Free Forgotten Yesterday by Renee Ericson Page A

family.”
    “That’s not true,” I object. “You got into a good school and you’re smart.” I tap the table a few times. “Plus, who cares? You get to do what you love and most people can’t say that. Can you honestly tell me that you’d rather sit in an office all day rather than play soccer for a living?”
    “Hell no,” he chuckles. “I can’t even imagine.”
    “See. It all worked out for the best.” 
    Brent tongues the inside of his cheek, glaring at his plate. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, either. Man, I’m batting a thousand with him right now. Catching up like this is hard. There’s no handbook for this shit. Someone should make one.
    “So how are your parents?” I ask, keeping the conversation rolling. “Are they doing well?”
    “Yeah. My mom moved to Seattle a couple of years ago for work. They offered her a promotion with the West Coast division. And my dad, he remarried just last year. He met her, Julie’s her name, online on one of those singles sites. They live up in northern Michigan now. I try to visit them both once a year.”
    “So, I take it you never go back to...” I trail off, referring to where we grew up.
    “No, no reason to.”
    The waitress comes by with our drinks. She leaves and we sip our beverages, filling the void of dialogue.
    “So how about you?” Brent asks, as he sets his glass back on the table. “How’s your dad?”
    “He’s...” I glare at my napkin. My chest feels heavy. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what has happened. I’ve come to terms with it. However, a weight still presses down anytime I have to share my father’s whereabouts with anyone. Brent already knows so much about my dad and his issues of addiction. But this, this is something beyond what most people want to hear or could even fathom. “He’s doing well all things considered.” I adjust a little in my seat, waiting for the words to feel comfortable coming out of my mouth.
    “Is everything okay?” Brent asks, attentive. 
    “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just.” I look him straight in the eye. I want to see his reaction. Whenever I tell someone this, the first reaction is the one I care about the most. “He’s in prison.”
    Shock glimmers over his face and then I can see the reality of the situation register. Compassion takes over as he holds my attention. He doesn’t move, but I do. Adjusting the napkin in my lap and then playing with the ends of my hair as Brent continues to spear me with his eyes. I sit. I sit forever it seems, waiting for some reaction. Everyone always has one.
    Finally, Brent rubs his chin, back and forth, and then contemplates out the window.
    “Do you…are you okay?” he asks softly, not meeting my eyes.
    This is an easy question to answer. “Yes, I’m fine.”
    “You can tell me, honestly.”
    “I am being honest,” I tell him, evenly.
    He sighs heavily.
    Most people usually don’t know how to react, when they find out that my father is serving time. It’s not a topic that most people are familiar with, as they shouldn’t be. Brent though, it seems like he’s waging a war with himself, opening his mouth a few times, but never speaking a word.
    “It’s okay. It happened a while ago,” I say, hopefully relieving him of whatever concern he may be feeling.
    “What happened?”
    “He relapsed while I was in Florida almost three years ago.” My stomach leaps at the mention of my time down south, but I press on. “He was in a car accident while intoxicated. DWI. A head-on collision and the other driver didn’t make it.”
    Brent blinks a few times. “How long does he have?”
    “Eight years.”
    The server arrives at our table and places our meals in front of us. She leaves after making sure we’re set with beverages and everything is satisfactory. I grab my fork and begin to eat. Brent slowly cuts into his waffle, piled with whip cream. He places his fork down on the table before even taking one bite.
    “Ruby,”