Chasing Impossible

by Katie McGarry

  I grab my bag of stuff, enter the kitchen, then drop into a seat at the table. The seat next to Mom. Mom quits breathing as I prick my finger and then test to confirm I’m running low. I leave everything on the table, my needles in plain sight, and open the fridge.

  “How was baling hay?” Dad asks.

  “Tough.” I choose the container full of spaghetti and meatballs and pop the entire thing in the microwave.

  Mom’s face is pale and she keeps her eyes locked on the needles. “Spaghetti has a ton of carbs.”

  “I can afford to eat a few.” She’s still staring at the needles. “Mom.”

  “Yes?” Not paying attention to me.

  “Mom—look at me.”

  She does and I decide to not play her games anymore. I love her, just like Dad did and still does, but I understand why he couldn’t live with her anymore. Mom flies off like a nervous hummingbird and calls it finding herself when things get too serious.

  But I understand why Mom couldn’t be with Dad anymore, either. His need for consistent and constant smothered her, just like it often smothers me.

  “I have diabetes.”

  Dad relaxes back in his seat, folding his arms over his stomach. He slightly nods his approval, almost like he’s been waiting years for me to have this conversation.

  Mom’s face contorts. “I know.”

  “It’s not going away.”

  Her expression falls and bleak isn’t an emotion Mom wears well. “I know.”

  “I’m not going to hide anymore to make you comfortable. The testing, the shots. If I’m around and you’re around and I have to do these things, I am.”

  The chair jerks beneath Mom as my words hit her hard. “I have never asked you to hide.”

  “Your reactions do.”

  Mom immediately turns to Dad for confirmation or consolation, but neither happens. The microwave dings and I pull out the steaming Tupperware container. I drop it onto the table before it burns off my fingerprints, find a fork, sit and dig in.

  “You should test after,” says Dad. “I know your number was low, but—”

  “Stop.” I point the fork at Dad. “You don’t get to know my numbers anymore. Going to admit, you were right on a lot of things. I wasn’t always taking the best care of myself, but that’s done.”

  I pop a meatball in whole and breathe out when it’s too hot, but chew because the need to devour this whole damn kitchen is rocking me. A few chews and my face pinches. That’s some bad meat. “I told the guys about the diabetes.”

  “You told them?” asks Dad.

  “Told them.” Chew. “About the diabetes.” Swallow and I come close to closing my eyes on how good hot food in my stomach feels. “I’m not hiding it anymore. People want to treat me like I’m weak because of it—screw them.”

  Dad leans forward now, not missing the chance for this conversation. “How did they take it?”

  I shrug while twirling a hunk of noodles onto my fork. “Mad for the secret, concerned, confused. Then Ryan and I raced up a tree and everyone got over it.”

  “You what?” That damn exasperation is there in his voice.

  “Raced up a tree. Back to my numbers—I know how to take care of my diabetes. I know when to test, I know how and when to give my shots, I know when I’ve got problems. I’ve got one more year left until I graduate. You need to start worrying less about me and more about you.”

  “Logan,” Dad starts, but I cut him off again.

  “And what you said at the hospital, you’re right. I don’t have any idea what I want to do with my future, but you were wrong. That doesn’t mean I don’t know who I am. You may not like who I am, but I do. I do crazy shit. Why? Because I like to. Did I not test and take care of myself to hide the diabetes? Yeah, but that’s done, but I’m not going to change the rest of me. If I die doing something stupid like racing up a tree, then you can know I died being who I am. Not liking who I’ve become and telling me I don’t know who I am are two different things. You can’t control my diabetes, and you can’t change me.”

  When I glance up from the spaghetti, it’s hard to meet Dad’s eyes. He looks like I struck him. He presses his lips together and when his mouth opens like he might say something, he pushes back his chair with enough force that it squeaks against the tiles and he leaves.

  The front door slams shut and the glasses on the counter shake. I’ve lost my appetite, but I keep forcing down the food. If I don’t eat, my blood sugar will continue to tank.

  “You want to leave, too, don’t you?” I say to Mom, and when I glance up her worn-out expression tells me everything I need to know.

  “Yes,” Mom admits. “But I feel like I should stay.”

  I finish what’s in my mouth and I study her. Mom looks older tonight. More her age. A few of her curly blond strands have broken away from her ponytail and cover her face. She smooths them back.

  “Why are you here? Why wasn’t Dad at work?”

  “We didn’t like how things were left at the hospital and knew you were coming home tonight. We just wanted to spend time with you. Logan, you’ve been so...distant lately. With your friends graduating and the change in schools and this girl we didn’t know about being shot and...we feel out of touch.”

  My mind spins as I catch up too fast, too late. Spaghetti. Dad doesn’t cook spaghetti. Too many carbs. “That wasn’t a meatball, was it?”

  “It’s a meatball...without meat.”

  It was a meal made by my mother for me and I was too caught up in my problems with Abby to notice the obvious. With a blink of my eye, I finally see what I was blind to before. The dinner table set. Cut-up strawberries on the counter. Dressing for a salad.

  Damn. I came barreling in, my problems on my mind. Pointing out their flaws and I never once considered their emotions, their concerns, and how they feel about me.

  I exhale and push the container of spaghetti away. “I’m sorry.”

  Mom places her hand over mine. “What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m in love with Abby.”

  Mom smiles and when she notices I’m not smiling with her, she edges her chair closer to me. “Did she break up with you?”

  “She sells pot and in order to get out of dealing she’s leaving town. So, yeah, in a way, she is. And before you ask, I don’t do drugs. I’ve never been around her when she’s sold and yes, the dealing is why she was shot and why she’s getting out.”

  Mom goes perfectly still and after a few beats of silence, I continue. “But she’s more than a dealer. She’s crazy and funny and beautiful and smart.” I glance over at Mom. “She’s brilliant. Can keep up with me like no one else. She makes me think differently about things, about who I am and who I want to be and she’s leaving.”

  Emotion chokes me up and I just shake my head as if that can tell Mom the rest of what I can’t speak.

  “No one prepares you for any of this—being a parent,” Mom says. “There’s a ton of classes to take on having a newborn, but after that, they shove you out to be on your own.

  “Nobody could have prepared me for the fear I had when you were sick or the endless pit of panic that consumed me when they told me you were diabetic. No one told me how to take away your pain when you cried or were hurt or were frustrated. And as you got older, I had no idea how to get you to open up about the feelings trapped inside. And no one could have ever prepared me for you falling in love with a girl who deals drugs.”

  “Really?” Both me and Mom’s heads snap up to find Dad standing in the doorway that leads outside. “I fell in love with you and you’re shocked your son fell in love with a girl who sells pot?”

  Mom’s face twists as she tries to hide it, but the laugh escapes regardless and I can’t help but smile. Dad rejoins us at the table and touches the top of my head, messi
ng my hair like I was a kid, before sitting down.

  “How long were you there?” I ask.

  “Walked out front and then came straight back here. Right around the time you figured out you ate something meatless.”

  “Could have said something,” I say.

  “Could have.” He leaves out that I was too busy busting in and calling him and Mom out.

  I pick up the container with the spaghetti and meatless balls and put some on Mom’s plate and then a generous helping onto Dad’s. He scowls at the number of meatballs.

  “Sorry for screwing up dinner,” I say.

  “But we’re having it now.” Mom brightens and eats like it’s good.

  “I divorced your Mom over the cooking. Putting that on my plate means premeditation.”

  “You divorced me because I left and I couldn’t come back,” Mom says and both Dad and I go quiet. Mom’s never said that before and it’s an awkward kick in the gut. “I loved both of you, but being here every day just didn’t work for me. Sometimes I wish I was different than what I am, but I’m not.”

  Mom pushes a meatball around with her fork and I reach over and squeeze her wrist. “You’re here now and you’re here when it counts.”

  “You deserved a family that could stay intact.”

  I think of Abby’s love and adoration for her father. I think of her biological mother, who sold Abby for heroin. Yeah, I have friends that have parents with rock solid marriages, and some who don’t. None of that matters though. I think I’m pretty damn lucky with what I got.

  “You love me.” I stand, not wanting to see their reaction, open the fridge, and find the salad. “Both of you do. That’s enough.”

  I set the salad on the table and my parents have gone mute. This emotional raw sharing is new and I hope it stays new. I don’t think I could handle this bullshit often. Mom scoops some salad onto her plate and Dad eats a meatless ball, washing it down with water. All these years have passed and he’ll joke, but when it comes down to it, his plate will be clean because he still doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  That’s a real man right there.

  “Your father always preferred eating dinner late,” Mom says. “Remember when you used to work second shift and I would have food waiting for you when you walked in?”

  Dad does that grin that tells me he likes the memory. “She used to cook meat then. Real meat.”

  “It was awful. I swear I could hear the poor little things screaming as I placed it in the pan. Do you remember how we used to make love before dessert?”

  I choke on a cherry tomato. “Too much sharing.”

  “It’s natural, Logan. How else do you think you were made?”

  “Test tube. Did you miss I’m dating a drug dealer?”

  “No,” says Mom. “And we didn’t miss that you’re in love with her, that she’s leaving it, and she’s leaving you.”

  Dad just does that thing where he looks at me and I understand all the words he doesn’t know how to say. Like he’s sorry, that’s he’s been there, and it’s tough to lose someone you love.

  “Think they have a parenting book on that?” Mom asks. “My Son was Dating a Drug Dealer? Because otherwise, I don’t know what to say. Other than I’m a little concerned I might have bought from her at some point. That would have been awkward. Is she vegetarian? What was her sign?”

  I smile because Mom is being Mom and Dad starts in on how she’s too old to smoke pot. I listen to their playful banter, eat another meatless ball and look at the two people sharing dinner with me at midnight. For the moment I enjoy knowing, I’m blessed.

  Abby

  “Abby.” Nate’s deep voice causes me to jolt awake and almost roll off the couch. I immediately look over at my grandmother who is sleeping deeply in the hospital bed.

  Nate explained that Grams is too weak and fragile now for him to constantly carry her up and down the stairs. I trust Nate’s assessment. He loves her as if she was his own flesh and blood.

  The room is dark, except for light shining in from the street lamps. The grandfather clock confirms it’s after midnight and I immediately go on alert when Nate places his finger over his lips. “Someone is outside.”

  I reach for my blade positioned in my back pocket. “Did they knock?”

  “No. Walked up the stairs and sat down in the porch swing. I waited a minute or two before waking you. The guy looks settled like he’s not leaving.”

  Adrenaline rushes through me as I stand and head over to the window. I thought I had been careful returning to Louisville. Made Isaiah take several streets to make sure we weren’t followed and I haven’t called Linus since the farm.

  I don’t move the curtains, but instead squint through the small crack between them and curse under my breath. My heart beats hard twice. I’m either in a good place or a bad place, but either way I’m screwed.

  “If I leave with him call Logan immediately.”

  Nate steps in front of me as I go for the door. “I can take care of him.”

  I assess the massive man in front of me and have no doubts he could double as a bodyguard. “Stick with healing. One of us needs a clear conscience. Lock the door behind me and if he tries to come in, call the police.”

  I walk around him and hate how the door always groans when it opens. It totally kills sneaking in or out. Once I’m out into the warm night, I close the door behind me and meet the eyes of the person I had mistakenly trusted.

  “How long have you known?” I ask Linus.

  The porch swing creaks under his weight. “A while. Your dad messed up once. Years ago. Got a phone call you were sick. He was emotional. Sloppy. Didn’t watch his back and I was curious so I followed.”

  “Anyone else know?”

  “What do you think?”

  I think Grams would have already been used against me if he had told. “Guess you want me to thank you for that.”

  “There’s a lot you should thank me for.”

  I snort. “Should I thank you for knowing how Jesus felt about Judas?”

  Linus leans forward and bounces his ball against the aging wood of the porch. “It was never to go as far as it did. Tommy was just supposed to scare you and I was supposed to swoop in and save you. Tommy was pissed you knifed him. He was only supposed to scare you with a missed shot. That was it, but when you drew blood, he thought you saw him and he reacted out of instinct. Out of rage, out of fear of you fingering him, so he shot you. He was wrong.”

  “You were wrong.”

  Linus raises his head to meet my eyes and the grim reaper I recently saw in my father is there in the cold stare. “Tommy’s been dealt with, and I’m in the midst of paying penance for my sins.”

  My gut twists and I understand there’s no point in asking or pleading for Tommy. Justice, in whatever form, has been served.

  “You were pulling away, Abby. Making friends. Kissing some guy and looking at him like you cared. Fuck, it’s like you were going out of your way to break your father’s rules.”

  “You couldn’t try letting me go? I hear there’s a song with a cute snowman. You should give it a try.”

  “You were my meal ticket. My relationship with you made me important to Ricky. You quit and I lost my leverage.”

  I overly pout my bottom lip. “Oh, boo hoo. Poor Linus has to be promoted based on his own merit.” I lose the mock caring act. “Get the fuck off my porch.”

  “You really want to disappear, Abby? Because I don’t think that’s what you want.”

  “What I want is not your concern.”

  “Return to selling and I swear to God you’ll be safe and if you want to keep your friends, keep Logan, then I won’t stand in your way.”

  I throw my arms out to my sides. “Because of you I was shot! I could have di
ed!”

  “I know!” he roars as he stands. “You and your dad were the closest thing I had to a family and I’m well aware I fucked up, but you were leaving. I couldn’t let you leave.”

  I cross my arms and lower my head because I don’t want to hear or see any this. I don’t want to hear how Linus cared or see how he’s hurting. “You betrayed me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shoves his hands into his sagging jean pockets and he waits. For what I don’t know. As fucked up as Linus was, I understood him, because I was just as messed up. We were related by a man who took us in regardless of how mentally screwed in the head we were. Linus and I—we weren’t really friends, but we were allies and that used to mean something. It’s as close to being emotional as Linus would allow—as close to an emotion as I used to allow and now I’m leaving.

  “I can’t forgive you,” I say. “Not now.”

  “I know. Your dad knows what I did, but I have a feeling you know this otherwise you wouldn’t have come back into town. He’s pissed, but he understands why I did what I did.”

  Dad offered him some sort of forgiveness because our world will always be a complicated one, which is why Dad has told me to leave. Plus Dad only has so much pull left in the outside world. Touching Linus may not be one of the things he can do anymore.

  “I know you don’t want to leave, Abby.”

  “I’m not selling anymore.”

  “I get that. I thought I would offer you another out. One where you can leave selling and Ricky won’t ask you to return. One where you might walk without too much fear of repercussions later.”

  My forehead furrows as I wait for his explanation. I’ve tried to think of a thousand ways to walk from selling where Ricky wouldn’t be asking me back or wouldn’t be hunting me down in fear of what I know.

  “Remember Travis Barnell?”

  “He sold on the east side.” Did great, too. He moved up quickly. Had lots of contacts and, in the end, wasn’t a psychopath. One of those nice guys that could have done real things with his life.

  Linus raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to catch up and my lungs constrict. “You want me to get arrested? He served two years next to Dad.”