Ritual - Palm South University

“You’re a liar, and an addict, and a piece of shit excuse for a mother, and I won’t let you tear Clayton up the way you did me.” I look at him then. “She won’t be at your football games. She won’t be here for your prom or senior night or graduation, either. Trust me when I tell you that she came back because she needs something.” I turn on my mother again. “And as soon as she gets it, she’ll be gone again.”

Mom’s bottom lip quivers, and I wish I felt a shred of remorse for what I said, but I feel nothing.

She stands, mumbling something about needing to get something out of her car before she excuses herself through the backyard gate. Mac’s mom looks at her husband with worried eyes before chasing after her, and then I’m being shoved back by two surprisingly strong hands.

“What the fuck, Bear?!”

“Language, Clayton,” Mr. Harrison warns, but he’s already ushering Mac inside. “We’ll leave you two alone, but just for the record, I don’t appreciate any of that kind of disrespectful talk going down in my house. You understand me?” He looks briefly at my little brother, but his glare nearly burns a hole in my skull. “So, you two talk this out and cool down. Now.”

I don’t respond, but I do nod to let him know I’ve heard him, and a sliver of guilt seeps into my spoiled gut.

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” Clayton asks when we’re alone. He’s almost as tall as me now, with the lean and built body of a wide receiver, instead of the lanky one he’d had as a kid. I see the same shape of my eyes in his own, feel the same blood coursing through our veins, and though I know he’s not a child anymore, I can’t help but want to protect him like one. “We finally have her back in our lives, and you’re doing everything you can to push her away.”

“She left us,” I remind him. “Our brother left his children, too. Now, they’re back after two years of barely any word at all, and we’re just supposed to listen to their stories, celebrate them, welcome them home with open arms?”

“People make mistakes, Bear,” Clayton says. “Haven’t you?”

I grit my teeth, looking away from him and at the half-open gate across the yard from us. Through the slit, I can see Mrs. Harrison holding my mother while she cries.

And it pisses me off even more.

“Yes, people do make mistakes. But unlike our mother, most people regret them. Most people do whatever they can to make amends and become a better person. But our mother, Clayton?” I point at the gate. “She is a fucking train wreck. She cares about no one but herself, and I know you want to believe her when she says she’ll stay, that she’ll be a better mother, but believe me when I say that she’s lying.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do,” I urge, stepping into him and grabbing both his shoulders in my hands. “Who has been there for you your entire life? Who used to feed you when that woman wouldn’t, change your diapers, play with you, care for you when you were sick? Who made sure you got up in time for school and got on the bus? Who made sure you took showers and brushed your teeth? Who made sure you were okay when she bailed out of here?” I shake my head, begging him to see it. “I may not be perfect, Clayton, but I’m your family. I’m the one you should trust in — not her.”

Clayton’s eyes grow so tired in the span of my words, that I wonder if I’ve aged him, if it would be one of those moments like so many I had lived through myself that he’d look back on as a turning point.

“I do trust you,” he finally whispers. “And I love you, bro. I do. And maybe you’re right. Maybe she’ll leave again or make promises she can’t keep, but… I don’t know. I think she’s changed. I think something happened. She seems different, and I know she doesn’t deserve it, but I want to give her a second chance. Okay? And that’s my choice. Not yours. So if you want to write her off forever, if you want to be an asshole to her and never give her the opportunity to make things right, then that’s your decision. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But I’m asking the same courtesy from you.”

His eyes are hard on mine, and he shrugs out of my grasp without letting me respond, jogging across the yard and through the gate to join our mother and Mrs. Harrison.

The next breath through my nose is icy cold, and I seethe with the overwhelming urge to run to him and hold him away from our mother and take him away from this place, even if he hates me for doing it.