lacey stopped coming to track meets. i still checked up on her every once in a while, but her behavior had returned to its previous aloof dismissiveness that generally gatekept me from her life. it made me scratch my head at times, having her show a normal level of affection, then suddenly turning cold, or giving me a look that i never expected to receive from lace. a condemnation. a sort of knowing, bothered sadness that put a hard feeling in the pit of my stomach. one that had seemingly shacked up with the ever-present guilt. 

kirsten was icing me out again too, and even kelsey had stopped looking in my direction as much, which i was secretly grateful for all things considered. life was back to old normal with the bonus that i didn’t get the heeby-jeebies from my stepsister half as often. still, i was forlorn. i would have put up with the crap from kelsey and dealt with the silence from kirsten much more gracefully if i wasn’t feeling so distant from lacey. there was a mental battle taking shape where parts of me wanted to be closer to her, but i recognized a lot of those parts as what had brought us too close, made things too complicated. so, i fought in silence, in brooding moodiness. warring with myself and trying to focus on the other things that mattered. 

summer was fast approaching and school had me wound up tighter than a garage door spring that hadn’t been properly installed. i felt like one false move would have me punching through the walls of our house and waking up half the neighborhood. it wasn’t bad enough that i felt like going out drinking, i had actually been remiss in talking to keith. even maria had hit my line asking where i’d been the last few weeks. the brooding took priority and my usual excuses were enough for the dependable people in my life. school, stress, finals, track.  

i was more preoccupied by my own stagnating performance than anything else. grades were alright; they always were. i was never the type to take classes i couldn’t pass. the 9 second monster was something else entirely. 10.07, 10.04, 10.03. i was approaching the event horizon of my skill. sprinting into the abyss where even light disappeared and nobody knew what was on the other end. except that i did; paying for college. 

never in the deepest, darkest, wildest parts of my imagination had i envisioned myself wanting to go to college, let alone dreaming of it. yet, here i was. looking at average chip times, plotting my training regimen like some NCAA prospect, all because it was an escape vector. a way out of whatever this mess at home had become. there were still lingering anxieties, things like how lacey would fair without me present, but i was working hard to draw a line. clearly, she was growing up much faster than i had expected or was ready for. even though it was roughly defined, fleeting, i could see a future where i went away to school and she managed okay. 

my teachers had often described me as lazy, not particularly driven. i supposed they were right, it was difficult for me to drive myself towards a destination i wasn’t interested in. having been in charge of my sister for so long, having been the one to hold the family together in the roundabout and circumspect way i’d been forced to, there wasn’t any gas left in the tank for me to drive at all. i was older now, though. i wanted to have a plan, a roadmap. i wanted to drive the car. so, in the midst of my determination, i had every college in the area, the state, and even a few abroad mapped out. none were even close to offering me a full ride with my current academics, unless i hit that magic number. 9.99. 

i clicked around aimlessly on the homepage of another school. i was hoping they would have less insane average application credentials. no such luck. almost all the accepted were rocking high 3’s and my slightly below average 2.85 was sorely lacking. i sat back in frustration and wiped my face with my hands. it was another early morning after a restless night. a day started with enough creeping trepidation that i had avoided going downstairs at all.  

there was a moment of hesitation, a sort of glancing blow with my hunger that almost took me out of the chair and towards the door. i let out the air i was subconsciously holding instead, leaned forward to stretch, and opened up a GPA calculator in a new tab. my ancient PC tried as best it could to load the webpage, albeit at a glacial pace. elements stuck on the sides, black outlines on white background, as the cursor spun for a few minutes.  

when it loaded and i’d punched in all of the data from my transcripts i let out a heavier, more abject sigh. even if i had straight A’s through the end of sophomore year, and i maintained that through junior year, unless i took almost a full stack of AP classes there was no chance i’d hit that high 3 target. damn. i patted my legs like a dog i’d had since childhood. just you and me, pal.  

i clicked off the aging computer and didn’t stay to watch its archaic power off cycle. my hunger was too intense to ignore in the face of defeat. i could have moped, there was a little voice in the back of my mind chirping at me to flop back into bed and ignore the growling in my stomach. instead, i pondered grabbing a shirt from my ramshackle closet, decided against it, and trotted down the stairs into the kitchen.  

it was a slightly odd configuration. at martha’s request, dad had contractors knock out the wall that had separated the dining room. they replaced it with a breakfast bar connected to the existing countertop, a smaller, waist height extension at the end. our old, slightly off-white refrigerator sat next to a variety of stainless appliances as the odd man out, across from the heavy-set range with six gas burners my friends always seemed impressed by. the rest was just open space, reinforcing the eclectic look. lacey was doing homework at the breakfast bar, teetering on one of the high stools that lined the entry side. 

“knock it off, you’re gonna mark the floor up.” i chided. 

“sorry martha.” she replied “ohhhh cain! i hardly recognized it was you through the bootlicking.” 

the rocking ceased, despite the sarcasm, and i decided to ignore the taunt. instead, i grabbed an apple from the countertop fruit bowl and took a loud bite. it was a lot more fun to exaggeratedly ignore her, letting the tension mount as she got frustrated because i wasn’t playing along. at least we had this. i tousled her hair, to great complaint, and plopped onto the leather sectional in the living room. it created a dividing wall opposite the bar, further bolstered by a long console table behind it, and helped give the space some definition from the open concept kitchen and foyer.  

somebody had forgotten to return the remote to the oblong coffee table. another eclectic piece that martha had probably insisted on for whatever combination of mid-century modern and rustic farmhouse she was curating. something rectangular sailed past my head and bounced off a couch cushion to my right. the culprit, narrowly losing out in a bid to retrieve it, dropped onto the couch next to me. she kicked her feet up on the ottoman and gave me a silent wave to hit the power on the flatscreen. 

“what would you have done if i’d gone comatose from that projectile?” i asked with a mild amount of smarm, not entirely sure who i was imitating.  

“probably laughed, and then cried, and then laughed some more.” lacey replied. she was munching an apple of her own and making a point to avoid looking directly at me. 

“not to have a repeat of earlier, but maybe chew with your mouth closed and talk after?” 

“nah.” she said, chewing a bit louder on purpose. i did my best to ignore her continued provocations and flipped through channels. news, sports, cartoons i hadn’t cared about in 10 years, at least. “wait wait, go back, chowder is on.” 

“seriously?” 

“it’s a comfort show.” she said. the statement had a seriousness i could only interpret as genuine and i resigned myself to just zoning out. i flipped the channel back. lacey stretched and wiggled forward a bit. it put her perpendicular to me on the short end of the sectional and she nestled her head in my lap. 

“what are you doing?” 

“getting comfortable.” 

“and it’s imperative that i be your pillow?” she only responded with an ‘mhm’ and continued to dig into the apple. it wasn’t a problem, i didn’t mind, but this stupid hot and cold thing was giving me a migraine. 

the show was absolutely riveting, not. i really had to strain to understand what was happening between painfully repetitive joke delivery and frustratingly slow exposition. each time i felt like i was close to getting it, trying to use lace’s giggles as route markers, i suddenly stumbled off into the wilderness and got lost again. 

“you’re gonna mess up my hair.” lacey mumbled through the last bits of her snack. i had put my hand on her head without realizing it. 

“ah, sorry.” 

“here.” she replied, taking my hand and putting it underneath her sunshine curls at the nape. she was warm, soft. i shivered a bit and hoped she hadn’t noticed. the little fuzzy strands at the base of her head reminded me a lot of when we had decided to give each other haircuts as kids. mom had freaked, because while lacey had given me a bit of messed up fringe, i’d lopped her pigtails off entirely.  

i sighed, absentmindedly petting lacey. “you know, when you aren’t a total brat, it’s really nice to spend time with you.” 

“i thought we spent too much time together.” she huffed. i didn’t have a response for that. “shared too much space.” 

“well, we talked about that. it was never really a good idea. lapse of judgement.” it was lacey’s turn to not have anything to say. “we can do more stuff like this instead, watch tv. i miss seeing you at track.” i continued. lacey stayed quiet. i sighed again, catching some of her usual fragrance on the inhale. “you really like that perfume, huh?” 

“it smells good.” 

“it smells like an industrial accident in a happiness factory.” i laughed. it was hard to see, but i definitely knew lacey rolled her eyes. 

“you don’t like it?” she asked, neutral. i opened my mouth to respond, desperately trying to find my footing on the plank i had walked myself to the edge of. when i realized my only choice was to jump off, i shut it. she turned her head to look at me, inquisitive, forcing the issue. 

“it’s good, just maybe a quarter bottle next time instead of half?” i offered, throwing my free hand up in mock surrender. 

“okay.” she replied. her eyes were so blue. little oceans i could dive into, swimming for hours before i ever reached the bottom. it was intoxicating, smothering, drawing me in and disarming me in a way that made it hard to think. i cupped her cheek. lacey made a face, something between ‘what the fuck’ and ‘oh’. my thumb brushed her lip and the next expression change pulled me out of the trance as surprise melted into worry. 

“sorry. it’s just…you’re starting to look like mom.” the words came out of my mouth too fast and too slow at the same time, a traffic jam of awkwardness that buried me in the grave i’d dug for myself. lacey sat up abruptly, side eyeing me. i didn’t really have a response and my brain, having skipped about two tracks, was much too far ahead of the conversation. “we’ll hang out more?” i asked. she slid off the couch and i had to crane my neck around to watch her retreat back to the breakfast bar and her homework. 

“sure. less touching maybe.” 

“okay, yeah. sorry.” i repeated. nice fucking job, cain. 

when she had gone back to her room i was left alone with my thoughts. all sorts of things ranging from ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’ to ‘are you fucking serious dude’ bounced around my head until i got dizzy enough that i curled up into a ball. what the fuck was wrong with me? what was going on? that nauseating perfume wasn’t helping. way to fucking go mr. boundaries.  

the image of lacey’s bottom lip, just a hair thinner than the upper, caressing the underside of my thumb with its silky surface played on loop behind my closed eyes. i audibly groaned. i wanted to bash my head in, rip the tape up and burn the recording. it felt like it was being seared into my mind the more i tried to forget about it. the pit in my stomach doubled in size, guilt suddenly needing more real estate. 

when dad and martha came back i was still in the fetal position on the couch. i didn’t even flinch at martha’s disparaging comments about the cartoons still on TV or about my lack of a shirt. i just wrinkled my nose, gave my dad a look that i hoped he would understand, and trodded off back to the attic. it was a long walk, a heavy trod where my feet felt leaden and i kicked myself up every step. 

my room was empty, of course. i’m not sure what i had expected. it blew regardless, knowing that i had so badly fumbled such an easy win. she was reaching out and i was making things needlessly, inappropriately complicated. the few opportunities we still had to be normal were all i had left. that feeling from earlier persisted amongst the guilt, the shine in her eye threatening to pull me in even through the filmy haze of memory. i lightly slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand. come on, cain, pull yourself together. 

i didn’t sleep at all that night, kept up by a cocktail of shame and something else that i hadn’t felt in quite some time. it was hard to put words to it. longing that had tied itself off in the farthest reaches of my soul and been stretched thin to the point it was unrecognizable. i just stared at the ceiling, at the old rafters, until i felt a kind of numb peace somewhere in the early morning.