I stood there for a beat, a man grown, yet the air in that room still knew how to make me feel ten years old. I knew that sitting down was a mistake, but my body seemed to remember the shape of that couch better than the seat of my bike.
I sat down.
He settled back into the couch like he'd been expecting this all along, which he probably had. I picked up the glass and held it without drinking. The whiskey was cheap, the kind that smells like a solvent before it ever hits your throat.
He took a pull from his own glass, slow and comfortable, and looked out at the field through the window. The afternoon light was going grey at the edges.
"Your mother was smart," he said. Not to me, exactly. Just out loud, like a thought he'd decided to share. "Always liked that about her."
He didn't follow it up. Just drank and looked at the field like he hadn't said anything at all.
I drank too. The whiskey burned the way cheap whiskey does, all heat and no taste, and I set the glass down and waited for whatever was coming next.
It took a while.
"She's gonna have expectations," he said. Same tone, like he was thinking out loud and I happened to be there. "That's all I'm saying. Woman works that hard, gets that far—she's gonna expect things to match up." He turned the glass in his hand. "Only natural."
He poured himself another finger and settled back.
"Your mother had plans too," he said. "You know that? When I met her she was going to be a nurse. Had the grades for it and everything." He looked at the glass. "Life does the math eventually. That’s all it is. Doesn't matter what you want. Doesn't matter what she wants. Life does the math and you end up where you end up."
He glanced at me then, just briefly.
"At least I never kidded myself about it."
The room was very quiet.
"Ring's in the bedroom," he said. "Top drawer."
I got up without a word. The hallway was narrow and darker than the living room, and the carpet runner my mother had put down was still there, threadbare now, edges curling up from the floor.
The bedroom was darker still, its curtains drawn. I didn't bother with the light.
The nightstand drawer stuck halfway, same as it always had. Inside: a broken watch, a folded handkerchief, things I didn't examine too closely. And underneath all of it a small velvet box gone grey with age.
I opened it. Inside, a simple gold band, one small stone. My grandmother's before it was my mother's. Cassie had called metwo weeks ago, out of the blue—take the ring, Jack. It should be Maddie's.
She was the eldest, and the only one of us who’d actually built a life that didn’t smell like this house, so I’d always assumed it would go to her. But she’d already decided, like she’d been waiting for me to catch up to the idea that I was allowed to have a future.
I closed the box and put it in my pocket.
The curtains moved where the window didn't seal right. My mother had slept in this room for twenty-three years. I gave myself about two seconds on that before I turned and walked out.
Dad was where I'd left him. He looked at my jacket pocket and smiled.
"Got it then."
"Yeah."
"Good." He poured the last of the whiskey. "Good for you."
I headed for the door.
"You know what doctors make, Jack?" He raised his voice just enough. "First year out?"
"I'm leaving."
"I'm just saying. She's gonna be in a different tax bracket inside five years and you're gonna be what —" He tilted his head. "— still pulling transmissions in Hector's garage?"