She nodded once, tears threatening to spill again.
Bridge didn’t eat much. Nor did I, for that matter. I’m not exactly sure if it was the fact that she complained of feeling sick again, which set my heart beating an abnormal pattern, or the fact that we were about to drop the biggest bomb on my parents’ shoulders. We left it unsaid. Memories of Vegas kept invading my thoughts, and I felt nauseous myself.
“Wait, I forgot my purse,” she said when we reached my car.
“I’ll get it,” I told her and opened her door for her.
I watched her seventeen-year-old body hop in. She strapped herself to her seat then tucked her leg beneath her, the way so many young teenage girls do, and twisted a strand of her long blonde hair around her finger while texting someone with the other hand.
All I could think as I looked on her was that she was so young. She was way too young to be pregnant. She was my baby sister. My little Bridge. Granted, she was only four years younger, but that never mattered to me. When she was ten, I was fourteen, and I recalled scaring off the bullies who pulled her pigtails. When she was fifteen, I was nineteen and I would yell at her to stop wearing those freaking shorts around my friends. And then she got pregnant, and I still felt very much like the older brother I was. I just wished I could have protected her better, but instead I led by the worst example ever. Piper’s Cheshire grin popped in my head, and I flinched.
I grabbed Bridge’s ridiculously oversized leather bag from her forgotten chair and headed for the door. I jumped into my car.
“The Holes?” I asked, so pissed at myself, I could’ve kicked my own ass.
“Of course,” she answered, her gaze staring out toward the busy street.
“The Holes” were where fifty or so of our most elite group would gather together at the home of one our parents’ because it was inevitable that someone’s folks would be out of town. We would “hole” up for the weekend, binge on drugs, sex and booze.
I slammed the palm of my hand into the steering wheel. I leaned forward and started the car. I fell back into my seat and ran a hand down my face.
“Jesus. I just-Bridge, we need a plan.”
She turned my way. She looked so lost. “Thanks for helping me, Spence.”
“Please, Bridge. Your problems are my problems,” I said, hitting the gas.
We sat in the car at the end of our street, staring at our parents’ monstrous house. I listened quietly to Bridge’s crying. I tried comforting her, but it did no good.
“We’ll get it over with,” I said.
“I want to wait until after Christmas. It’ll kill Mama.”
“No, we tell them tonight. The sooner, the better. I’ll be able to defuse it better the more time I have.”
“So you’re going back to Brown after all this?”
I looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I just thought you’d want to stick around for a little while.”
“Bridge, Dad’s not gonna let you keep it.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m going to.”
“Let’s see what happens.” He would never let her keep it.
“No, I need us to be united on this front, Spence. I need to know that when I stand up to Dad you’ll be there to back me up. I need support.” He still wouldn’t let her keep it.
“Fine, Bridge.”
I parked in my spot and got out, Bridge following right behind me. When I opened the front door, Mom and Dad were in the main living room. Mom was on the floor sweeping up shards of a liquor decanter, and Dad was on the sofa with a paper in his hands. Something had transpired, and Dad had won as always.
Mom stood up, quickly swiping under her eyes. “Oh, kids!” she said with false excitement. “How was dinner?”
“Okay,” I said. “You all right?” I asked.
“Fine. Fine. Just fine,” she spat out quickly, standing and leaving the glass in the pan on the floor.
“Uh, listen,” I said, shoving a nervous Bridge into the seat opposite from Dad.
I sat next to her, but Mom didn’t make a move to sit next to him. He was obviously ignoring all of us. She picked a chair to our right and sat. My dad got up, his nose still in the paper, and started making his way to his office.
“Dad,” I said, and he turned around, stunned I’d disturbed him. “Yes, I know, but you need to hear this.”
His scowl would have burned holes through me if I wasn’t so used to it and if we didn’t have something so dire to tell them. Plus, around the age of sixteen, I noticed he’d become aware of my size and he’d stopped manhandling me. I could be a serious threat if I needed to be, and he knew it.