I’m going to have to start my own scholarship fund or something to make up for this guilt.
Dad’s not in the kitchen when I come back with the groceries, so I help Mom put a few pizzas together for dinner. She starts by asking me about finals and hockey, then eventually moves on to my mental health and medication.
“It takes a while to adjust,” she says when I tell her about the drunken meltdown. “If it doesn’t work for you, you can always switch to something else. There’s plenty of options. Adding therapy would help.”
“I know,” I say.
“And heavy drinking is one of the worst things you can do when you have depression.”
“I know.”
She gives me a soft smile, reaching out to brush hair off my forehead. I almost lean into the gesture. I don’t remember a time I felt this close to her.
Spencer keeps Dad occupied through dinner, talking about the season so far and trade rumors he hopes actually happen to get the Coyotes in a better position for the spring. I almost butt in to say he should hope for his own trade, but then I’d get dragged in. Dad’s awkward glances are more than enough for me. Once dinner’s done, the cards come out and the liquor cabinet gets broken open for real this time.
I sip on a bottle of pop all night.
I fall asleep on the couch as soon as they turn on a movie and have every intention of sleeping there for the rest of the trip until a hand on my shoulder wakes me. The house is mostly dark except for the green and red coming from the Christmas lights around the windows and the dim glow from the black TV screen that’s not actually off. Everyone’s gone. Except for Dad standing over me.
“I have a room set up for you,” he says softly. I feel like he could’ve said the same sentence in Spanish and I would’ve understood it better. There’s not an unused room in this house, and even if he forced Mikayla to stay with someone else once Spencer heads back to Arizona, it still wouldn’t be my space.
Still, this weird sense of guilt settles in my stomach. I brought up the room situation back in November to hurt him, and apparently it worked.
Bailey would be so pleased right now, seeing me proven wrong about him.
It’s a struggle to get to my feet, and I feel weighed down as I follow Dad down a dark hallway, wincing and holding up a hand to block the sudden brightness as he hits the light switch inside the third doorway on the left. It’s meant to be an office. I can tell even before my eyes adjust, with the floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves and a wall of windows facing the back patio, nothing but sheer curtains for privacy. The double bed pushed into the corner where the two solid walls meet looks completely out of place. The shelves are loaded with all the trophies and medals I’ve won over the years, and some of my old jerseys are framed on the walls. I know all of it’s been stored in boxes until now.
“It’s not ideal,” Dad says as I silently take it all in. “But I wanted you to have a place of your own.”
“Why?” I croak. I needed this years ago, not now.
“I want you to know you’ll always have a place here.”
My throat closes up and I bite my lip, tucking my chin and keeping my eyes on the ground so he can’t see how much this is affecting me. My bag’s already on the floor by the bed. Jesus.
Dad bears my silence for a minute before clapping a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “Get some sleep. I’m making breakfast in the morning.”
I give him a nod and wait for the door to close behind him before changing into gym shorts and turning off the lights. I’ve slept in plenty of unfamiliar beds in my time. Countless hotels and temporary homes. But even in the room made for me in my parents’ home, I feel like a guest.
What would it’ve been like to grow up here? To know the city as well as Madison. To have summers in the pool with my sisters. To always have them within reach.
What would it have been like to grow up with a family?
After an hour lying awake, staring at the ceiling, I grab my phone from beside the pillows and message Bailey.
Mickey: Sorry for being a brat
I don’t expect a response till morning, but she answers just a few minutes later.
Bailey: Same
It’s just
I talk to dad a lot
And i know he’s trying
So it’s hard for me to see you brush him off like that
I get where you’re coming from
Just give him a chance to fix it
Mickey: Ok
Bailey: Love you brother
Mickey: You too
* * *
CAULER MESSAGES ME in the morning while I’m eating bacon drenched in maple syrup, blessing me with something to focus on instead of my extremely loud family of morning people.