~chapter one~
august
(fifteen years later)
"Your mom's a MILF," Rigsby remarks.
I recoil and stare at him. "Dude, what the fuck?"
He points towards Mom's red sports car. She's leaning against the bonnet, her phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. Probably Grandma.
"If you say that again I'll drown you into the lake," I warn.
He raises his hands. "I'm just sayin', dude. She's hot."
I groan and drag my hands down my face. "She's my mother."
"And she can call me daddy."
"That's it." I shove him across the pavement. "You're sick, you know that? Say one more thing about my mom and I'm not kidding. I'll run you over with my car."
I stomp the rest of the way to Mom. She raises her eyebrows at me in question and when I shake my head she picks her phone up and unlocks the car. "All right. Well, I've gotta go, Mom. I'm picking Auggie up… Yep… We'll be home in a minute… Uh huh… Love you too… Bye."
She's silent for exactly 43 seconds before she asks, "What's the matter?"
"It's just stupid," I say.
"Well, obviously." I glare at her. She sighs and reaches over to turn the music down. "Tell me. What's stupid?"
"People."
She nods. "Agreed. Anyone in particular?"
"Rigsby."
"Ah."
"He called you a MILF."
She blinks. "Is that so?"
"It's disgusting. You're like, old enough to be his mom."
"Well, babes, I'm not that old."
I stare at her. "You're old enough to be my mom. He's the same age as me."
She wrinkles her nose. "Oh. Well, but his mom's old old. I'm just older." She winks. "There's a difference."
I scowl. "Mom."
She sighs and pulls into our driveway. "I'm just trying to make a joke, love." She smiles at me and ruffles my hair. "I'm sorry for being a MILF."
"Mom."
She laughs, pulling the keys out of the ignition. "Sorry, sorry! Seriously!" She slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug. "C'mon. I think Mama's making your favourite tonight. You can tell them what a MILF is."
I groan. "Please stop saying it. I'm gonna throw up right here. I swear."
My grandmothers, Grandma and Mama, live in a duplex. I live in my Grandma's side in Mom's old room when she was a teenager. She lives at Mama's in my dad's old room. When I was younger, I used to hate it. If I needed Mom I had to go all the way to Grandma's and tell her which was a hassle because Grandma always tried to help me and it took me sobbing for Mom for her to finally call. But I like it more now. It makes sneaking out easier.
"Mom!" Mom yells. She drops her bag on the floor, depositing her keys into the dish on the table. "Mom! Auggie and I are home!"
"Hi, Grandma!" I call.
When nobody replies, Mom frowns. "Stay here," she murmurs, walking deeper into the house.
I follow her.
She gives me an irritated look over her shoulder but doesn't say anything. "Mom?"
A figure sits in the kitchen, hunched over. Soft sounds come from it, half crying, half laughing. Mom rushes over, falling to her knees in front of Grandma. "Mom? Mom, what's the matter? Mom?"
Grandma raises her head, her face blotchy and red from tears. "He wants to come over," she sobs. Or laughs. I can't tell. "He wants to meet him."
Mom's face hardens. "No. Tell him no. Tell him I said no."
Grandma shakes her head. "I already said that. He insisted."
Mom stands. "No. I- I said no." She shoves a hand through her hair, unravelling it from its plait. "When did he call? I- I just got off the phone with you!" She laughs, that weird, half-laugh. "God damn it." She slams her hand into a cupboard. "I'm gonna call him. If he shows up…" She locks eyes with me and freezes.
"Who wants to come over?"
She rolls her tongue around her mouth. She's trying to decide if she should lie to me or tell me the truth.
"Tell me."
"Your grandfather." She clears her throat. "My dad."
I perk up. I've never really met either of my grandfather's. I met my dad's dad once, as a baby, but I don't remember. He knows I exist though because he always sends me things for Christmas and money for Mom.
"Oh. Why don't you want him to come over?"
Mom does that tongue thing again.
I narrow my eyes at her.
She sighs. "He's a douchebag, that's why." She waves her hand around. "He and Mom divorced a couple months before I was pregnant with you. He was never really around when I was a kid. He's just… he doesn't care. Not really."
She looks at me, her eyes softening. "Do you want to see him?"
I hesitate.
I've never met him before.
And I would be lying to say I didn't want to at least try. And if he was wanting to meet me?
I nod.
She presses her lips together, placing her hands on her hips. She looks down at Grandma, who still sits on the floor. "I'll call him," she says, to me or Grandma or herself. "And I'll ask him to meet us at a restaurant. Just me and Auggie." She reaches down, placing a hand on Grandma's head. "Okay?"
I answer for both of us, even though I don't know how Grandma feels. "Okay."
~~~
Nobody's ever told me I look like my dad. Nobody really talks about him either. It's like he's a taboo.
When I was younger, I thought Mom had just gotten knocked up. She was young when she had me and there never was a dad around to know the truth.
A couple years ago, I finally asked Mom.
"Is this the guy who knocked you up?"
I held a photograph out to her. It was her and a guy. They were both wearing graduation caps and gowns. She was looking up at him, her expression wistful and soft. He was looking at the camera, a sheepish smile stretching across his face, a blush painting his cheeks red.
He looked exactly like me. From the blond hair to the green eyes to the traitorous skin that blushes so easily. The only difference is that, while I inherited his eyes, I also inherited Mom's shit eyesight.
Mom stopped, her fingers freezing across her keyboard. She swallowed. "He- he didn't knock me up." She reached for the photograph with shaking hands. She smiled at the picture, her eyes tearing up. She ran her thumb over his face. "That's your dad," she whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. "His name's Phineas." She sniffed and wiped at her face. "He was– God. He was amazing."
She looked up at me, her eyes shining. She looked at my face and there must've been something there because she reached for me, pulling me onto the bed with her. "Oh, baby."
"What happened to him?" I asked, my voice small. I hated how small it was. I was angry. At my dad for whatever he did that made it so Mom and I were alone. At Mom for letting him go.
Never once did it cross my mind that he had died.
~~~
"Auggie! Come here and give your ol' Mama a hug!" She holds an arm out and dutifully I step forward, squeezing her shoulders. "My goodness," she exclaims, looking me over. "I say, you've grown a couple of inches!" She looks over my shoulder at Mom. "Hasn't he grown since the last time I saw him?"
"You mean last night?" She reaches around me to kiss Mama's cheek. "Hi, Aunt Angelina. Whatcha making?"
"Ravioli. Homemade." She winks at me. "Your favourite."
I smiles. "Thanks, Mama. I'm gonna go finish my homework, okay?"
She nods. "That's fine. We'll call you when the food's ready."
I escape upstairs to Mom's room. Her laptop sits on her desk, unopened, and other than a few clothes scattered about, it was relatively empty of anything I'd say was Mom's. Of course, the line between what I know as Mom's and what I've deduced as Dad's is severely skewed.
There are a couple books on the shelf that I know Mum wouldn't willingly read (a handful of horror and thrillers) and the PlayStation and shooter games that she definitely hasn't played. I load GTA V and start it up. I've played this game too many times to count. I know it so well I'm pretty sure I could play it in my sleep.
I think about my dad. I think about everything Mom's told me. I think about everything I've seen through photographs and videos. I think about everything in the yearbooks and newspapers that I've found through an archive in the library.
Killed, August 8, 2013, in a car crash. The passenger, Sylvie Whitehouse, survived. Miraculously.
A star soccer player. Took the high school team to the championships for the first time his senior year. They lost and hadn't made it back since. Overall, an all-around popular guy. He did well in school. He wasn't photographed much with Mom except when they were younger or outside of school and the photo was taken by Mama or Grandma. Something happened between middle school and high school that separated them.
Obviously, it wasn't for long because I was born.
Research also helped me find out a lot about Mom. She was part of this group of goths that wore ripped jeans and sat on the front steps of the school. She wore tiaras. A lot. She and this guy, James Hale, dated for the entirety of high school. I'm guessing they broke it off sometime during or after their graduation.
Mom was, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, a fucking weirdo. But in every picture I see, Dad's looking at her like she's his entire world.
There's a Christmas photo of them sleeping on Mama's sofa. He's angled towards her, hair falling in his eyes. She's curled up with a snowflake tiara slipping down her head. Their hands are next to each other on the cushion between them, their pinkies brushing.
I pause my game and roll over until I could reach over and take the old iPhones out of the bedside drawer. One of them has a glittery dark purple case– Mom's old phone– and the other has a plain grey one– my dad's. I check the battery on both of them. Mom's has more so I reach into the drawer again and take out a charger. I plug Dad's phone into the wall and take the time to look through Mom's.
There's a bunch of old text threads. One with Jamie. Angie. Someone called Preppy Dave. Brooke. Sasha. A groupchat with all of them in it. Grandma. Mama. Dad.
I open Dad's first, like I always do.
August 8 (3:24 PM)
FINNY:
Making my way back. Gotta drop Sylvie off at her house. Be home soon
MOM:
Ok. Did it go well?
FINNY:
She's pretty pissed at me right now
MOM:
Oh, shit. I'm sorry
FINNY:
It's fine. It's not your fault
But we're done and there's nothing she can do to change it. She knows it, she's just being difficult
MOM:
Oh
Okay well, drive safe
I'll be waiting :)
FINNY:
I will
:)
I love you
MOM:
I love you too
And that's the end of it.
~~~
Mama talks about her students. Asks me about school. About my friends. Mom snorts into her pasta and The Grandmothers demand to know what's so funny. I end up telling them the story about Rigsby. They laugh. I don't.
Mom talks about her newest idea. She's smiling the whole time. She's written four novels in my lifetime. The first, based loosely on hers and Dad's relationship about two childhood friends, Izzy and Aden (I found this out through the text messages and the book's acknowledgements, rather than her or one of The Grandmothers actually telling me).
The second is based fully on hers and Dad's relationship (this is also a source for Dad Information) (also found out through the acknowledgements). Once again, it's about two childhood-friends, Ally and Percy, who grow apart then back together in high school. Percy dies at the end.
The third is set in a dystopian world where people take pills to get different abilities and a girl who overdoses on them to save her best friend (I'm not sure what this is based off of).
The fourth is about a witch who creates a spell to make her crush fall in love with her but in the middle of their relationship she realises that being in love with him isn't what she thought it'd be (Again, not sure what this alludes to).
I've read every single one of her books. All of her first drafts. She comes to me when she's in a rough spot. She raised me to a bookworm, among other things, and so I pay her back by giving her fresh eyes.
Mama asks about Mom's friends. Mentions Angie and Dave (the actual Preppy Dave in her phone, yes) and their kids. I don't blush when they mention Gwen.
Grandma sits silently, picking at her food.
There's a collection of topics that are Strictly Off Limits in our conjoined household:
1) My dad (also known as 'Phineas', 'Finn', 'Finny', and 'Auggie's Dad').
2) Both Mom and Dad's Dads (also known as 'That Bastard' or 'Those Bastards'– used in singular or plural to refer to either one or both of them as there is no differentiation).
3) Grandma's mental health / hospital visits
4) Mom's mental health / hospital visits
Finally, I excuse myself and leave to go to Mom's room. I play on Dad's PlayStation for the rest of the night. Mom comes in around nine and lays down with me. I let her hug me and tell me how proud she is of me, how much she loves me.
We don't talk about her dad.
We don't talk about my dad.
She lets me play GTA V until eleven, when I hug her and leave to go to my room.
I brush my teeth.
I put on my pyjamas.
I read a chapter of The Catcher In the Rye for school.
I turn my light out.
I plug my phone in.
Check my messages.
I forgot about the phones.
