Happy Families by Tanita S. Davis Read Free Book Online

something to watch. I’ll make coffee.”
    Is Mom that desperate? She doesn’t want Dad to sleep over, does she?
    “You sure?” Dad sounds tentative.
    “I miss you,” my mother says simply.
    My breath hitches loudly in my throat, and I hurry to my room, my hand pressed over my mouth. Closing the door behind me without a telltale click of sound, I wheeze, my exhalation sobbing out of me as my heart pounds.
    I miss you
.
    The simplicity of Mom’s words is what destroys me—I missmy dad, too. But what brings the tears is what I know now: missing him isn’t enough to make him come back.
    I hate weekend flights. Everyone at the airport is way too kicked back. No one is hustling off to meetings or rushing to work, and inevitably I’m stuck next to someone’s crying baby on a jaunt to Grandma’s house.
    I also hate that we have to arrive an hour early for a flight, even though it’s less than an hour by plane up the coast to where Dad is now. Finally, I hate that my mother tried to keep me from bringing my big art case with my two torches and the larger annealing kiln. It’s perfectly legal to bring it, as long as it’s not a carry-on, and I have the perfect place for my tools—a suitcase modified inside with a thick liner of foam, cut to the shapes of the delicate tools.
    “Dad promised he’d get me propane,” I argue, trying not to sound as hostile as I feel.
    Mom looks at the hot-pink suitcase with the flame decals all over it and shakes her head. “I said you could do glass, but you’re going to be doing a lot of other things, Ysabel. You’re not going to have time to work; there’s no reason for you to lug all of that with you.”
    “It’s
my
arm.”
    My mother leans closer. “It’s
my
concern that you’re going to bring all of that stuff and just hole up in your room like you do at home.”
    I give her a toothy smile. “Well, if I were staying home, you could make sure …”
    My mother rolls her eyes. “Try and have a good week, Ysabel.”
    She kisses me and kisses Justin, and after a brief prayer forour safety, she hugs me and hugs Justin. When she puts her arms around both of us and hugs us again, Justin actually snaps out of wherever his brain has gone lately to exchange a wide-eyed look at me.
    Mom’s
not
the huggy one in our family. That’s Dad. My mother is more likely to show her love by ranting at me when I get hurt and scare her or by shooting at me with the little purple rubber bands that come on the green onions. She’s not the one who shows love by cradling my head in her hands and leaning her forehead against mine, but that’s what she’s doing this morning.
    “Um, Mom, we’re not going that far,” I say finally, and her stricken expression makes me wish I had kept my mouth closed. She tries to smile, and I see the tension in her face.
    “Stacey.” And there’s Dad, putting down his bag and wrapping her up in the kind of hug that used to make her squeak, then whack him on the shoulder and demand to be let go. But today she just stands there and buries her face in his collar.
    Dad kisses her hair and whispers to her, and people look on curiously as we stand there, apprehensive and completely out of place at this tiny commuter airport with our luggage and our parents, who are obviously having a Moment. Finally Mom pulls back, smiling, as if we’re supposed to be reassured by her fake happy face when her eyes are red-rimmed and glazed with tears and her nose is shiny.
    “Have a good week, guys,” she says thickly, and I know with utter certainty we won’t.

Block Party
Justin
    As soon as I hear the knock, I cut my Internet connection and shove my phone under the pillow. I turn over, my back to the door. I doubt he’ll open it if I don’t answer. I’ve been ignoring him since we got on the plane this morning. I’ve learned that most of the time, people leave you alone if you seriously convince them that you want to be. Like in debate, it’s all in the right delivery.