by M. E. Carter
Her comment irritates me. It’s not said with malice, more as a statement, but it still goes back to one of the huge reasons Greer needed to be closer to me . . . no one understands the situation like I do. The massive amount of judgement she gets about her parenting skills is wearing on her. I hope explaining it will help Joie understand because if not, we’re going to have some big problems.
“Joie, his short-term memory doesn’t work right. You can ground him all day long, but the only thing that will do is cause him more frustration. He has to be dealt with moment by moment. He has to be rewarded for the fact that he didn’t break anything. You’re seeing this as the mom of a normal child. Isaac would respond to normal discipline. Oli wouldn’t understand it within a few minutes and would think people are just being mean to him. Just because he doesn’t look disabled on the outside doesn’t mean he’s not disabled on the inside. You can’t just say ‘Well if she’d discipline him differently,’ because you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to live with it day in and day out. To try every form of therapy you can find and none of them work. This isn’t a discipline issue. It’s a brain function issue.”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and I notice she’s wringing her hands. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I’ve just never seen anything like that.”
I sigh, disappointed in myself for my overreaction. Grabbing her hand, I intertwine our fingers and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing them. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have taken that tone with you. It’s confusing right now because you haven’t been around anyone with brain damage before. It’ll become more normal the more you get to know him.”
She nods and stares out the window. I let her absorb the information I’ve given her and wait for her to initiate more conversation. I don’t want her to think Oli is a bad kid. He’s not. He’s loving and empathetic. He’s inquisitive and tries really hard to be funny. He’s so many things people don’t see. All they see is a seventeen-year-old. They don’t know he has the brain of an eight-year-old.
“Maybe . . .” she finally says, “maybe if I knew what his diagnoses are I could look up more information, so I could understand better, ya know?”
“Maybe.” Hopefully. But just knowing she wants to understand and not make assumptions reassures me. “He’s diagnosed with a major depressive disorder . . .”
She gasps. “He’s got depression?”
I nod and look over at her quizzically. “Well yeah. He has brain damage, but he’s smart enough to know he’s not like everyone else and he wants to be. That alone probably takes a toll on his psyche.”
“Oh, I didn’t think about that. What else?”
“Something called Mood Dysregulation Disorder. Basically it means he has a hard time pulling himself back together when he gets upset, like you just saw. Then you add on the brain damage and the autism piece, and Oli is a cocktail of so many issues, it’s unreal.”
“I knew you said he had issues, Jack, but . . . wow.” She shakes her head back and forth as she processes all the information. “I can’t imagine what Greer must deal with every day.”
I shrug. “Some days are better than others.”
She goes quiet again as I drive to the sandwich shop. I squeeze her hand in reassurance. I love this woman. She owns me. I only hope she can learn to love Oli like I do.
“I’m going to do my best, Jack,” she says, as I pull into the parking lot. “It might take me a little time, but this is your family. That makes them a part of my life now. No matter what the issue.”
I squeeze her hand again as I park then pull her to me and kiss her hard.
“I love you,” I say when I finally pull away. “Thank you.”
She responds by cupping my cheek and kissing me again.
It has been long discouraging week.
It started when Isaac finally called me about his dad. He had initially been leery about Charlie’s calls, but the more they talked, the more he was encouraged that maybe his dad was finally wanting a real relationship. Of course that made me concerned. Even though I know Isaac has a right to know his father, it’s not easy for a mother to forgive years of hurt and disappointment.
As it turns out, there’s no reason to forgive Charlie, anyway. Today, he called and asked Isaac for season passes for next year. So I got to listen to Isaac rant about the whole situation, while trying to remain calm, even though inside I was boiling over with fury. Mama Bear mode was in full force. But I couldn’t let Isaac know that.
Then I had an honest conversation with myself about my reactions to Oli. It was hard for me to admit it, but I’m afraid of him. It’s not the disability as much as it’s his physical size with this kind of disability. So I did some research about brain damage. Unfortunately, there are so many kinds that basically no one’s is the same. The only thing most everyone has in common is that once the brain is damaged, there’s very little that can be done to fix it. So Oli will always be the way he is.
But this is Jack’s family, so somehow I have to get my fear under control. I know I’ll feel better when I get up to speed and understand Oli’s condition better. It feels like such a daunting task, and I’ve only had a few days to wrap my brain around it.
To top it all off, it became clear that my Bio II professor is intent on killing my GPA. He sprung a pop quiz on us just because. With finals coming up, the last thing I needed was a just because quiz that wasn’t on the syllabus. I understand that’s why it’s called a pop quiz, but this is college. We’re adults. We don’t need a professor springing additional grades on us to make a point about us needing to study more. We need to be taught the information so we can pass the tests that are listed on the syllabus.
After a full day of school, I’m really glad to be home. All I want to do is throw my hair up, take a nice, hot bubble bath, and drink a glass of wine. After everything that has happened, I really need some downtime.
Walking up my stoop and opening the door, I hear the tub calling my name, but I’m stopped in my tracks. I’m not even three steps in the house and already twitchy.
“Or not.”
My already sour mood plummets. There is a pile of unfolded laundry on the couch. Jack’s shoes are in the middle of the floor. A mostly empty pizza box, except for a few crusts, sits on the dining room table among papers strewn everywhere.
I can feel myself tensing as I walk around finding dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and two empty beer bottles on the counter. It’s not even late. How can one man cause so much destruction in a couple hours?
Jack saunters into the kitchen, his face lighting up when he sees me. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into an embrace. I want to melt into him, but even being enveloped in him isn’t helping my stress level this time.
“I just got home. What’s going on in the dining room?”
“What’s . . .? Oh, the paperwork.” He kisses my head and walks over to the table. “These are last-minute scholarship requests. Hank and I have to go through them to finalize everything.”
I don’t pretend to understand the ins and outs of everything Jack does when it comes to the business side of football. Actually, I don’t understand a lot of what they do, even the physical part. But it’s the beginning of May. I thought this was already over.
“Wasn’t this all done months ago? Isn’t it really late to award scholarships?”
He sits down in his chair and stretches his legs out. “We always have some last-minute changes. Remember that kid, Tommy? The one who went to rehab?”
“Oh no. He’s losing his scholarship?”
“Hell yeah,” Jack says forcefully. “The investigation came back. Not only was he doping, he was dealing on the side.”
I gasp. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. He was always really quiet, kept to himself. I thought he was an introvert or something. Nope. He was just keeping a low profile, keeping his side business away from the team. He’d have been caught a l
ong time ago otherwise.”
“And he would have gotten away with it if someone hadn’t tipped you guys off.”
“Yep.” Jack absentmindedly rubs his knee, grimacing every once in a while. It must be bothering him. It’s an old injury and still acts up when he’s been sitting for too long. I don’t think he realizes he rubs it sometimes, but it’s one of those small things I’ve learned about him since he moved in. “And we lost a freshman tight end, too.”
“What? How?”
“The dumb ass blew his knee skiing over spring break of all things. His first ortho told him he couldn’t play football again, but he waited for a few weeks to get a second opinion before reneging his spot. Pissed me off he didn’t give us a heads-up back in March.”
“I take it the second doctor confirmed it?”
“Career-ending knee injury. The dumb ass knew better. It’s almost better this way. We don’t need stupid on this team.”
I walk over to the sink and begin doing dishes. I might as well multitask because it’ll irritate me until it’s done anyway. So much for my relaxing evening. “That’s not nice. You know he didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Every football player knows skiing is practically begging for a career-ending injury.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Every single one?”
He watches me scrub but doesn’t offer to help. “Every one that’s gunning for a scholarship. He’s probably been working for this since he was eight years old. It was a dumb move.”
“I think you’re being too hard on him.”
Jack’s lips quirk into a small smile before he stands up and walks out of the room. That’s strange. When he returns, he has my phone in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He angles my phone toward me to show me a text he just sent Isaac.
What do you think about going skiing in Tahoe for Thanksgiving this year?
I snicker. “You think he’s going to turn that down?”
“He will if he’s as smart as I think he is.” Jack puts my phone down on the counter and leans against it while I begin drying the now clean plates that I really don’t want to be doing. But what am I going to do? Let them mold? “Anyway, we have to decide who’s going to get the money now. Someone we already have, or do we give a partial recipient a full ride? Hank’s coming over in a bit so we can sort it out and get it all approved quickly.”
I freeze. “Hank’s coming here?”
“Yeah. His in-laws are in town, so he’s looking for an excuse to get out of the house anyway.”
“How long until he gets here?” Looking around the open concept room, I notice so much that has to be done before this house will be guest ready.
Jack shrugs like his friend seeing a messy house is no big deal. “Maybe an hour or so?”
“That doesn’t give me enough time to clean up!” Panic overtakes me, and I feel my breathing start to get heavy. Keeping a clean home and always presenting a good front is important to me. I get squeamish if I know anyone besides Isaac, Jack, and myself will be coming into the house when it’s anything less than spotless.
I don’t have a lot of time to get things done. All I can do is race around the kitchen, wiping down counters and throwing bottles away. Jack looks at me with confusion.
“Joie, he doesn’t care how messy our place is. He’s coming to work.”
“Do you not see how filthy this place is? Jack, I need your help. You made all this mess. You need to get it cleaned up.”
“Joie, this isn’t a big deal . . .”
“It’s a big deal to me!” His eyes widen as I yell the words. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before speaking again. “It’s a big deal to me, Jack. I know this is part of learning to live together, but I thought you knew this about me. I like having a clean home where everything is picked up and put in its place. I like having an empty, shiny sink. I like pulling my clothes out of a nice, neat dresser, not sorting through a clean pile for what I need. I like structure and organization. I need . . . just please help me pick up before Hank gets here. It will make me feel so much better.”
He nods. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I can respect that.”
My phone buzzes and we both look at it. Picking it up, I read Isaac’s response.
And risk blowing out my knee? No way. You can ski. I’ll hit on the snow bunnies by the fire.
If I hadn’t just blown up at him, I’d show Jack the text and make a funny quip about it. Instead, all I can do is show him Isaac’s response. Jack’s lips begin to quirk up until I say quietly, “You win,” and put the phone down on the counter.
His face immediately falls. I feel bad that a conversation about our day became a very tense situation. But I don’t think he gets it. I’ve been trying so hard to let the little things go, like his shoes in the hall and the dishes in the sink, even though it makes me anxious. I’m trying to not be such a stick-in-the-mud, but I need Jack to meet me halfway, and right now I don’t feel like he is.
Once the kitchen seems sufficiently cleaned, I tackle the next task . . . moving the giant pile of laundry to the bedroom. It needs to be done, but I don’t think Hank will be going in our bedroom anyway, so at least I can do it last.
A quick run through of the house, and I feel confident that Jack has picked up enough of his crap to make it not look like “Jack’s Bachelor pad” lives here, so I go back to the bedroom and begin folding.
“You don’t want to do that in the living room in front of the TV?” Jack asks when he pokes his head into the room.
I can’t even make eye contact with him, so instead I snap the wrinkles out of a towel before folding it in precise thirds. “I don’t think Hank would appreciate hanging out on the couch with some of my panties.”
“Joie, I really don’t think he cares.”
“I know that.” I snap another towel. “But I care, Jack. And that’s what should matter to you.”
He nods and shifts to walk out of the room. “I’m just gonna go, uh, clean up the kitchen.”
He leaves me to a pile of wrinkly clothes that I may have to iron. The realization makes me angry all over again.
Throwing a pair of shorts back into the pile, I toss myself back on the bed. I need to get out. I need to go have fun before I lose it completely. Fortunately, I know where I need to go and I know who with.
“So we’re in agreement about Franklin McCaw?” Hank drops the empty soy sauce packet on the counter and licks his finger. I didn’t want any chicken fried rice from the shitty chain restaurant down the street anyway. But seeing how much MSG he’s added makes my stomach roll. I swear he’s addicted to the stuff.
“I think so.” I flip through the papers, looking at the kid’s stats again. He came out of nowhere recently, and we knew we’d run across someone special. He’s good. Real good. Nine interceptions over seven games for a 1.3 average. He could easily be first string by his sophomore year. “We need to start grooming a couple more cornerbacks. I think he’s got what it takes.”
Hank plops down in the chair across from me, still eating straight from the takeout box. “I still can’t believe we got him. How did no one find this kid before?”
“He’s from a Triple-A school in the middle of nowhere Illinois. If Lennox hadn’t tipped me off, I never would have opened up his highlight reel.”
“That Lennox guy looking for a job? I’m sure we could make room on the coaching staff for him.”
I smile and shake my head, grabbing a shitty eggroll out of the brown paper sack. “Pretty sure he’s not going anywhere now that he’s in a new relationship.”
“Fucking young love. I hate recruiting, I was hoping to pass it off to him.”
I chuckle under my breath as I put Franklin’s paperwork aside. “But who will we have keeping an ear to the ground for us if we move him here?”
He signs in resignation. “Okay, fine. We’ll keep doing all this bullshit ourselves. So where does that leave us?”
I flip throu
gh a few more papers, making sure I’ve got accurate information. “Uh . . . so we’re recommending McCaw for the full ride.” I make the note on my legal pad and cross out a couple other ideas we’ve had. “We only have a partial, but what if we give it to Anderson?”
Hank looks up and thinks while he chews and swallows. “Brian Anderson? I thought we already give him money.”
“I think we do.” A few more flips of the papers and I find what I’m looking for. “Okay, yeah. We give him tuition and expenses, but room and board come out-of-pocket.” Leaning back, we begin tossing around our thoughts. “He’s a good player. Solid on the field. Gets along with his teammates. Keeps his grades up and doesn’t cause trouble.”
He tosses the now empty container on the table and leans back. “You sure we don’t want to use it to incentivize a quarterback recruit?”
“We could. But we’ve already got first and second string covered. Honestly, after talking to Anderson over the holidays, I’m worried we’re gonna lose him if his parents can’t afford to keep him here. We need a solid linebacker more than we need a third string QB right now. Anderson’s good. His stats are solid, and he helps us win.”
“Plus, it’d make your girlfriend happy if her little friend ended up with a full ride.”
“Oh, please. She doesn’t care one way or another who we throw scholarships at.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Pride. I know she’s got a soft spot for that kid after they took that class together.” I know he’s just poking at me, but I see the challenge in his eyes. He knows the personal connection isn’t why I’m recommending Anderson, but he needs to make really sure.
I look him dead in the eye and say, “I wouldn’t have known his financial situation if Joie hadn’t put together the holiday meals, but that’s as far as the personal relationship goes. And I don’t use my job to stay in my girlfriend’s good graces. I don’t need to.”
“You sure about that?”
