The Play [BoyxBoy]

Good

S K Y L A R

Damian peered over his shoulder and smirked at me. What a headache. If this was a month ago, I would've been ecstatic at his newly found confidence, but this wasn't a month ago. I stepped in between him and Teresa.

"What changed your mind?" I asked.

"I wanted to face my fear." His sly smile caught me off guard. He knew I wanted space; he just didn't care. 

"Well--"

Teresa cut me off, "I think it's absolutely wonderful. We need more actors in the family. Ooh, we could have our own TV show!"

Damian and I shared a look, and for a moment, we were back to normal. I glanced away and that familiar warmth was gone. He excused himself to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Even though Damian claimed he was only facing his fear, it was bullshit. He was trying to get to me. I was ignoring him, and he was pissed.

A part of me enjoyed it.

-----

Mom stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of spaghetti, the smell of garlic bread filled the light- cold, beige room. I sat at the alone at the dinner table.

       I couldn't remember the last time we had a meal here. Usually, I just fixed dinner for Damian and me— we usually went our separate ways but recently we had spent many nights in the living room, Mom at work and his dad on "business trips." What a joke.

It was strange seeing her home so early. Did she work all those hours because she couldn't stand to be home— because she was so unhappy before? Or because she needed the support now? Both?

"I made your favorite." She gave me a sweet smile. I didn't care for spaghetti, but she didn't have to know that. "I know it's been a while since I cooked but it smells good."

"It smells great."

The forced happiness made me sick. Was she trying to make up for not being around? She didn't need to. I didn't care. We weren't close anymore and that's fine. Not everyone is close to their parents. Sure, I get sad when I see others with their moms— but I would get over it.

      She placed the pot in the middle of the table, untying her apron, and sat down opposite of me. After her, I filled my plate and took my time. If I was eating, I wasn't talking. I didn't want to talk.

"Meet any cute girls lately?" Mom asked.

"Nope." Emily was, but we weren't like that.

"Probably a good thing. You need to focus on your future."

"Don't remind me."

She shot me a look. "You need to figure out what you want to do. You're going to college. Aren't you? You applied to several last year—"

"I know," I groaned. "Can we talk about this later? I'm trying to eat."

"Alright," she said. "Just think about it."

The rest of the evening was quiet. Sometimes, I'd catch Mom staring at me, she'd smile when I caught her, and I managed to smile back. This house was hollow.

-------

The weather was worse than yesterdays. Pulling my coat closer to my body, Emily ran ahead as I walked to the art center's entrance. She buzzed the entry button repeatedly.

"They should leave this unlocked in winter!" She bounced on her toes.

"It's technically spring," I said.