“I’m sure he’s okay. It’s just… I worry.” Ma sighs. “Maybe we should call his P.O. to see if he’s heard anything—”
“No,” Pa interjects. “If we do that, we might as well send Jaxon straight back to prison. He’s supposed to be staying with us, remember?”
My mother grips her cross harder. “I only wish we knew where he was.”
“Maybe he met a girl. Two years is a long time… “
“Miguel!”
Pa shrugs. “It’s true! Now, eat your breakfast and try not to worry so much. I’m sure Jaxon will come home soon. He wouldn’t risk violating his parole.”
“If he fails his drug test—”
“He won’t! I know my son. He’s sober and he is going to stay that way.”
“But Miguel—”
Before my mother can finish, I rise to my feet, slamming my hands down on the tabletop hard enough to make the dishes jump.
“Mijo! What on earth—”
“You know what I want most for my birthday?” I growl, glaring from one face to the other. They’re both wearing stunned expressions. “To not think about Jaxon. To not talk about Jaxon. To not haveevery fucking minute of every fucking dayrevolve around the selfish prick also known as Jaxon!” I lean forward, eyes narrowing. “You truly think he’s off somewhere being a productive member of society? You’re delusional. Jaxon is capable of one thing: self-destruction. And no matter how many times you try… you can’t save him from himself.”
“Mijo…”
Exasperated, I run my hands through my hair as I mutter, “You can’t even save yourselves.”
They say nothing.
My angry words seem to have sucked every ounce of air out of the room. In heavy silence, my parents watch as I storm across the kitchen and shove open the front door. It slams behind me with a bang that makes several birds take flight from a nearby tree.
The guilt I feel is a faint trickle in comparison to the flood of rage and resentment swirling inside me. I’m too worked up to get behind the wheel. I walk the property instead, the grass dewy against my bare feet.
This early on a Friday morning, the grounds are even quieter than usual. I can hear the Tesla’s tires rolling down the driveway from across the lawn — Jo’s parents, heading into the VALENT headquarters in Boston bright and early.
Even when they’re home, they’re barely here.
I give the main house wide berth as I walk down toward the water. Jo is probably inside, getting ready for school. All week, I’ve seen her only from a distance. She walks the halls with her nose buried in a book, rushing between AP tests.
Biology, Physics, Chemistry, Calculus.
I’m sure she’ll ace them all. Good grades are the only way to capture her parents’ attention. They trade affirmations for straight-A report cards, expressions of love for academic excellence. And Jo complies, working herself to the bone for a condescending pat on the head.
It’s sickening to witness.
When I reach the boathouse, I jog down the steps to the dock. My thoughts are a mile away — zig-zagging between a dozen pressing concerns. Which is probably why I don’t see the girl lying flat on her back at the far end of the dock until I’m a handful of paces away.
My steps falter.
She’s fast asleep, snoozing in the sunshine like a cat in a picture window. As soon as I see her, all the anger I’ve been harboring bleeds out of me in a rush, pooling in a puddle at my feet.
For a moment, I can only stare — at the morning light on her face, slanting across the upturned bridge of her nose. At the billowed length of blonde hair, pillowed beneath her bare shoulders. At the glow of her skin, kissed by the start of a summer tan.
I barely breathe, not wanting to disturb her slumber. I’m not sure how long I stand there watching her. Probably long enough for it to be creepy.
I don’t give a shit.
These unguarded moments with Jo are precious to me now.