Four Years
Summer: House, Pt 1
Izzy stood on the train platform, awaiting Amy's arrival. Free benches were available, but somehow, he couldn't sit still, even in the muggy August weather. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but resisted pacing- barely. He checked his wristwatch for the third time in under five minutes and swallowed a sigh.
The remainder of Amy's internship passed calmly, with no more issues between them. Things were looking up, it seemed, especially as his TA duties ended with the summer semester. Still, he was anxious to see her in person, to verify where things stood between them. He didn't suspect that she was lying over the phone and webcam. He simply knew now that being near someone, observing their body language and having the benefit of communicating via touch, provided a clarity that could not be gleaned from a distance.
And frankly… he missed her. Somehow, for the first time, admitting that was no longer embarrassing or off-putting.
And so, when the train appeared as a speck in the distance, he grinned and approached the yellow line on the edge of the platform. Standing back was wiser, since he had no way of knowing which train car Amy occupied, but he couldn't resist the urge to be close.
Apparently, this was a popular stop. Exiting passengers inundated the platform, and Izzy backed up to give them room. He gazed about, but he was, as usual, one of the shortest people around.
But soon, the crowd dispersed, revealing Amy glancing about a few yards away. Izzy approached, unaware of the goofy smile straining his face. Everything about her seemed to brighten when she saw him, from her widening eyes and smile to her animated gait. She moved towards him and opened her arms. Time must have skipped, because suddenly, he was smushed in a hug, but somehow squeezing her harder, and they were laughing, breathless-
The real world rushed back as the train departed with a whoosh, taking the moment with it. Izzy tipped his head up, drinking in Amy's gooey smile. His brain tried to push away the warmth of her expression, which was too potent to digest. Then he recalled that this was what he had waited for, and willed himself to look, to see, to remember.
"I missed you so." It wasn't much, and it wasn't flowery, but it was true.
He felt her suck in a breath, which she released in a fluttery, overwhelmed laugh. She bent to kiss his forehead, her lips still cool from the train's air conditioning. Then, she released him, stepped beside him, and took his arm, which he had offered automatically. "I really, really missed you."
"Give me your bag, please." True, her rolling suitcase wasn't heavy, but Izzy wanted to offer the gesture- especially since he didn't know how to respond verbally to the emotion in her voice.
"Thanks. And thanks for picking me up."
I wasn't about to miss it, especially after failing to drop you off. Wisely, he substituted with, "I'm happy to be here." He asked about her final days at work, eliciting a monologue that lasted until they reached his car.
Izzy loaded her bag into the trunk while Amy let herself in the passenger seat. When he was seated and buckled in, Izzy slid his phone from his pocket. "What's your address?"
A pause followed, and Izzy glanced up. Amy's happy glow had dispersed. Her shoulders were hunched and tight, and her hands were wrapped around the upper half of her seat belt, as if she anticipated a collision.
Izzy placed his hand on her knee. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I was so pleased to see you that I forgot..." He wasn't privy to the details of Amy's home situation. She had never provided specifics, and he hadn't pried, but it was clear that she didn't enjoy being at home.
She grabbed his hand and squeezed hard enough to pop a joint in his finger. "It's only two weeks," she whispered to her lap. Her other hand cradled her lower stomach as she bent forward, falling into a posture Izzy recognize from her monthly cramps. Somehow, he doubted that was the cause of her pain now.
Izzy tugged on his seatbelt, giving himself enough slack to lean towards Amy. Gently, he cupped her chin and tipped her face towards his. He brushed his lips against hers, offering support. By the time he moved away, he had more concrete ideas to help.
"I haven't asked my parents, but... They're anxious to meet you, and we have a guest room. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you for the rest of summer break."
The strap slid from her hands and hit her chest with a dull fwap. "R-really?" she breathed. "And- and you wouldn't mind?"
"Ah…" Izzy paused to consider. True, he was still nervous about bringing Amy home… But helping her was simply more important. With that decided, he said, "It might be uncomfortable at times. Not because of you- I want you there. But because... Well, you're aware of the situation. But the best way to get past my discomfort is experience, and I would like very much to spend the time with you."
There was a twinge in Izzy's chest as her hopeful smile shifted to despondency. "I'd love that so much... But... I can't see my parents agreeing to it."
"You're nineteen," he pointed out. "You should be able to choose where you stay."
Amy grimaced. "I'm glad your parents respect that, but mine..."
"I see... Well, there's no harm in suggesting it. Perhaps we can convince them?" A tiny voice in Izzy's mind suggested that Amy knew her parents best, and that if they were amenable people, she wouldn't be so tense about staying with them.
Strained silence filled the car as Izzy drove, along with the potent anxiety Amy radiated. Despite the discomfort, he used the quiet to best advantage, desperately brainstorming ways to sway Amy's parents to his plan.
XXX
They pulled into a driveway identical to all the others on a cookie cutter suburban road. Amy exited the car and headed straight for the house.
"Do you want to bring your luggage in?" Izzy asked.
"We'll get it later," Amy murmured. Somewhat flustered, Izzy locked the car and hurried after her.
It was a small home with gray, sagging siding. The roof was a patchwork of missing shingles, and the shrubberies beneath the windows were overgrown. However, beautiful potted plants lined the foot path to the front door, which boasted a pristine welcome mat and sunflower wreath. Amy opened the exterior glass door, which creaked hideously. That's odd… There's not a single smudge, but it's ready to fall off its hinges.
Amy sighed, raised a fist, and knocked. After a pause, the front door opened, revealing a tall woman.
"Hi, Mom," Amy said. Her mother stood aside, and Amy entered the house. Izzy followed, closing the door as mother and daughter embraced.
The entryway was dark, with a short hall ahead, a staircase on one side, and a shadowy family room on the other. Amy's mother led the group down the hall, which emptied into a kitchen with faded, pastel blue walls and laminate tile peeling away from the floor at the edges. One side of the kitchen contained faux-wood cabinets and an island with laminate counters the color of a manilla envelope, and the other hosted a tired-looking table with four chairs. The living room was beyond the table, and Izzy entered, trailing after the women.
The ceiling was battered, with water stains near the windows, which were set with cracked spackle at the corners. The carpet was bare and stained, but the room was well furnished and decorated. Izzy tore his gaze away from a framed picture of a little boy when he heard his name.
"This is Izzy, my boyfriend. Izzy, my mom, Frances."
"It's a pleasure." Izzy's first impression was that Frances was older than his parents, perhaps by as much as twenty years. Her eyes were brown, but more like toffee than strong coffee, like Amy's. They had the same long, straight hair, but again, Frances' was lighter, and heavily streaked with gray. And where Amy was curvy, her mother was slim and straight. But perhaps the biggest difference was the lack of eagerness about Frances' expressions. Her lips barely nudged into a smile as their eyes met.
They exchanged a few pleasantries before Frances turned to her daughter. "Amy," she said suddenly, taking hold of her wrist, "come here, where I can see you." Amy followed her into the patch of sunlight passing through a window, and her mother gasped.
"You've lost so much weight! And look at that tan!"
"Oh, well." Amy shifted awkwardly. "I did a lot of physical work outside over the summer. I was in charge of-"
Amy broke off as her mother hurried out of the room. "Let me get your father." Amy grimaced when her mother disappeared down the hall.
Izzy edged closer. "What's happening?"
Amy ran her fingertips over her forehead, suggesting a headache. "I'm slimmer."
Izzy frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."
The floor moaned above him, and he looked up automatically. He watched, fascinated, as the ceiling buckled. The sound of footsteps moved towards the head of the stairs, and there was a separate, resounding thud as each one was descended. Amy's hand closed around his wrist and tightened.
A large, dark-haired man appeared where the hall opened into the kitchen. "Amy!" he cried, holding his arms out. "I thought you forgot where we live."
Izzy heard Amy's sharp intake of breath. "Dad, this is my boyfriend, Izzy. Izzy, my father, Eamon."
The fingers on Eamon's outstretched hands curled in a beckoning motion. With a sharp smile, he boomed, "End of your first year, eh? You know what that means! I only have to pay for you for three more years, girl!"
Amy's teeth dug into her lip, and her hold on Izzy grew tighter still. Though Eamon was smiling, and seemed to be joking, Izzy couldn't fathom a way to interpret those words humorously- and Amy certainly didn't seem amused. Any why had he ignored Amy's introduction?
Eamon beckoned again, and Amy moved stiffly into the kitchen, dragging Izzy with her. She didn't release him until the last possible moment, when she embraced her father- or, rather, she froze while he put his arms around her.
"Let's have a look at you, then," Eamon said. Amy scuffled backwards, standing slightly behind and to the side of Izzy. Frances entered the kitchen from the hall, which her husband had been blocking, and led them back into the living room.
"I'm going to work on dinner," Frances said. "It's almost ready. Make yourselves comfortable."
They sat, with Eamon on a sofa and Izzy and Amy on a love seat. Izzy observed Eamon, a heavyset man with dark brown hair, a bushy mustache, and glasses that pinched the bridge of his nose. His face possessed the animation that his wife's lacked, but not in the same pleasant, earnest manner of his daughter.
"You must have lost sixty pounds!" Eamon declared, leaning forward over his stomach. "I thought we were sending you to play with animals, not to a boot camp."
"Sixty pounds?" Izzy muttered. Amy flinched and took hold of his knee, but, if that was some sort of signal, Izzy failed to understand it. "Impossible. That would have been, what, thirty-five percent of your body weight?"
"Doesn't matter," she muttered. Her hand clenched, squeezing his knee hard.
Izzy resisted the urge to wince at the volume of Eamon's laughter. "Flattery will get you nowhere, boy. My daughter's a big girl, always has been."
Izzy's startled exclamation was drowned out by Amy's sharp, "His name is Izzy."
"Is it really?" Eamon replied, and that unpleasant grin resurfaced. "Sounds like a dog's name."
Izzy sighed. "No one's said that to me since middle school." He wasn't ready to be openly contrary to Amy's parents, but he couldn't let that slide without an indication of how unimpressed he was... Although he somehow doubted that this man would feel the teeth of his reply.
"Izzy's a nickname. His name is Isaac." Glancing up, Izzy found that Amy was flushed. "I like it. Izzy, I mean."
Eamon shook his head. "She's a strange one. I was hoping she'd get it together in college."
Izzy bristled so strongly that it evolved into a shudder. He knew Amy was strange. He had said so himself, and so had Joe, Tai, and most of the others. And yet, it angered him to hear it from her father, but Izzy couldn't quite understand why.
Clinking sounds issued from the kitchen, and Amy scrambled to her feet. "Let me help you, Mom," she said, fleeing the living room. Izzy stood, intending to follow, but Eamon called him back.
"Have a seat. We can talk out here."
"I would like to be of assistance," Izzy replied, fighting for an even tone. Everything this man says scrapes at me. He glanced into the kitchen, where Amy's back was to him, her shoulders stiff and set. He joined her without waiting for a reply from her father and eased the stack of plates from her hands. She went for the napkins and utensils without a word.
The sofa groaned as Mr. Donahue stood. He sat at the head of the table, impeding everyone prepping it for dinner. "What do you play?" he asked as Izzy placed a plate in front of him.
"Beg pardon?" Izzy backtracked around the table, since he couldn't slide past Eamon. Amy twitched, knocking a fork to the floor, and her father scowled.
"Still dropping everything? Put it in the dishwasher. What a waste..."
Izzy took over her job as she retreated to the other end of the kitchen with the fallen fork. He had to fight the alarming urge to fling Eamon's knife towards him. Again, Amy was clumsy, and most of her friends teased her about it. But this felt different, and the way Amy lingered beside her mother at the stove suggested that she thought so, too.
"Damn, what was I saying... Right! What do you play? Is it soccer, again? Why the boys around Amy can't play something respectable, like baseball or football..."
"I'm not an athlete," Izzy replied, somewhat skeptically. No one had ever made that assumption about him before.
Eamon smirked. "Ah. A musician?" Frances placed a tray of baked chicken breasts on the table, and Amy followed, carrying two bowls of vegetables.
"Izzy's a programmer," Amy said. "He's amazing at math and computers and science."
That ugly smirk only grew. "Mm-hmm. You should meet my son, Jesse."
Izzy didn't reply, as he wasn't quite following the undertones in the suggestion. "Izzy," Amy called, her face hidden by the open refrigerator door, "What would you like to drink? There's water and soda... Milk? Some juice..."
"Water, please," Izzy said, but his response was drowned out by Eamon's order of milk. Izzy watched in silent fascination as Amy pulled out a jug of milk, moved around her mother, who carried a basket of biscuits, and filled a glass. She placed it in front of her father, then returned to the fridge with the jug. "I'm sorry, Izzy. What did you say?" Izzy repeated his request, accenting his please and thank you with volume, as if he were an actor in an instructional video on manners.
"How are Tai and Matt?" Frances asked as she took a seat.
Izzy scowled. Is no one going to ask about her trip? But Amy smiled, so he let it go.
"They're doing well! It looks like Tai has a good chance of moving into his team's starting lineup next year. And Matt spent the summer composing songs and practicing with his new band."
"If he tries to name the band something as bad as The Teenage Wolves again, tell me. I'll talk sense into him." Eamon speared a chunk of chicken, grabbed Amy's plate, and dropped the meat on it. Then he scowled at the portion, cut it down the middle, and returned half to the platter. When he selected a biscuit, wrapping his whole hand around it, Amy made a tight sound in her throat.
Izzy silently cheered as she grabbed her plate. "I'll pick my food," she muttered.
"What's the problem?" her father demanded, raising an eyebrow. "I'm being nice."
You're dominating her, and likely controlling her calorie intake. The words itched at Izzy's throat, but the social pressure to behave civilly kept them from rising. He dearly wished for his mother's presence. Although she was kind and gentle, Yeva knew how to shut down hurtful behavior with poise. Sadly, this skill had not transferred to Izzy.
"I know what I want to eat." Amy shrugged for about the hundredth time today, and Izzy was beginning to understand the gesture in a new way: It doesn't matter. I don't matter, if that's what it takes. Just don't escalate.
Eamon's eyes narrowed, and Izzy launched into the subject everyone seemed to be ignoring, just to intercede. "Amy was in charge of a group of students over the summer. The professor was impressed with her work."
Eamon laughed, released Amy's plate, and started loading his own. "Did the animal playtime require chaperoning?"
Izzy scowled, his control slipping another notch. Amy handed him a bowl of peas, and he took it reflexively, but failed to take a serving. "Amy monitored a colony of endangered animals to prepare a report for the local legislature. It was a scientific endeavor led by a well-regarded expert in her field."
Eamon slowly shook his head. "Why are you talking like that? You're trying too hard, kid."
A plopping sound had Izzy glancing at Amy, who had dumped half the corn bowl onto her plate. Her hands trembled as she shoveled most of it back in with a spoon. "Izzy always speaks like that. He's not trying to impress anyone."
"Hmm." Eamon selected a piece of chicken, plus the half he had cut off Amy's portion. "People don't like being talked down to. You should speak straight, like Jerry."
"Dad!" Amy cried. Izzy's upper lip curled back, exposing his canines. He was going to say something this time, for sure- Except that Frances was already speaking.
"I keep expecting you to come home with Matt," she said, sounding wistful.
Amy stared at her, then slowly dropped her face into an open palm. "Mom, we're not-"
"I know, sweetie, I know. But you were so close, growing up..."
Eamon snorted. "That doesn't change the fact that Matt's out of her league. With those looks, he could have any girl he wants... If he could get over himself long enough, that is."
"Don't-" Amy breathed in, sucking air through her teeth. "Matt's dating my roommate, Sora."
"Sora?" Eamon repeated around a mouthful of chicken. It occurred to Izzy that his plate was still half-empty, so he busied his hands with filling it. "Do you mean Sarah? What kind of awful name is Sora?"
Amy's palms closed around the edge of the table, as if to brace herself. "Japanese."
"Japanese!" Frances echoed. "Does his father know? I can't imagine his father knows!"
Amy shut her eyes for a few beats, then kept them trained to her plate. "I don't know. All I can tell you is that Sora is one of the kindest people I've ever met. I look up to her a lot."
Frances cupped her cheek and sighed. "What a waste! If they ended up married, their children would lose Matt's blond hair and blue eyes…"
Something went hard, but aching in Amy's eyes. "Sora is beautiful."
Eamon's sigh rocked the table- or rather, the expansion and contraction of his stomach did. "We should have made Amy keep the first roommate. The thin blond."
Amy's fork jerked, knocking peas off her plate. "She peed on my rug!"
"Amy!" Frances cried. "Such talk at the dinner table!"
Amy turned her eyes, wide and despairing, from her mother, to her father, and then to Izzy. He reached for her under the table, resting his fingertips on her knee. What else could he do? There was so much packed into each sentence, he could barely absorb the words, let alone work through the implications and respond. All he knew was that he desperately wanted to help, but was unequipped to do so.
Amy managed half a smile, then turned to her father. In a false-bright voice, she asked, "How's work?"
XXX
An eternity seemed to pass before the meal ended and was cleaned away by Frances, Amy, and Izzy, while Eamon talked at them from the table. Afterward, Amy led Izzy up the dark, short stairwell and down an equally dark, windowless second-story hallway. One of the doors was shut, and Amy opened it. Izzy bumped into her when she failed to clear the doorway.
"Sorry," he murmured. When she didn't react, he gently nudged her, creating a space to look into the dim room. It was smaller than Yeva's closet, just big enough for a twin bed, a dresser, and a narrow bookcase. Amy flicked the switch on the wall, but no lights turned on.
"Excuse me," she said, moving past Izzy. Bewildered, he followed her back down the stairs. Her parents sat in the living room while Eamon talked over the television.
"Um... Does anyone know where my lamp is? And my pillows? And my last Harry Potter book? And, uh, I can't get into the room with all of the stuff on the floor?"
How Amy noticed the book in the low sunset illumination was beyond Izzy. She sounded calmer than he would have expected, but when he placed his hand on her back, her felt her trembling.
Frances turned to her husband and sighed. "I asked you to put Amy's room back the way it was."
Eamon shrugged. "She's not using it anymore. I'm using the lamp and the pillows."
"The book? The book's important to me." Amy reached behind her, and Izzy held her hand. She worked his fingers, rolling them between hers.
"I don't remember. I think I was reading it one day, but I was so tired from working, I fell asleep. I can't remember seeing it after that."
"Maybe it fell behind the bed?" Frances suggested. Amy flinched, then spun around without a word. She ran up the stairs, then opened a door at the end of the hall.
The room was comparatively large, but dim, featuring chipped furniture and an old, brown computer that had once been white. Amy knelt at the head of an unmade bed covered with mismatched pillows. She reached behind it, feeling for her book. Soon, she extracted a volume with torn pages dangling past the cover.
"Come here," Izzy said, making a beckoning motion. Amy sniffled, wiped her nose with the inside of her wrist, and stood. Izzy ushered her into her bedroom and shut the door behind him. They picked their way through the boxes and bags on the floor, then sat on the bed. Izzy placed an arm around Amy's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new one."
That hardly seemed the problem, given everything that had happened, but he didn't know what else to say. His glance settled on the open book. Chunks of pages had been torn out, likely by the bed frame as Eamon moved on the mattress.
Amy's eyes went glossy. "I waited in line on the release night for this with TK years ago... We were at the book store for hours. We had so much fun…"
Izzy patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "You can still keep that one."
She buried her face in his neck, and Izzy felt hot moisture on his skin. The bedroom door flew open, and Amy flinched when it slammed a box on the floor. "Don't close the door," Eamon barked. He squinted at Amy, then scowled. "Are you crying over a book? It's just an object. Don't be so materialistic."
Amy's only response was a wet-sounding breath. Eamon stiffened. "Well, don't guilt me. You're hurting my feelings. That's worse than tearing a book."
Something snapped inside of Izzy, and finally, he found his voice. "You destroyed something important to her through pure carelessness! Amy has the right to feel hurt when she's wronged."
Mr. Donahue's face bunched and tightened. "Careful, boy. I understand wanting to impress a girl, but you're overstepping your bounds."
Izzy turned towards Amy, putting his attention where it belonged. "I'm far more concerned about Amy."
He couldn't say how Eamon reacted, but the paling of Amy's face wasn't a good sign. "Come downstairs," Eamon ordered. "You haven't been home for months. There's no excuse for shutting yourself up here."
She stood, and Izzy frowned at her back. Why did she obey? Was conflict avoidance that important to her? Or had the instinct to comply been drilled into her over the years?
Bit of column A, bit of column B, Izzy thought as he trailed after her. Soon, they were seated in the living room again, and Izzy's hands were clasped tightly between his knees. Having spent a few hours with the Donahues, he knew that he couldn't possibly leave Amy here. But how could he convince her parents to allow Amy to stay with the Williams?
"Oh! I forgot to ask you about Mimi!" Frances said. "How is she?"
The enthusiasm Amy had shown for discussing Tai and Matt was curiously absent now. She shrank back into the sofa and picked at the hem of her skirt. "She... She's well."
"Driving the boys crazy?" Eamon asked with a laugh. While it was just as obnoxious as his previous outbursts of mirth, there was a flavor to it that Izzy couldn't quite name, a tinge that put him on edge.
But Amy merely shrugged. "She's dating Izzy's best friend, Joe. So maybe not so much."
Eamon snorted. "You're joking. I always thought she'd get together with Matt, at least before she moved."
Frances sighed. "It's such a shame she moved away... I really liked her."
"She sure brightened the place up," Eamon agreed, with a shark-like smile. "Amy, you should have convinced her to come over more often. She was only here a few times."
I wonder why, Izzy thought darkly.
"What is she studying?" Frances asked. Amy's fingers kept twitching in Izzy's peripheral vision, and he took hold of her nearest hand, running his thumb soothingly along her knuckles.
"Um, she's mostly taking care of her general classes. Core, you know. But lately she's been interested in modeling, and she had an internship for it over the summer."
"Did she!" Frances said brightly. "How exciting! How did that go?"
Amy hesitated, then began reciting what Mimi told her over the summer, answering questions from both parents. Something seemed to rip inside of Izzy as he compared this interest level to what Amy had received. Why would they show more interest in Mimi than their own daughter? He watched and listened carefully, but couldn't form any theories.
At the first lull in the conversation, Izzy pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. "It's getting late. My parents will be expecting us." There was a smoother, more socially adept way to make an exit, he was sure, but he didn't know what it was.
Frances frowned. "What do you mean?"
Amy looked from her mother to Izzy, and he squeezed her hand when their eyes met, willing her to play along. "W-well," Amy said, digging her foot into the carpet, "uh, I mean, it's just... I can't use my bedroom. There's stuff everywhere, and I don't have pillows or a light."
There was a pause, and Amy tilted her head. Confidence infused her voice as she added, "Unless you want me to use Jesse's room?" Jesse, Amy's older brother, was also away at college. But though they hadn't checked Jesse's room, Amy seemed to be implying that it was left untouched, unlike hers.
"Jesse's-" Eamon sputtered, as if Amy had said something obscene. "That's Jesse's room. You're not using it."
Oh, you clever, clever creature. Although everything about this situation felt awful, Izzy grinned, impressed that Amy had found a way to weaponize her parents' favoritism.
Frances turned to her husband. "You were supposed to put everything back the way it was..."
Izzy broke into Eamon's loud, ranting defense. "My parents are very anxious to meet Amy. You'd be doing us a big favor."
"We haven't seen you in ages," Eamon objected. "Not coming home during the semester, working over breaks… Are you avoiding us?"
While he wanted to speak some choice words, Izzy fixed his face into an expression of polite bafflement. "We're sophomores in college. Of course we're working towards our independent futures. It would be worrisome if we weren't."
"It's good for Amy to work," Frances said. "Responsible. But having her stay with people we haven't met…" She leaned towards Amy and lowered her voice, as if that would magically prevent Izzy from hearing her. "Where does Izzy live? Do they have a guest room?"
"We do have a guest room," Izzy replied. "And I live about forty minutes northwest." Neither parent looked pleased, and Izzy found himself wishing for his mother's help again- and realized that it was only a phone call away.
"If it would put your mind at ease, you can speak to my mother." He had no idea how to navigate this situation, but if anyone could, it was Yeva.
"I don't see why that matters," was Eamon's dismissive reply. "We didn't send you to college to get friendly with boys."
Izzy longed to reply that he was one man, singular, and that Eamon presumably sent Amy to college to learn… Which was why she spent so much time away from home, studying and researching. But any argument, however reasonable, would likely hurt his chances of removing Amy from this house, so he turned to Frances and squeezed Amy's hand.
After a long hesitation, Frances said, "I suppose that couldn't hurt… Either way, I'd like to get to know your parents."
"Alright," Izzy agreed, unsure of his odds of success. "Please, pardon me for a moment." Though he hated to leave Amy, he stood, walked through the kitchen, and entered the dark family room beyond it. It was less worn than the living room, but exuded that same tired vibe, along with the stiffness of a space seldom used.
Izzy sat on an uncomfortable, old-fashioned sofa furthest from the living room and called his mother. Her voice in his ear provided immediate reassurance, and the sense of having an ally in an uncomfortable situation.
"Good evening," he sighed.
"Are you alright, Izzy?" Yeva asked. "Are you driving home? You have me on speaker, right?"
Izzy grinned at his mother's immediate concern for safety. "I'm still at Amy's house. I apologize for asking so abruptly, but could Amy stay with us for the rest of summer? Her family…" He glanced towards the living room and winced. "It's… I'll explain later. I know it's a big favor, but… Please. It would mean a lot to me."
"Izzy… Your friends are always welcome here, and especially Amy. But- is something going on?"
Izzy exhaled and went limp against the lumpy sofa. "I'll explain later," he repeated. "But- I'm sorry- Could you please talk to her parents? They want to speak to you before agreeing to allow Amy to stay."
"Allow?" Yeva repeated. "She's in your year, yes? They're strict?"
"S-something like that."
After a loaded pause, Yeva said, "Well, it's good to get to know them a bit, regardless. I'll try my best, Izzy."
"Mom- thank you. Truly. I'll hand the phone off."
With that, he stood, returned to the living room- and clamped his lips shut tight. Amy was staring at the floor, eyes glistening as her father orated in a tone suggesting a lecture. Izzy handed the phone to Frances, then sat beside Amy and took her hand. He regretted leaving her alone with her parents, but what choice did he have?
He tried not to stare at Frances as she spoke to Yeva. He wanted to listen, but Eamon was too loud. Frances cupped a hand over the receiver, likely trying to make herself heard. After some back-and-forth, Eamon demanded, "Give it to me." Frances sputtered, then ended her conversation and surrendered the phone.
The floor creaked as Eamon stood and removed himself to the family room. Izzy wondered if Eamon would have left the room for the call if he hadn't done the same. While he normally didn't bother guessing at people's intentions, given the relatively weak state of his social aplomb, Izzy found himself wondering if this was some kind of dominance move. Either way, it failed- Eamon's roaring speaking level was audible from the other side of the house, and Izzy was irritated on Yeva's behalf.
The ladies fell into chatter, but Izzy remained silent, listening to half of Eamon's conversation with Yeva, until heavy footsteps announced his return. He tossed Izzy's mobile at him and sat on the sofa. "Might as well let Amy go, if the Williams want to meet her that much. Anyway, we won't have to feed her for two weeks!"
Even after securing what he so desperately wanted, Izzy found himself responding through clenched teeth. "We'd best head out, then. Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Donahue." No need to include Eamon in any gratitude he had not earned.
"You're welcome," Frances said. "I hate to see you leave so soon… But it's best to be home before dark. Amy, call us if you need anything. I'll see you on move-in day?"
"Is there anything you need now?" Izzy interjected. "Your guitar?"
"Oh!" Amy jerked to her feet. "You're right. Let me grab it…"
Izzy followed her upstairs, where they squeezed into her bedroom. He closed the door and lowered his voice. "Take what's most important. Where is your other guitar?"
The acoustic was in its hard case in the corner of the room, but the spare guitar was nowhere to be seen. "Matt has my electric guitar and amp for the summer," Amy replied. "He can use it, especially now that he's writing music for his new band, and it's safer with him."
"Good," Izzy said, nodding. One less thing to worry about. He looked at her packed bookshelf and frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't think we can take your books. But if there's anything truly important here- I'm sorry to say it, but-"
"No," Amy sighed. "You're right. Let me get my lock box and my book bag…" With difficulty, she shoved aside the boxes on the floor, reached under her bed, and extracted a fireproof box. Curiosity soared, but it would have to wait. She shrugged on the backpack stationed on the dresser.
"Do you have your school supplies?" Izzy asked. "Electronics?"
"My school stuff is in the backpack. I shipped my books for the semester to Tai's- maybe we can stop there on the way to your place? My electronics are in your car."
"Alright. We could carry more, but…"
Amy shook her head. "If it looks like I'm trying to move out, it will offend them. We're already lucky… I wonder what the heck your mom said to talk my dad around? Oh- let me pack the copy of Emma Matt gave me…"
"No idea," Izzy replied, and he was dying to know, too. More pressingly, he had noticed how little Amy owned before. At the time, he thought she was disinterested in material objects, focused on what he considered more important things. He was beginning to wonder how much of that restraint was actually practicality- maybe even necessity.
Izzy carried the guitar downstairs, and Amy took the lock box and backpack. Frances met them at the door to say goodbye, but Eamon remained in the living room. Izzy hurried outside, legitimately worried that someone might change their mind if they idled. He didn't relax until he was pulling out of the driveway with Amy beside him.
He fled the suburban development with a haste suggesting an imminent explosion.
Author's Note: And there you have it, Amy's home life in a nutshell.
There's one more chapter in the summer arc, although it's looking like I might have to split it into two updates. After that, we will finally reunite the crew at college! At last! What the heck are those other kiddos up to?!
Thanks so much for reading, and please do review! Have a great day!
