He grabs a box of Pop Tarts from the pantry. “Avery, I’m going to college, not kindergarten.”
“Well, Mason’s in kindergarten.” I get the broom and dustpan from the washroom. “And the eggs were for him too.” While I start to clean up my mess, the smoke detectors finally silence. I settle down as the smoke clears too.
Jax hands Mason a Pop Tart then takes one himself. “Well, from now on let’s just leave the cooking to me. And let me clean up the rest of the mess,” he says, glancing at the disaster I’ve made in the kitchen; spilt milk, cracked egg shells, and yolk on the counter.
“You already do too much.” I empty the dust pan into the garbage then put the broom away.
He chews on the Pop Tart. “I could have said that to you while we were growing up, so go get your ass ready and let me do this.”
I huff in frustration, but it’s directed more toward myself than Jax. Then I cross the kitchen and give Mason a quick kiss on the forehead. “No more swearing,” I say, before I hurry down the hallway to my bedroom to change, moving quickly because my day is going to be hectic. I have to drop off Mason at school then Jax at the college before heading over to the next town to start building a home. I have exactly four hours of contribution time before I have to drive back to town, leave the Jeep at the college so Jax has transportation to pick up Mason from school while I take the bus to and from work. Then when I get home, I’ll spend time online taking my finals.
It’s going to be a long day.
I decide on a pair of frayed shorts and a black tank top long enough to cover all of the scars from that night, ones I never want anyone to see. The one on my throat I can’t do anything about but it’s faded enough that hardly anyone seems to notice.
After I finished getting dressed, I quickly run a brush through my long brown hair. Despite my grungy clothes and bags under my eyes, I still have signs of youth in me. That is, if I don’t look too hard. A purple streak at the front of my brown hair that runs all the way down my back because I refuse to cut it—ever—and I have a piercing above my top lip along with the fresh collection of tattoos. It’s part of the reason why I ink and pierce my skin and dye my hair—to feel as young as my driver’s license assures me I am.
I don’t bother putting on any make up except for a dab of kohl liner around my hazel eyes, which will melt off within the hour. Then I grab my bag and return to the kitchen. As promised, Jax has the mess cleaned up and he and Mason are waiting with their backpacks, ready to go.
“What would I do without you two?” I ask.
Mason runs up and wraps his arms around my waist, hugging me tightly. It’s moments like these that make every single terrible thing I’ve been through worth it, even my marriage to Conner.
“Probably lose your mind,” Jax states. Then the two of them laugh their asses off as we head out of the house and pile into the Jeep.
We start the ten minute drive to Mason’s elementary school, listening to the cheery sounds of a soundtrack to one of Mason’s favorite cartoons that features a bouncing dragon or cow or something else bouncy. The positive tunes put a grin on Mason’s face and make me want to punch the dragon/cow and tell him the magical life of rainbows and pots of gold he’s promising children is a lie. One thing’s for sure, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure Mason has a way better life than Jax and I had.
I park out front and run Mason into his class. By the time I make it back to the car, Jax is smoking. Both of us were probably addicted to nicotine before we even started smoking. I’d scold him for doing it, but then I’d be a hypocrite, so I crack my window, light up, and then change the song before I lose my mind.
“Buttons” by The Weeks clicks on as I pull out of the school lot and Jax and I take a moment to be irresponsible youngin’s who can enjoy listening to music and not have to let it be tied to our past. It’s not until I get to the college that it hits me. This icky, festering need to bawl my eyes out, like I did a week ago when I dropped Mason off for kindergarten. It’s not that I’m sad. Not at all. Yes, it’s a little depressing that Jax’s all grown up, but most of it comes from the proud fact that he’s going to college at eighteen.
Jax senses my impending waterworks. “Now don’t go there, Avery,” he says. “We all have to grow up someday.”
“But I swear you were just a baby like yesterday,” I whine, glad I have my sunglasses on because my eyes are bubbling with tears.
“You sound like you’re forty years old right now.” He teases with a shake of his head.
“Sorry.” I suck back the tears with a giant sniffle. “It’s just that it sometimes kind of feels like you’re my kid and I’m… I’m just so proud of you.”
The humor vanishes from his eyes and we exchange a look of mutual understanding before he leans over and pulls me in for an emotional hug. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” he says and I can tell he means every word. Sometimes I think it’s the reason I came back that night, because Jax needed me to help him get here. But I know that’s not the only reason, can feel it in my bones, saw it in the darkness that night, heard it through the silent whisper before life was breathed into me again.
Help me.
I’m here for more than that. My penance, I’ve decided, for what happened. For the choices I made. If I could just figure it out then perhaps life would be easier.
I stop fighting the tears and let them pour out as Jax gets out of the car. “I’ll text you when I drop off the car,” I call out. He waves before closing the door and I watch him walk up to the arched main entrance of the campus before driving away.
As I’m pulling out onto the street, the tormenting gaslight flicks on so I turn into a gas station. I check my account balance on my phone after I park next to the pump. I have just under fifty bucks and payday isn’t for a week.
“Dammit,” I mutter, mentally calculating how much gas I should put in. I decide on ten dollars which is barely a few gallons. It’ll barely cover the next couple of days and it means I’m going to have to find an extra resource for money when I get home.
Thirty minutes and another cigarette later, I arrive at the piece of property the Habitat for Humanity house is being built on. It’s located in the next town over from where I live, in a quiet subdivision, the exact opposite of The Subs. It puts a smile on my face, remembering what it was like when my own place was being built. But my happiness dissipates when I see all the tools scattered around on the ground and near the foundation, and the workers who clearly look like they know what they’re doing. And me, well I don’t think I’ve even picked up a hammer in my life. That doesn’t mean I’m going to get scared away, though. I’m way tougher than that.