Afterward

by Jennifer Mathieu

  I had to start back at school, but I quit Jackson Family Farm. I was probably going to be fired anyway after missing three shifts in a row, but when I called Enrique to tell him I wasn’t coming back, it kind of sounded like he felt sorry for me. Maybe I was just imagining it.

  So today, after my third day of in-school suspension (my punishment for skipping), I bike over to the frozen yogurt place in the same strip mall as the Tom Thumb because they have a HELP WANTED sign in their window. When I walk in, I see this guy named Jesse who’s a year younger than me working the counter.

  “Hey,” he says. There’s no one else in here but us. I stare at the sign above Jesse’s head.

  NEW FLAVOR EXPLOSION! SUPER CHOCOLICIOUS MINT FREEEZ!

  “Do you really explode when you eat that kind?” I say, motioning at the sign.

  “I don’t actually consume this stuff,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes. But he kind of grins when he says it.

  “I’m here for an application,” I say. “I saw the sign in the window.”

  Jesse nods and heads in the back and then comes out with a piece of paper.

  “Most places let you apply online, but when I called, the owner said I had to come in,” I say, taking the paper and sitting down at one of the sticky tables so I can fill it out.

  “Yeah, the boss is sort of old school, but she’s cool,” Jesse says. “Hey, you’re Caroline, right? You’re a junior?”

  “Yeah,” I say, and I’m not sure if he knows me because of what happened with Dylan or because it’s Dove Lake, and knowing people you’ve never actually talked to before isn’t all that weird.

  “I’m Jesse,” he says.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” I say. “You’re a sophomore?”

  He nods.

  “So working here’s not so bad?”

  “Honestly, no. It’s pretty easy and you can have two cups of free frozen yogurt on each shift. But I’ve heard the sugar-free stuff gives you diarrhea.”

  “Gross,” I say, wrinkling up my nose. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “No problem.” He laughs and so do I. I leave my application with him and say goodbye, then bike home and head inside my empty house. As I shut the front door, my phone buzzes, and even though I know it’s stupid, I can’t help but think maybe it’s Ethan. But it’s only Jesse from the frozen yogurt place.

  “Hey, I just gave your application to Jana, and she says can you start tomorrow? She wants you Tuesdays and Thursdays after school until close and Saturdays 10 to 6.”

  “That was fast,” I say.

  “Well, you’re the only one who’s applied, so…”

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah. I can start tomorrow.”

  “Okay, cool. I’ll tell her.”

  Jesse’s voice is cute. He’s pretty cute in the face, too, I admit, but his voice is even cuter. Like all buttery and breathy and dreamy and soft.

  “Do you work tomorrow, too?”

  “Yeah,” Jesse says. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

  “Okay. Just make sure to point out the sugar-free stuff.”

  “No doubt.”

  I hang up and throw my backpack on the floor before flopping down on my bed.

  Even if he is a sophomore, Jesse is cute.

  As soon as I have the thought, I roll my eyes at myself. Jesse seems a lot more together than Jason, but the truth is when it comes to guys I’m pretty sure I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I need to stop thinking about whether boys are cute or not. Maybe I just need to get a job at this yogurt place and start doing my homework and be normal for a while. If only I could figure out what exactly normal is.

  I hear the front door open and the heavy-footed sounds of my dad coming in. Since he moved back last week it’s been the usual: moments of relative peace interrupted by fights late at night and frowny scowls and uncomfortable silences, their meanings as thick as milkshakes.

  I stare at the ceiling of my bedroom trying to think about what I need to do to get my shit together. Calm down about Jesse. Maybe put forth some effort on a homework assignment for once. Keep practicing guitar in case Ethan wants to be my friend again. A moment later the front door opens again, followed by the yelps and shrieks of Dylan crying. My stomach sinks, and I wonder if Dylan’s freak out will be enough to make my dad turn around and move out again. Whether he stays or goes doesn’t matter to me, but I wish he would just pick one and stick to it.

  “Caroline, will you help, please!” My mom’s voice is strained. On edge.

  I don’t want to go out there. I’m the worst sister on Earth. The worst person, actually. Because at this moment I would rather hide in here all night and go to bed starving than go out there.

  But I think about my little brother and I force myself to get up and go down the hall into the kitchen where Dylan is flapping his arms over and over, which is something he does when he’s trying to calm himself down. He’s making little squeaky noises and his face is twisted up in pain and worry.

  “Damn, damn, piece of cake,” he’s saying. “Piece of cake, damn, damn.” This again.

  My dad is sitting at the kitchen table, still in his work shirt and jeans, watching it all like we’re a movie and he’s just part of the audience.

  “Dilly, Dilly, Dill Pickle,” I say, crossing the kitchen floor to stand near him. If Dylan’s really upset, like he is right now, like he is so much lately, he doesn’t want anyone to touch him. He moves away from me, flapping his arms and scrunching up his face so hard I know it has to hurt.

  “I stopped to get some pizza for dinner, and he just started melting down by the cash register,” my mom says, sliding a greasy cardboard box onto the kitchen counter along with her purse and car keys. “I almost left without our food.”

  I can see my dad’s body slump with frustration. “Pizza, Mindy?” he says. “There’s seventy-five dollars in the checking account until next week.”

  My mom acts like my dad hasn’t said anything. As if he’s still gone the way he was most of last week. She just pushes past me and starts getting stuff out of the refrigerator to make a salad. Frustration burns inside. It would be nice if she at least appreciated me for helping.

  “Dill Pickle,” I say, touching him gently on the shoulder, “let’s go watch Jeopardy!, okay?”

  He scowls and flaps some more.

  “Jeopardy!, Dill Pickle. Jeopardy!”

  This is enough to get him to stop flapping. And after a little more pleading on my part, he heads down the hallway toward my parents’ bedroom.

  “Thanks so much for your help,” I remark to my dad as I walk past him, my voice sugary sweet. He shoots a don’t-mess-with-me look, but we both know there’s not enough energy behind it to matter.

  Dylan crawls onto my mom and dad’s bed, and I find the Jeopardy! episode he loves so much. When the opening song flickers on, he scoots to the edge of the bed, his sweet, light eyes fixated on the action, his little boy face finally relaxing into something of a smile.

  Down the hall, I hear the hum of one of my parents’ fights starting to build, and I shut the door so Dylan and I don’t have to hear it.

  I can’t take much more of this back and forth between my parents. My dad is worse but even my mom acts selfishly sometimes. It’s like she cares more about getting the last word in with my father than making this house a halfway tolerable place to live. I wish she’d just kick my dad out.

  There is so much of me that wants to jump up and dart out of here, get on my bike, and pedal as fast as I can away from all of this. But I don’t. I can’t. I just keep my eyes on my baby brother as he nods along with the electronic game show theme song. I swallow him up with my eyes and my heart, and I promise myself that I won’t ever let him get hurt again.

  ETHAN—260 DAYS AFTERWARD

  Even though Dr. Greenberg’s sessions have gotten a lot better, the family sessions with Dr. Sugar are still totally uncomfortable and weird. He’s always giving us assignments. He actually calls them action items, and my mom taps them into he
r phone so she can review them later.

  The last time we met, we talked about all of us needing to practice being independent, especially me. Like how I should be able to be alone for stretches of time. And how my mom and dad can text me while I’m alone but only a reasonable amount. And how if they text me, I have to text right back.

  “It’s about building trust and establishing those functional and healthy relationships with each other as a family again,” says Dr. Sugar. Unlike Dr. Greenberg, Dr. Sugar wears some fancy new suit during each session, and he has a secretary who wears perfume and keeps track of all his appointments in a MacBook Air. Dr. Greenberg schedules stuff himself in a spiral notebook.

  One of Dr. Sugar’s action items is why I’m here now, climbing out of my mom’s Volvo and onto the sidewalk in front of the frozen yogurt place where Jesse works.

  “I’m going to go to the Tom Thumb and get what we need for dinner and a few other things, just what’s on this list, and then I’ll text you when I’m ready to leave, okay?” my mom tells me, only for the five millionth time. She waves a pink piece of paper in the air with eggs, milk-skim, milk-2%, whole wheat bread, soy sauce and a bunch of other stuff written on it.

  “Got it,” I say, nodding. We stand there outside of the yogurt place, neither one of us sure who should move first. My mom not wanting to move at all. Her cheeks are pink, and she swallows and looks at the space between me and the yogurt shop. It’s maybe twenty feet. And I think she’s going to stand here on the sidewalk and watch me until I make it inside.

  “Mom, go get the groceries,” I say, and I force a smile to try and encourage her. “I’m going right in. It’s okay.”

  “You have your money and your phone?”

  I nod. She’s asked me that five million times, too.

  “All right, well, have fun catching up with Jesse!” she says, her voice trying way too hard to make it normal. Like most sixteen-year-old guys get dropped off at a frozen yogurt place by their moms so they can hang out there for thirty minutes. Like that’s what all the really cool, normal teenage guys are doing.

  I’m not cool. Or normal.

  “Okay,” I say, and I turn toward the yogurt place and she turns to go, but as I make it to the door and pull open the handle, I catch a glimpse of her, and she’s walking toward the grocery store looking over her shoulder, keeping an eye on me. As soon as she catches me catching her, she waves. Like, oh, see you, honey, just have a great time at the yogurt place, la la la, it’s no big deal.

  I love my mom so much.

  And she drives me crazy.

  And this makes me feel terrible.

  I walk in. It smells like plastic and something super sweet, and really terrible music from at least ten years ago is playing on the radio. Jesse is behind the counter and when he sees me walk in, he gives me a little wave. He knew I was coming. When Dr. Sugar suggested I go somewhere alone, my parents thought going to visit Jesse at work would be a good idea. So I texted him to let him know I’d be stopping by today. We don’t really text. Not like Caroline and me texted. But he wrote me back right away and said okay.

  “Hey, man,” Jesse says, giving me a good-natured grin. Over his clothes he’s wearing a bright pink apron with pictures of smiling, dancing spoons on the front.

  “Hey,” I say, feeling awkward. Hanging out and playing video games at my house with Jesse is okay, but seeing him here out in the world means we have to talk, which we don’t do when we’re playing video games.

  “Man, how’s it going, man?” he says. I think Jesse is nervous, too, which is probably why he keeps saying man.

  “Okay, I guess.” I’m trying to act cool, but I’m not sure how. My mind flashes on Bennie and Narciso at the apartment complex. They were cool. I felt cool sometimes hanging out with them. Even though I always wondered when they were going to guess the truth about me, even though they never did. But when the three of us would hang out and chill behind the abandoned strip mall near the apartment complex, I was the happiest I could be in the worst time of my life.

  I’m not sure if Bennie and Narciso were my friends. Can you be friends with someone when you’re so messed up you don’t even know who you are, really? And if I’m still messed up, can I be real friends with Jesse again?

  Or Caroline?

  “You want some fro yo?” Jesse says, busting into my thoughts. I’m just standing there like a weirdo. He’s probably wishing I wasn’t here.

  “Yeah, I guess, chocolate,” I say, just to be saying something. The idea of actually eating any of this stuff makes my stomach knot up.

  “Sprinkles?”

  “Sure.”

  Suddenly the door opens behind me and I turn and if it isn’t Caroline herself running in. Like she knew I was thinking about her. I stare. It’s been weeks since that night at the creek.

  “Sorry I’m late, Jesse,” she says, not even realizing I’m standing there. “I had to talk to Mrs. Garcia about making up some math homework.”

  “Hey,” I say. And she looks up at me and actually jumps.

  “Oh!” she says, her eyes wide. “Hey.”

  I think about the last time we saw each other and what we were doing. My cheeks warm up just thinking about it. I think Caroline’s do, too.

  “Hey, you know Caroline?” Jesse says, sliding a cup of sprinkle-covered yogurt across the counter. Then it’s like he does the math in his head. “Oh, yeah, of course you do.” But Jesse only knows about what happened with me and Dylan. He doesn’t know about those months when Caroline and I played music. Became friends.

  “How much for the yogurt?” I ask.

  “On the house,” says Jesse.

  “Thanks,” I say. I take the plastic spoon he hands me and shovel some into my mouth. It tastes like ice-cold chemicals.

  Caroline is heading behind the counter and tying on one of those pink aprons. She takes her long hair and puts it up in a ponytail. Just then a mom and her little girl walk in, and Caroline gets to helping them. I stand to the side and force myself to finish the frozen yogurt, feeling out of place. Almost wishing my mom would text me just to give me something to do. I’m kind of surprised she hasn’t yet.

  “So how’s everything going?” Jesse asks.

  “Okay,” I say. Caroline is ringing up the mom. I’m sure she can hear us.

  “Still working with that tutor?” Jesse asks.

  “Yeah, I am. It’s going okay.”

  “You think you’ll be coming back to school next year?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “It’s only February. So there’s time to decide. And I have to make sure I’m caught up enough to be in regular classes.”

  “You were always in accelerated when we were kids,” Jesse says. “I bet you can do it no problem.”

  After the mom and her kid have walked out, Caroline busies herself wiping down the already clean counter. When I glance over at her I feel my throat tighten up. Like if I were all by myself I would let myself start crying.

  “Don’t you think Ethan is ready to come back to school?” Jesse asks her. “Don’t you think he could handle it?”

  Caroline scrubs the counter even harder and doesn’t look at me. “I’m sure he could handle it,” she says. She glances up for a half second and catches my eye. Then she looks back down at the counter again.

  I think about what Dr. Greenberg said. How when you’re going through something difficult, you can become reckless without meaning to be. I remember what Caroline told me about her parents fighting. I remember how it sometimes seemed like she never wanted to go home.

  My phone buzzes. Grateful for the distraction, I look down. It’s my mom checking in.

  Almost done with the shopping. I’ll be outside the yogurt shop right by the Volvo in a few minutes. I’ll text you when I get to the Volvo.

  She mentions the Volvo twice, like she thinks I might forget and go to the wrong car or something. I text her back a quick okay and that I’m fine.

  I finish the yogurt, and Jesse and I talk abo
ut video games and how he’s almost saved up enough for this used car his cousin wants to sell him and a little bit about college basketball. The whole time Caroline acts all busy, taking boxes into the back, cleaning stuff she’s already cleaned once, helping customers as they walk in. Each time Jesse tries to help, she says she’s got it.

  “It’s okay. Take a break and talk to your friend.” The way she says the word friend, it sort of hangs there, lonely and sad.

  While I try to make small talk with Jesse, my mind drifts to thinking about playing music with Caroline in the garage. Talking to Jesse is okay. It’s fun to play video games with him, and he’s always really nice and everything. But hanging out with him won’t ever be like the way it was when Caroline and I were hanging out.

  When my mom texts me that she’s waiting, I tell Jesse I have to get going.

  “Let’s hang out soon,” he says. “Or stop by whenever.”

  “Okay,” I say. Caroline is cracking open rolls of coins to put in the register.

  “Bye, Caroline,” I say, and when she hears her name she looks up and nods, uncertainly.

  “Bye, Ethan,” she says, giving me a tentative half wave.

  I actually witness my mom’s whole body relax when she sees me walk out of the frozen yogurt place in one piece. Alive. Safe.

  “Was it nice seeing Jesse?” she says as I help her load the bags into the back of the car. Her voice goes all sing-song, and I can already hear her telling Dr. Sugar how well everything went during this action item.

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to sound upbeat.

  “So great, honey,” she says as we get in. “I’m so proud of you. So proud of us!” She’s almost giddy driving home.

  Later on that night in my bedroom after dinner, I put on some White Stripes and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I pull out my phone and text Caroline.

  Hey

  A minute later I get a hey in response.

  How’s it working with Jesse? What happened with the farm?

  Quit the farm. Working with Jesse is pretty good … but that frozen yogurt tastes so fucking terrible

  I know … I ate mine just to be nice