Chapter 67 The Weekend
MIA
On Saturday Mom was already awake when I came into the kitchen, sitting at the table folding laundry even though I had told her at least six different times this week to stop doing things while she was tired.
“You are supposed to be resting,” I reminded her automatically.
“I am sitting down,” she replied.
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is close enough.”
Jamie walked into the kitchen halfway through the conversation wearing sweatpants and one sock, opened the fridge, stared into it for five full seconds, then closed it again.
“There is no food in this house,” he announced.
“There is literally leftover rice right there,” I said.
“I said food.”
Mom laughed quietly into one of the towels she was folding.
Jamie grabbed cereal instead and sat down across from her, eating directly from the box like basic human behavior had become optional overnight.
I opened my laptop at the table and tried finishing my financial aid application again.
The website froze immediately.
I stared at the screen.
Jamie looked over.
“You look like you want to physically fight the computer.”
“I do.”
“That seems fair.”
My phone buzzed beside the laptop.
Caleb.
Morning
Just seeing his name made something in my chest tighten slightly.
Not bad.
Just noticeable.
Morning
A few seconds later another message appeared.
Can I come over later
I read it twice before answering.
Of course
Mom noticed my expression immediately because mothers somehow always did.
“Caleb,” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
She nodded once and went back to folding laundry.
Jamie pointed his spoon toward me.
“You guys have looked stressed for like two weeks.”
“Thank you for the observation,” I said.
“You are welcome.”
The morning passed slowly after that.
Mom eventually went back to bed for a while after I practically forced her to.
Jamie disappeared into his room with his cereal and whatever chaos teenage boys carried around naturally.
I stayed at the kitchen table pretending to work on my application while mostly thinking about Caleb instead.
Not in a dramatic way.
Just constantly.
Everything lately felt like waiting for something neither of us wanted to say out loud yet.
By the time Caleb showed up outside the apartment that afternoon, snow had started falling again.
Lightly this time.
He was carrying coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
Jamie appeared from nowhere the second he walked in.
“Did you bring fries.”
“Yes.”
“You may stay.”
Caleb handed him the bag.
“Thank you.”
Jamie nodded seriously and disappeared again.
Mom laughed softly from the couch.
“You spoil him.”
“He is emotionally fragile,” Caleb replied.
“I can hear you,” Jamie yelled from the hallway.
“That is unfortunate for all of us,” I called back.
The apartment settled after that.
Mom turned on one of her cooking shows even though she mostly just watched them to criticize the recipes.
Jamie vanished into his room with the fries.
And Caleb followed me into the kitchen automatically like that had become routine now.
He looked tired again.
Not physically exactly.
More mentally.
Like he had been thinking too hard for too long.
“You sleep at all,” I asked.
“Somewhat.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Fair enough.
I leaned against the counter while he sat down at the kitchen table.
For a minute neither of us spoke.
The silence was familiar now.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Finally Caleb looked up at me.
“They called again this morning.”
I nodded once.
“Halifax.”
“Yeah.”
“And.”
He rubbed a hand slowly over the back of his neck.
“I still did not answer.”
I stayed quiet.
He looked exhausted in that specific way people did when they kept replaying the same thoughts over and over without reaching a conclusion.
“I feel like everybody already expects me to go,” he admitted.
“Probably.”
That almost made him smile.
“Helpful.”
“You did not ask for comforting. You asked for honest.”
“Fair.”
I moved toward the table and sat across from him.
Snow tapped lightly against the kitchen window behind him.
The apartment smelled faintly like coffee and detergent again.
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
That somehow made the conversation feel heavier.
“I keep thinking about leaving,” Caleb admitted quietly. “Then I think about staying. Then I think about what happens after either choice and my brain just keeps looping.”
I watched him for a second before answering.
“You are trying to solve every future version of your life before making one decision.”
“That sounds bad when you say it out loud.”
“It sounds impossible.”
He leaned back slightly in the chair.
“I just do not want to screw this up.”
“You will.”
His eyebrows lifted immediately.
“That is aggressive.”
“It is realistic,” I corrected calmly. “You are going to get parts of this wrong no matter what you choose.”
Caleb stared at me for a second.
Then let out a small laugh under his breath.
“You really know how to comfort people.”
“I am excellent under pressure.”
“That is deeply concerning.”
That got an actual laugh out of me this time.
Small.
But real.
The sound faded after a second though.
Because the bigger thing was still sitting there between us.
Caleb looked down briefly at his hands.
“I do not want you thinking I am choosing hockey over you.”
My chest tightened slightly at that.
Not because he said it wrong.
Because he sounded genuinely worried that I might believe it.
I shook my head immediately.
“That is not what this is.”
“Then what is it.”
I thought about it carefully before answering.
“It is your future,” I said quietly. “And unfortunately your future exists in a place that might not include me all the time.”
He looked at me steadily.
“I do not like that sentence.”
“I do not either.”
That was the truth.
I hated it actually.
But pretending otherwise would not magically change reality.
Caleb leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against the table.
“I feel guilty every time I think about leaving.”
“You should not.”
“But I do.”
I nodded slowly.
“I know.”
The apartment stayed quiet around us.
From the living room Mom laughed at something on television.
Jamie shouted at a video game.
Life continuing normally around the edges of our conversation.
Caleb looked toward the hallway briefly before speaking again.
“My dad called yesterday.”
I already knew that obviously.
But hearing it again still made my stomach tighten slightly.
“What did he say this time.”
“He talked about opportunities. Reputation. Connections.”
I sighed softly.
“Of course he did.”
“He keeps acting like this should be easy for me,” Caleb admitted. “Like leaving should automatically matter more than everything else.”
I looked at him carefully.
“And does it.”
“No.”
Immediate answer.
No hesitation at all.
That mattered more than he probably realized.
I rested my arms lightly on the table.
“You know what I think,” I said.
“What.”
“I think you are scared that if you leave and love hockey enough to keep going, you turn into him.”
The silence after that lasted longer.
Because I was right.
Caleb looked away briefly toward the kitchen counter before speaking.
“Maybe.”
I shook my head immediately.
“Caleb, your father sacrifices people for success because he thinks success matters more. You are sitting in my kitchen looking miserable because you care about the people involved. Those are not the same thing.”
His expression shifted slightly at that.
Not fixed.
Just softer around the edges.
Like maybe some part of the guilt loosened a little.
“I do not know what happens after this,” he admitted quietly.
“Neither do I.”
Honest answer.
Nothing else made sense anymore.
But after a second I added:
“We are still here right now though.”
He looked at me steadily.
And for a moment neither of us spoke again.
Not because there was tension.
Just because some things sat better in silence.
Eventually Jamie walked into the kitchen holding the empty fry container.
“You two done being emotionally devastating or can I make pizza rolls.”
“You can make pizza rolls,” I said.
“Excellent.”
He paused.
Looked between us.
Then pointed at Caleb.
“You look less stressed.”
“I am still stressed.”
“Yeah but now you look organized about it.”
Then he walked away before either of us could answer.
Caleb let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“I hate that he is sometimes wise.”
“It is upsetting for everyone.”