive than I really was and always made a big show of protecting me from things that I didn’t need protection from.
“You know, if you didn’t have this attitude, I wouldn’t have even know she was there,” I pointed out gently. He furrowed his brow and shook his head again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Matt sighed and rested his head on the back of the couch. “I didn’t want her to go. I don’t know why I agree to let her do this stuff.”
“You let her?” I laughed a little and leaned back in the chair, pulling my knees up to my chest. “She’s 36 years old and she’s your guardian! You don’t let her do anything.”
Matt humphed and went back to pretending to read his book. Maggie was technically both of our guardians, but Matt had probably done more
“guardianing” than anyone else. He was disturbingly mature for his age, especially when he had been a teenager. Most nights, he’d skip parties and dates to stay home and try to get me to do some homework. Of course, this was 28
almost entirely my fault since I never responded to anybody else’s attempts at help.
“I don’t know why this bothers you so much,” I said when Matt seemed content to stew in silence. Sometimes I’d let him, but other times I couldn’t help but poke and prod him. “It doesn’t even bother me.”
“It should!” Matt looked at me seriously, and it could still surprise me how much hurt he was carrying around after all these years.
“Hello, hello!” Maggie chirped, coming in the door side into the kitchen. Matt glowered down at the book, getting angrier at the happy sound of her voice. “Anybody home?”
“Living room!” I told her.
Maggie walked into the living room, her big
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