Don't Forget Me

by Victoria Stevens

  “I did.” Marc rubbed his forehead as if what he’d really been suffering from all this time was a headache, not the heartache the rest of them were dealing with.

  They both watched the smoke start to rise upward in silence. His father breathed it in, savored it, but didn’t once lift the cigarette to his lips. Red figured that, at forty-four, his dad didn’t need a lecture on secondhand smoke. He wished he had his camera right now. This would make a great picture for Hodgkins’s stupid assignment that he still hadn’t finished. The silver of the smoke, his father silhouetted against the pink sky. It was the most obnoxiously perfect composition.

  Here’s my fucking family, in all its honest glory. Mum in tears inside the house, Luca God knows where, and Dad here, passive smoking like a stressed-out teenager. How’s that for honesty?

  “Sometimes,” Marc said eventually, “I wonder why I bother coming back.”

  “Dad…”

  “Your mum has been telling me how much better things seem to be, but now I’m here … You’re all better off without me, that much is obvious.”

  Red balled his hands up into fists, resisting the urge to punch them as hard as he could into his father’s chest over and over and over, because it was too much and every time Red thought it was getting better it just didn’t.

  “You’re not the problem, Dad,” he muttered. “You just don’t help.”

  Marc raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re too hard on him.”

  “Too hard?” he echoed. “I’ve barely said a word to the boy.”

  “Yeah,” Red said flatly. “I think that might be the problem.”

  Marc narrowed his eyes at Red. “Are you giving me lip?”

  “No, Dad. I’m just saying it’s been almost a year now and—”

  “Nearly a year, exactly!” he said. He wasn’t angry at Red; Red knew that. He wasn’t even angry at Luca, although he did a good job of pretending otherwise; he was just angry at the world. “I thought things would have been back to normal by now!”

  “Just because things aren’t normal doesn’t mean you can’t love him like you always have,” Red said sharply. “Just like the fact that he isn’t running doesn’t mean you can’t be proud of him. Can you not see how hard he’s trying? Can’t you see you’re not helping by pretending he doesn’t even exist?”

  “I want him back. Is that so wrong of me? To want the old, happy Luca back? To want my son back?”

  “He’s still right here,” Red said. “You just stopped looking.”

  He met his father’s eye.

  “You might miss him,” he added softly, “but I guarantee that Luca misses you more.”

  Marc didn’t speak for a long, long moment. “You’re right,” he said then, dropping his cigarette on the ground and stamping it out with his foot. “I need to fix it.”

  * * *

  When Luca was done running, he began to walk home slowly, feeling drained, vulnerable. There had been moments in the past couple of months where he’d had hope, usually on the track with Hazel. Moments when he didn’t feel lost, when he felt like he wasn’t floating in limbo, when he could really feel, and it wasn’t the end of the world.

  But the moments were just that, only moments, and he always came right back to here no matter how hard he tried. He’d been buried in bubble wrap and suffocated by his mum and Redleigh—and now his dad was back and full of that same old disappointment.

  When Luca saw that his father’s Audi was still in the driveway, he almost turned and walked away again. He let himself into the house anyway, bracing for the fallout from dinner.

  “Luca?” his mum called from the kitchen.

  He froze in the hallway. “I’m going to bed. Don’t feel well.”

  “Can we talk for a minute? Please?”

  Luca closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before opening them. He walked into the kitchen, where his mum and dad were sitting at the counter. Claire eyed her son warily like she was trying to ascertain whether or not he was likely to detonate right there in the middle of the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” Luca said finally when no one spoke, voice cracking.

  “Luca,” Claire said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I wasn’t talking about dinner.”

  Her face fell as she realized what he was apologizing for: not just for tonight, but for every single day since Ryan died. For every family meal he had missed. Every conversation he wouldn’t have. Every time he got in a fight or missed school or refused to take his meds. Every time he shut them out and pushed them away and buried himself in his grief. “Sweetheart…”

  He shook his head, because this was something he had to say. “I’m sorry that I can’t just get over this, and I’m sorry that I can’t make everything go back to normal. I wish I could. I really, really wish … I’d do anything. I would. But I don’t know how.”

  “You lost your best friend, Luc,” she said softly. “No one is expecting everything to be like it used to. We just want to know that you’re okay.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  His mum didn’t answer, just held his gaze from across the counter like she was scared of what might happen if she tried to speak. Luca turned to look at his father. Marc looked ashamed, and sad, and scared all at once.

  Marc wet his lips. “You’ll get past this.”

  “How do you know that? You don’t know anything. You haven’t even fucking been here.”

  “Language, Luca,” his mum said absently, but her voice was still soft, still careful, with none of the bite she used when she reprimanded Redleigh for cursing in front of her. And that was it, that was the thing that Luca hated most: how she and Redleigh were always handling him with kid gloves, like if they made one false move he might explode and destroy everything. Luca knew they were doing it with the best intentions, giving him space and treating him gently to protect him and let him heal, but he was so tired of it. So tired of it being just Hazel, of all people, who was the only one in his life who wasn’t afraid to talk to him straight or call him out on his moods or hold him accountable for his actions.

  That’s why he liked training with her so much—not because she was particularly good at it, but because she didn’t treat him like the poor, broken boy with the dead best friend.

  Luca stepped toward his mum until he was standing right in front of her, eye to eye. “Shout at me,” he said.

  “What do you—”

  “Shout at me!” he repeated. “Tell me off! Send me to my room for swearing, punish me. Shout at me, Mum! Treat me like you’d treat Redleigh, treat me like you would have treated me before. Pretend you don’t think I’ll fall to pieces if you do. Just shout at me!”

  “Luca—”

  “Please,” he begged, tears glistening in his eyes, and he was so, so tired. “Please, Mum. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

  Claire pulled her son against her chest, folding him into her arms and holding on tight, holding him together, and he finally let himself cry.

  * * *

  By the time Luca and his mum had stopped crying, the light outside the kitchen windows had faded to black. After being assured repeatedly by Luca that he was okay, Claire excused herself from the kitchen and disappeared upstairs.

  Marc, who had been mostly quiet during the conversation, hesitated for a moment and then stood from the counter. He gestured awkwardly toward the kettle.

  “Do you…?”

  “Please,” Luca said. Now that the tears had stopped, he felt … lighter. Calmer. He’d been totally honest with his parents about how he was coping—or how he wasn’t coping, rather—and it was fine. The world hadn’t collapsed. He hadn’t exploded, and nothing was destroyed. The relief was overwhelming.

  His dad set about making tea and then brought two cups over to the counter, sliding one across to Luca. Luca thanked him quietly, took a careful sip, and waited.

  “Well,” his dad said finally.


  “Well.”

  “Your brother gave me a very stern talking-to while you were out.”

  Luca smiled wryly despite himself. “Sounds like Redleigh.”

  “He shouldn’t have had to, but I think I needed it.” Marc hung his head, eyebrows drawn like he was struggling to find the right words. “Look, Luc. Your mum was right. I know I haven’t been around much lately, but that isn’t your fault. That’s all on me, all right? That was my choice. My mistake.”

  “I … Okay?”

  “The truth is that I was scared.”

  His stomach dropped. “Of me?”

  “No, Luca. Of losing you. I could feel you pulling away, and I didn’t know how to help you so I just … I stayed away. I stayed away, and I’m sorry.”

  “Dad—”

  “No. I’m sorry. You went through something horrible, and instead of being supportive I pushed you away.”

  “Because I made you. I was difficult.”

  His mouth twisted upward. “You’re my son, Luca, you’re supposed to be difficult. That’s what families are—difficult and complex and imperfect. But if nothing else, they’re supposed to be there for each other. And I wasn’t there for you. And if I could go back and undo that, I would in a heartbeat.” He met Luca’s eyes again and held his gaze, and Luca swallowed past the lump in his throat. “But I can’t. So I’m sorry.”

  Luca exhaled shakily, fighting the urge to start crying again. His father looked as close to tears as he felt, but Luca knew that he’d needed to say that as much as Luca had needed to hear it. “Thank you. That really … Thank you.”

  Marc’s shoulders sagged with relief, like he’d been afraid that Luca would reject his apology. Once upon a time, he might’ve done—but not anymore. An apology wasn’t going to magically fix or change anything, but it was a start. It was a step in the right direction.

  “I’m going to be better,” his father promised then, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m going to try my hardest.”

  “I know,” Luca said, but what he really meant was, Yeah, me too.

  Dear Mum,

  I remember the time you bought me my first pair of heels. They weren’t very high, barely even an inch, but I felt so grown-up. You spent hours teaching me how to walk in them, how to stand up tall and be proud of myself.

  You told me to be careful and to only wear them around the house until I was used to them. I didn’t listen. I wore them out to the shops. I fell over a rock, twisted my ankle, and fell flat on my face, but you didn’t tell me off. You just tended to the cuts on my chin and my hands and told me that it would come with practice.

  Several years later, it finally has. You were right, Mum. As always.

  I miss you, Mum, but I remember.

  Love,

  Hazel

  26

  Things had been so weird at home since his father’s return the day before that Red couldn’t wait to get out of the house and meet Hazel on the beach Monday night. Not uncomfortable weird, just different. Luca had assured him before school this morning that everything was okay, but you wouldn’t know it from the way everyone was tiptoeing around one another. This tentative peace was better than the alternative, though.

  Hazel was already there when he arrived, climbing to her feet to greet him. “Hey, you.”

  Red didn’t say anything, just drew her into his arms and nestled himself into her neck, holding her tighter than ever before. She held him back just as tight and didn’t ask any questions until he’d pulled away.

  “Everything okay?” she asked him softly.

  Red nodded. “It’s been one of those days.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation there’s only about three minutes of it left.”

  He smiled gratefully and sank to the sand. Hazel followed suit, and they sat in silence for a while, her head resting on his shoulder.

  “My dad’s home,” he said after a few minutes had passed.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Red said, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “It’s just that having him back has thrown everything off, you know? He hasn’t been around for so long and now that he is it feels weird. It’s like we’re all back in the past or something, back in Sydney after Ryan—”

  He stopped suddenly, eyes wide. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, Hazel wasn’t supposed to know about Ryan. That was Luca’s secret to tell, and now he’d gone and opened his big mouth and Luca was going to—

  “It’s okay,” Hazel said hastily. “He told me.”

  Red blinked at her. What? “He did?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t mean to, I don’t think, but he did. When he was drunk at Kayla’s party.”

  “Did he tell you everything?”

  “He told me Ryan died, yeah, but not how—and he doesn’t remember telling me, so I never said anything. I figured that if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me again. Sober. That’s why you moved away from Sydney, wasn’t it? Because of Ryan. So that Luca could have a fresh start.”

  “That place was killing him,” Red said. “Everything there reminded him of what he’d lost. So we left.”

  “And what about you? Didn’t you have a life there?”

  He shrugged. “Of course I did. So did Mum and Dad—but that’s the thing about the people you love, isn’t it? You’d do anything in the world to make them happy, fuck the consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

  Hazel turned her gaze out to the ocean. “I guess I do,” she said. She swallowed hard. “Speaking of which, there’s something I really need to talk to you about.”

  “To do with your mum?”

  “Kind of. And also to do with Luca.”

  Red shifted to look at her. She looked nervous, or upset, or maybe both. “What is it?”

  She wet her lips. “It’s…”

  “What, Hazel?”

  She shook her head; she couldn’t do it. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  He studied her for a moment, trying to get a read on her expression, but she’d closed herself off. He knew better than to push her; she’d talk when she was ready. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the waves.

  “Do you ever get mad at her?” Red asked then. “Your mum, I mean. Even though none of what happened to you both was her fault, even though you don’t blame her. Do you ever get mad anyway?”

  Hazel nodded. “I get frustrated. By the situation.”

  “You do?”

  “I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.”

  “It’s like everyone knows how painful it is to lose someone, but no one ever talks about how hard it is to watch someone you love lose someone. To have to watch them grieving and not be able to help. And now Dad’s back, and Luca says it’s fine, but … what if it’s not?”

  “He’ll get better, Red.”

  “I know. Doesn’t make me any less of a shitty person for thinking it, though.”

  Hazel found Red’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed her hand back, and then let go. “I used to be so jealous of him,” he admitted.

  “Of Luca?” said Hazel.

  “Of Ryan.”

  She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, waiting.

  “Being a twin is special,” he explained. “It’s not like having a brother. It’s like being two halves of the same whole, having a person who’s preprogrammed to be your best friend. Except I was never Luc’s best friend. Ryan was.”

  Red hung his head. “I could never compete with him. He and Luc had so much more in common than we ever did, and Ryan was such a genuinely nice guy, which made it worse. Mum and Dad loved him too. He was like part of the family, and I hated sharing them with him. I spent so much time when I was younger wishing he would just disappear so I’d get my twin back.”

  “And then,” Hazel said quietly, “he did.”

  Red still remembered it now: the moment Claire had told him what had happened. His first reaction had been flat-out denial. No, don’t say that. You’re wrong, Mum. You’re
wrong. He can’t be dead.

  “I never wanted him to die,” he whispered. “I just wanted Luc to like me as much as he liked him.”

  “He does,” Hazel said. “Luca loves you.”

  “And I love him,” he said, raising his head to look at her. “I’m just worried that that’s not enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dad promised to try harder, but I’m worried Luca’s going to go back to shutting us all out now that he’s home.” He paused, one side of his mouth turning upward into a wry smile. “And just when I thought he might have gotten himself a secret girlfriend, too.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “He’s started wearing aftershave and styling his hair again. In Sydney he only used to do that when he fancied someone.”

  “Oh,” Hazel said.

  “Maybe it’s Maddie,” Red said thoughtfully. “Do you think he might fancy Maddie?”

  “Maybe?”

  “I’m pretty sure Hunter would kick his ass if he went near her,” he said.

  “You really think he has a girlfriend?”

  “Well, he disappears for hours at a time.” He shrugged. “He sneaks out and thinks no one notices. I don’t know where else he’d be going.”

  “Maybe he’s just going to get some fresh air?” she said.

  “Maybe,” he agreed. “I was hoping he was seeing someone, though. That would be a big step back to normal.”

  Hazel said nothing, just smiled down at the sand.

  27

  After realizing that cricket wasn’t his sport of choice, Hunter had finally decided that the next one he was going to try was tennis. Maddie offered to give him a quick lunchtime crash course in it before the practice after school on Tuesday so he wouldn’t make a complete idiot of himself, and Hazel joined them at the court to watch.

  Hazel knew Hunter wasn’t especially athletic or graceful, but she thought—wrongly—that he might have been able to grasp the basics of tennis. He was hopeless, although Maddie managed to do a pretty good job of convincing him otherwise. He didn’t have a single iota of hand-eye coordination, and every time Maddie prepared to serve the ball, he fumbled with the racket, complaining that he couldn’t hold it right.