Free Bigger than a Bread Box by Laurel Snyder Page B

There was too much I didn’t want anyone to know.
    Mostly, each day after school, I’d walk home. Then I’d get a snack and do my homework right away at the kitchen table. Lew always climbed up beside me to scribble with crayons. He said he was doing his homework too. He had to get up on his knees to reach the table. When we were done, we’d watch TV together in the living room. He’d curl up with his blanket, and we’d stare at the baby shows I secretly still liked to watch. Sometimes he’d fall asleep against my arm—a warm bundle. He made snuffling noises when he breathed.
    Once in a while, Gran met me at school as a surprise, with Lew in his stroller. Those days we’d get cocoa or something on the way home. We’d stop at the playground, and he’d play with other little kids while Gran and I watched from the swings.
    If it wasn’t normal, I had to admit it was okay. Granwas nice and school was pretty fun, and Lew was cuddlier than usual. I liked walking everywhere, and I liked the coffee shops near the house, and the playgrounds. If we had been visiting for any other reason, it would have been great.
    And if Dad had been there.
    Sometimes, when Mom wasn’t at work or sleeping, she went out in the car, wearing high heels and a skirt, which wasn’t usual for her. I was
not
about to ask her where she went. She was living her life and I was living mine. She didn’t seem to care what I wanted or thought. Maybe she just went for walks in her high heels, and maybe she saw old friends from when she was a kid in Atlanta. Maybe she wandered around Target aimlessly in the evening, eating chips from an open bag she hadn’t paid for yet. That was something she did that drove me nuts. Still, she was usually home to make dinner. Gran said Mom was getting herself together, “taking some space.” I couldn’t tell from the way she said it whether Gran thought that was okay or not.
    Every night I’d call my dad, but I had to use Gran’s phone, since the phone I’d gotten from the bread box worked for only a few days, even after I wished for a charger. I tried again with a second phone, but I guess you can’t wish for an account with Sprint or AT&T or anything. I guess the bread box couldn’t arrange that for me, which was too bad.
    About half the time when I called, Dad was home. I was curious about what he was doing the nights he was out, but I didn’t ask him any more than I asked Mom. Dad told you what he wanted you to know. Usually he’d just ask what I was studying in school. He never said anything else about the teaching job, and we didn’t talk about Mom. I didn’t tell him nice things about Atlanta, because I didn’t want him to feel sad. There wasn’t a whole lot to chat about, but it was always good to hear his voice.
    I did call Mary Kate a few times too, but it was weird. One time she said I sounded funny and asked if I was okay, and I didn’t know how to answer her. I really wasn’t okay, but at the same time, I
was
okay. I didn’t know how to explain that. She was so far away, and it’s hard to tell someone about something they can’t even begin to imagine. Even when they’re supposed to be your best friend.
    Mary Kate was at home, in
our
home. She was seeing
my
dad. She was sitting at the same desk in the same school in the same city as always. And I … wasn’t. So I could say “I’m lonely” or “It’s fun here,” but she wouldn’t know what I meant, not really … especially when both statements felt completely true and totally inadequate. I didn’t understand it myself, and I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. It was too hard. I stopped returning her calls.
    Mostly from then on I got email forwards from her on the computer in Gran’s office, about cute kittens andbad luck. I couldn’t help thinking they were dumb, though thinking that made me feel bad. She was still my best friend, after all. Occasionally she would send a picture of my house from her phone with a text