Just Don't Mention It by Estelle Maskame
My teeth chatter as I stand in the hall, not because it’s cold, but because I’m scared to walk into the kitchen. I can hear Dad’s voice now, gentle and soft as he talks to Mom. Chase is laughing. Why do they all get to be so happy?
With bated breath, I muster up the courage to enter the kitchen. Mom has her back to me, raiding the cutlery drawer, and my brothers and Dad are sitting at the table. None of them knew how angry he was last night, how uncontrollable he was. He’s so calm now, slouched back in his chair with a content smile on his lips and a cup of coffee in his hand. When I walk in, his verdant eyes flash over to meet mine, and that smile disappears. I stop breathing as he runs his eyes over me, and as he looks at that band-aid on my forehead, I can see the muscle in his jaw twitch. His eyes pool with guilt and he drops his gaze to his lap.
“What have you done now, Tyler?” Mom asks as she turns around. I glance over at her, my breath still caught in my throat, and she is frowning with a hand on her hip as she points a spoon at my forehead.
“I slipped getting out of the shower last night,” I tell her. I’m lying straight through my teeth, and I’ve learned that I’m an incredible actor, because even my own mom can’t tell. “I hit my head on the sink. No big deal,” I mumble. Dad still has his head down, his eyes on the floor. I sit down at the table next to Jamie.
“I’ve never known anyone to have such bad luck as you do, Tyler,” Mom comments with the hopeless roll of her eyes. She sets some toast down on the table and runs her hand through my hair. She always does that.
“When did your wrist get so fat?” Jamie asks. I glance sideways at him, and he’s staring wide-eyed at my swollen wrist with morbid curiosity.
Dad’s eyes flicker up to look at me. His expression slowly floods with horror and he sits up in his chair. I’m just about to hide my wrist under the table when Mom grabs my shoulder, leaning over me.
“Oh my God!” she gasps, her lips parting. She stares down at my wrist in alarm and her eyes dilate with worry. “What have you done?”
“It’s fine,” I say. Quickly, I shove my arm under the table, out of sight from my parents, but the sudden movement sends a new shockwave of pain cutting through my arm. I flinch in agony and glance down. The more I look at my wrist, the more it does look funny. It looks almost bent, but it can’t be broken. Not again.
“No, it’s clearly not fine, Tyler,” Mom says, and she swivels around and grabs her phone from the countertop, frantically pressing numbers. “I’m calling Dr. Coleman,” she states, her eyes on her phone. “We’re getting that checked out. No school for you today.” She holds her phone up to her ear as it rings, anxiously chewing her lip as she looks at me again. “It looks so inflamed! Did it get infected or something?”
“I want to see it!” Chase says. Excitedly, he slides off his chair and walks around the table, leaning in against me as he tries to peer down at my wrist under the table. Reluctantly, I hold it up a little, and he stares at it in fascination. I don’t think he would be so amazed if he knew it was Dad that caused it.
“Don’t you have a court case this morning?” I hear Dad quietly ask Mom. With both Jamie and Chase checking out my wrist, I steal a look at him. His elbows are propped on the table now as he leans forward, his hands interlocked. His voice is softer than usual, but he’s also guiltier than usual.
“Shoot. I do,” Mom breathes. With her phone still to her ear, still ringing, she rubs at her temple with her free hand.
“I’ll take him,” Dad tells her. “Don’t worry. It’s a slow day at the office anyway. They’ll manage without me.”
Mom’s shoulders sink with relief and they share a nod of agreement. Someone seems to answer the call then, because Mom says, “Dr. Coleman’s office, please,” and leaves the kitchen to get some silence.
I don’t know why Dad is offering to be the one to take me to see Dr. Coleman. I think it’s the guilt, but I really don’t want to be alone with him today after everything that happened last night. I’m more afraid of him than ever, and now I’m worried that he’s going to be mad at me again for drawing attention. I try to meet his eyes, to figure out if it’s going to be another one of his bad days, but he already has his face buried into his hands.
32
PRESENT DAY
“Shit,” I breathe. My chest is rising and falling fast from the erratic thumping of my heart. There is no way that this just happened. There is no way I just kissed Eden, and there is no way she just kissed me first.
I stare at her, absolutely stunned, trying to make sense of the past few minutes. Eden’s wide eyes are locked on me and she looks paralyzed, almost terrified, but also just as confused as I am. Does she understand what just happened? Does she realize what we’ve just done? Not only is she my stepsister, I also have a girlfriend. Who is waiting for me right now across the street. I am such an idiot. I am furious at myself for being so stupid.
“I’m going to Rachael’s,” I blurt out quickly. I zip up my jacket and turn for the door.
I need to get away from here, from Eden. I need some space to really process this and to figure out whether or not the realization I just had is, in fact, true or not. Because right now, I am seriously praying that it isn’t.
I am so desperate to get out of this house. I find myself sprinting downstairs, two steps at a time, and I burst out through the front door, inhaling several gulps of fresh air. I stand on the front lawn for a minute with my hands in the pockets of my jacket and my head tilted back to the darkening sky. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get anymore messed up, I have to go ahead and commit a moral fucking sin. Way to go, you moron. Eden isn’t my actual sister, but it’s still so weird. It’s making me feel nauseous, and I know that the only way I am getting through this is if I do what I do best: distract myself with a whole load of alcohol. Forget Declan. I don’t have time to head across town. I need something now, and if alcohol is all I can get my hands on, then I’ll take it.
I tilt my head back down from the sky and look directly across the street instead. All of the lights in Rachael’s house are on and I can hear the very faint pulsing of music, but from the outside, it doesn’t look like there’s a party going on. Tiffani did tell me they were keeping it small, probably so that Rachael’s parents don’t kill her.
I walk straight across the street, my pace quick, and when I reach Rachael’s porch, I stop to compose myself. Be Tyler Bruce. Be cool. Be happy. Tyler Bruce didn’t just kiss his stepsister. I did. I almost gag right there and then, so I throw open the front door and step into the house, plastering a crappy smile onto my face. I need beer. Lots of it.
It’s not busy yet. It’s still early, but people are beginning to arrive, so Rachael is lingering around by the front door to greet everyone. She struts over to me, already wasted with a gaze that can’t stay focused, and she glowers at me as though I’ve insulted her just by turning up.
“Where is Eden?” she immediately asks. Not even a hey. “She’s supposed to be here by now!”
“I don’t know,” I lie, then briskly push straight past her. I am not talking about Eden. I am not discussing her, nor saying her name, nor even so much as thinking about her. I stride into the kitchen and scan the mountain of drinks that cover the table. I’m an asshole who hasn’t brought my own booze, but whatever. There’s enough to go around. There’s a box of beer already opened in front of me, so I start by plucking out a can.
Suddenly, someone presses up against me from behind. She rests her chin on my shoulder and runs her hand down my chest, sliding it under my jacket. “Mmm,” Tiffani murmurs, and I can hear the seduction in her voice. “You’re here.”
“Oh,” I say, turning around to face her. She is the last person I want to see. “Hey.”
Tiffani looks up at me as she slings her arms around the back of my neck, pressing her body close against mine. I can see straight through her teasing smirk, though. She’s really just mad at me because I haven’t seen her much over the past week. I’ve got too muc
“Have you missed me?” she asks, and I can’t help but place one hand on her hip out of habit. She would instantly figure out that something is up if I didn’t go along with the script. I brush my fingers over the white, silky material of her dress. She does look amazing, but my head is spinning so much that I can’t appreciate it right now.
“You know I have,” I tell her. I haven’t. She smiles wide and pulls my lips down to meet hers, and I kiss her only for a second. It makes me stomach twist. Ten minutes ago, my lips were against Eden’s. I retreat from Tiffani, holding up the can of beer in my hand, using it to separate us. “Can I at least get a drink in? I can’t do this party sober.”
Tiffani’s glistening blue eyes and playful smile immediately transform as she presses her glossy lips together. She unhooks her arms from around my neck and steps back. “When do you ever?” she mutters.
“You,” I say, pointing my beer at Kyle Harrison as he walks into the kitchen. He freezes, almost as though he’s afraid I’m about to pummel him or something. We don’t talk, but he was in my history class last year. He’ll do. “Get outside. Time to shotgun some beers. A lot of beers, actually.”
Tiffani’s cool hand reaches for my elbow. She tugs me back a step, narrowing her eyes at me in disapproval. “Tyler . . . C’mon.”
“Not now, Tiff.” I shake her grip off me and scoop up the box of beer into my arms. I walk over to Kyle, and although he doesn’t look too comfortable about the idea of chugging all these beers with me, he also doesn’t have the courage to say no. Tyler Bruce doesn’t let people say no anyway. I nudge his shoulder and he follows me out into the backyard.
“Here,” I say, setting the box of beer down on the grass and tossing him the can in my hand. I grab myself another, then pull out my car keys from my pocket. “We’re finishing this box. Alright? No breaks in between.”
“Man . . . Are you sure?” Kyle says as he stares doubtfully down at the can in his hand. Anxiously, he rotates it around and around, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “I don’t wanna throw up.”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up. Now go.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I stab my keys into the can and press the new opening to my mouth, tilting my head straight back and chugging the entirety of the can in seconds. I shotgun beers a lot. I’ve found it’s the quickest way to get me drunk, numb, and, therefore, distracted.
“Número dos,” I say, crushing the empty can in my hand and tossing it onto the grass. Kyle finishes a few seconds later, gasping for a breath of air, and I immediately toss him another can. I can feel Tiffani’s intense stare piercing straight through me from the kitchen, so I turn my back to the window and try my best to tune her out as Kyle and I chug our way through two, three, four, five beers.
The speed at which we are consuming them is too fast, and I can feel the beer in my stomach, and Kyle has staggered over to the corner of the backyard and is shoving his fingers down his throat. I lean back against the wall for a few minutes, breathing deeply, letting the alcohol soak into my bloodstream. When I glance inside the kitchen through the window, Tiffani isn’t there anymore, so I leave Kyle throwing up in the backyard and make my way back inside.
More people have arrived. People from school. People I would only occasionally talk to if I felt like it. Usually, I stick to my own circle. Is Eden here yet?
Stop thinking about her.
I ignore everyone, weaving my way around the girls that are doing shots of tequila by the sink, and I grab a bottle of vodka, fill more than half a cup with it, then top it up with some Coke. And I slam the damn thing. The strength of the drink burns my throat, but I don’t care. I have every intention of obliterating myself tonight. That’s why as soon as I finish the first, I pour myself a second.
“Living up to your reckless reputation?” I hear someone remark, and when I glance over, Jake is approaching. He has a bottle of beer in his hand, and he presses his hip against the countertop and takes a sip, eyeing me with his shitty, devious smirk.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I spit, turning my back to him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he took Eden home last weekend, and although I do need to talk to him about that, I can’t do it tonight. I can’t talk about her.
Jake steps around me, smiling wider. He’s such an asshole. “Is it because your sister slept at my place?” he says, his voice innocent, his eyes full of sadistic pleasure. He just loves to get under my skin.
I press my hand to his chest and shove him back a step. “She’s not my sister, you moron.” If he comes any closer, I won’t hesitate to floor him. “Get out of my face, Jake. I swear.”
“Whatever. Drink yourself to death and see if I care,” he mutters, turning away and strolling out of the kitchen, probably off to pounce on whatever female he sees first. I can’t believe we used to be best friends when we were kids. He’s such a fucking freak.
I chug the drink in my hand again and I remain in the kitchen for the next hour, because the kitchen is where the alcohol is. I join the girls by the sink and take a shot of tequila with them. I do shots of vodka with everyone who is unfortunate enough to so much as walk into the kitchen. No one is getting a choice. Even Rachael takes one with me, but I figure it’s only because she’s already drunk. Tiffani, on the other hand, isn’t impressed when she walks into the kitchen and lays eyes on me.
“C’mon, Tiff,” I call out to her over the music, holding out the near-empty bottle of vodka to her. I am wasted at this point. I can barely even remain upright and I almost topple straight off the countertop. I’ve been engaging in conversation with everyone in the kitchen and we have all been laughing hysterically, with everyone being at least tipsy.
Except for Tiffani. Her expression is thunderous as she glares sharply across the kitchen at me, her blue eyes like cool, cool ice. She struts over and snatches the bottle of vodka straight out of my hand, holding it as far away from me as possible. She presses her other hand to my chest and holds me upright. “You’re embarrassing us,” she whispers as she leans in close to me, glowering from beneath her fake eyelashes. “Stop it.”
“Ohhhh. Who cares?” I laugh and stretch forward, grabbing back the bottle from her, and I am just about to tilt it against my lips to take another swig when she steals it back again. We fight over it for a few seconds before I reluctantly let go, and she is quick to pass it off to whoever is closest to us.
“Tyler,” she hisses, pressing her body against my legs, her hands on my thighs. “You look like an idiot. Please. Stop drinking. Or at least slow down.” Has she even had a drink? Why is she being so lame? Everyone in this kitchen right now is having a good time. She’s ruining it.
“Baaaaby,” I murmur, pursing my lips innocently at her. I can’t hide my smile though. I am so drunk, and luckily, I am the good kind of drunk tonight. Sometimes I swing the other way. I cup Tiffani’s face with both hands and I lean down to kiss her, pressing my mouth to hers, but she immediately pulls away and shoves me back. The indignant look she gives me is almost laughable. Do I taste like one too many beers?
“Rejectioooon!” someone from the other side of the kitchen calls out, and everyone cracks into more laughter, even me.
Tiffani shakes her head and spins around, storming straight out of the kitchen with her arms folded across her chest. Whatever. Now that she’s gone, I can continue to drink even more, and that is exactly what I do. More beers, more vodka, more tequila, more rum. I drink until I can no longer open my eyes, until I am no longer in control of my senses. And in danger of losing control of my bladder.
Awkwardly, I slide down from the countertop, landing on the floor, and when I get up, I have to fumble my way across the kitchen. My eyes are half closed, my feet are moving on their own. I am grabbing people and furniture to guide me. I’ve been in Rachael’s house many times before, but I don’t know where the bathroom is. I am stumbling my way across the house, until suddenly I collapse down onto my hands and knees, disorientated. I don’t kn
My name. Quiet and gentle. Husky.
My head feels too heavy to lift, but I fight hard to look up. The room is fuzzy. She is fuzzy. I try to peel open my eyes wider, but Eden is blurring in front of me. I try to bring her into focus, to see her glistening hazel eyes and plump lips, but I just can’t do it. She is staring down at me, and I so wish I could read her expression right now.
“Baby,” Tiffani’s voice echoes around me. Everything sounds distorted, like I’m under water. My eyes close again, and I can feel Tiffani’s hands around my body as she uses all her might to haul me up from the floor. I try to stand, but my legs are like jelly, and I simply fall straight back over, smacking my face into the wall. I’m too drunk to feel it. “Tyler,” Tiffani says, but it doesn’t sound as nice as when Eden says my name. I am being pulled somewhere, guided, and suddenly I am sitting at the foot of the staircase. “Sober up,” Tiffani orders as she slaps her palm straight across my face. I don’t feel the sting of it. “You’re a nightmare.”
My head falls forward. It’s too heavy to hold up now, but Tiffani is grabbing my jaw, supporting me, and I hear her fuzzy, distant voice say, “Ella will kill him if he goes back over there like this.” Is Eden still here? Is that who she’s talking to? I try to ask, but my tongue won’t form words. “I’ll take him home with me for the night.”
Ohhh. I am passing out. I can feel this wave crashing over me, like a black shadow arriving, and my entire body is going numb. I slump off the stairs, my eyes closed, my face pressed against into the floor. I could sleep here, but Tiffani isn’t letting me. She is by my side again, forcing me upright against the wall, and we are sitting on the floor together. I am drunk and, therefore, I am feeling frisky. I pull at her dress, at her hands, at her face. She is pushing me away. My head is in her lap. She is talking, but I can’t hear what she is saying.