Page 149 of The Design of Goodbye
I wondered what he thought was worse.
“Liam,” began my dad, walking over, “I have an idea. Let’s go get breakfast. Just us. We can talk.”
Liam’s grip tightened. “I don’t want to talk.”
“We need to,” said my dad. “I know of a great place. They have the best cinnamon roll pancakes. I know you like cinnamon rolls.” He patted his stomach. “I think I need a stack or two.”
My dad took Liam’s silence as agreement and grabbed two jackets from the hall closet.
“Dad,” I said, noticing Liam’s bare feet, “his shoes are still wet. Can he borrow a pair of yours? And some socks?”
“Of course,” he said, setting the jackets on the dining room table. “I’ll go get them.”
As soon as he was gone, I grabbed Liam’s hand and squeezed. He didn’t let go, but he didn’t squeeze back. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “We had the truth book for a reason.”
“I know,” I said.
“You were the only one I trusted.”
His words were a punch to the gut, but I stood my ground. No matter how mad he was, I’d made the right choice. “I had to tell him.”
“You didn’t.”
I heard my dad’s footsteps and knew we only had seconds left. “Look,” I started quickly, “if my dad was hurting me, you would’ve told someone.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Okay,” said my dad, bounding into the room cheerfully. He was trying to lighten the mood, but his cheerfulness felt like a stranger. I couldn’t tell if it was welcome or not. “The shoes probably won’t fit well, but it’s better than nothing.”
Silently, Liam put on the socks, the shoes, the jacket.
And then he left.
He didn’t say goodbye.
* * *
After they left, I cleaned to keep my mind off everything. I did the dishes, wiped up the coffee spill, and vacuumed. But when I moved onto the windows, I saw it again: my playhouse. A wave of nostalgia hit me hard, and I abandoned those windows.
I curled into a corner of the playhouse. It seemed so much smaller now. When I was little, I’d dreamed of living here. I’d thought there was so much space. Enough room for a kitchen, reading area, and bed. Now, I barely fit.
I’d brought a book to occupy myself, but I couldn’t get lost in the pages of someone else’s story when mine was falling apart. Instead, I tried to think of my future, but all scenes were hazy, almost like static on a broken television.
“Hey,” a voice said.
I blinked to clear my head, and there Liam was, kneeling in the doorway of my playhouse, exhausted but okay. “Hey.”
“I’ve been looking for you. I thought you might be at work, but your car was still here.” He glanced around the playhouse. “Is there room for one more?”
“Only if you squeeze.” I scooted over.
Once situated, he handed me a brown paper bag. “Your dad got you this.” Instead of the elastic bandage I’d wrapped around his wrist last night, he had on a sturdy brace. Liam noticed my stare and quickly explained, “Your dad. He said I need to wear it for at least a week and ice it.”
Inside the paper bag was a maple doughnut. I pulled it out, not caring my fingers would be sticky, and took a huge bite. “So good,” I said. “Did you get the cinnamon roll pancakes?”
