The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

I don’t want to be here

“ARE YOU OKAY?” DIANA FRETS.

It’s Sunday. Five days after my dad passed in the hospital with me, my mom, and my sister at his bedside.

I don’t know if he planned it that way. If he knew it was going to happen that moment. It was morning, and we were in his hospital room watching TV, me in the chair, Maryanne snuggled up against his chest. Mom was downstairs at the café doing some work on her laptop, when Dad suddenly said to Maryanne, “Why don’t you go find your mom and bring her up here? Let’s spend a little time together, the four of us.”

Maryanne darted off, returned with Mom, and fifteen minutes later, he was gone.

I think he probably knew.

Now we’re at the house in Heartsong. It’s filled with well-wishers, grief hanging in the air like a thick canopy of stifling smoke. The occasional sniffle breaks the soft murmur of conversation. In the corner of the living room is a table draped in flowers and wreaths, with a large black-and-white photo of my father. I can’t look at it without crying, so I’ve been staying far away from that part of the room.

The burial itself was only for immediate family. Dad’s buried in Burlington next to his parents. They both died young too; I realized this when I was at the cemetery, staring at their headstones. Grandpa died in his early sixties, Grandma in her midfifties. Both got taken out by cardiac arrests. Dad, meanwhile, gets fuckin’ cancer, which doesn’t even run on his side of the family. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

Diana was waiting at the house for us when we got back from Burlington. She came early to help Mom’s parents set up the house for the memorial. Now, she’s beside me, wearing a black knee-length dress, searching my face with concern.

“What? Oh, I’m fine.”

I look around, wondering how long we need to be here, how long these people are going to be in my house, coming up to me with their sad faces and rote condolences. There are faces everywhere, some familiar and others not, all blending together in a mosaic of sorrow.

I try to stay calm and collected, but sweat is forming on my neck. I lose focus of the room. I just want to escape before I’m drawn into another conversation with some distant relative I haven’t seen in years, telling me how sorry they are that I don’t have a father anymore. Everything fades slowly until a voice pulls me back to reality.

“Shane. You don’t seem fine.”

“I don’t want to be here,” I whisper to Diana.

“I know.” She slips her hand in mine and squeezes.

Mom stands near the refreshment table with her twin sister, my aunt Ashley. Her eyes are red from the tears she shed at the burial. She clutches a tissue in her hand, absent-mindedly dabbing at her face as people walk up paying their final respects.

Across the room, Gigi and Ryder are talking to my sister.

God, my sister. She lost her dad. We both did. But she’s still so young. At least I had him for almost twenty-two years. She’s only ten years old.

Maryanne meets my eyes, the corners of her mouth lifting in a sad smile. My heart splinters. I squeeze Diana’s hand harder.

Beckett is here, and some of the guys from the team. Even Coach Jensen made the drive. He’s here with his wife, Iris; I saw them speaking to my mom for a long time. Lots of high school friends showed up too, a familiar one making her way over now.

Lynsey’s dark eyes fill with sympathy as she approaches us. “Lindy,” she says.

Diana releases my hand, and I step forward to hug my ex-girlfriend.

She presses her cheek against mine and whispers, “I’m so sorry. I loved your dad so much.”

“I know. Thank you for being here.” After I release her, she nods at Diana. “Diana. Hey.”

“Hey,” Diana replies.

It’s not awkward or anything. Just depressing. Everything about this is depressing. So when my mom asks if she can speak to me alone, I welcome the respite. Except she takes me to the den, which is like entering a torture chamber.

Everywhere I look, I see my dad. I see our family photos. I see his books. I see those cardboard boxes he was sifting through on Thanksgiving.

“He wasn’t randomly cleaning out the attic, was he?” I say quietly.

Mom shakes her head. “No. He was searching for his most important belongings to give to you and your sister.”

A sob nearly cuts off my airway. The next thing I know, Mom hugs me fiercely, her arms wrapping around my waist.

This loss is…profound. I’ve never experienced anything like it. This gaping hole in my chest, as if someone ripped out something that makes up my core, a piece of me, and left nothing but pain and emptiness in its place.

“It’s okay, baby,” she says.

“No, it’s not okay. He’s gone.”

“I know.”

“So how is that okay?”

“It has to be. Otherwise, I’m going to drown,” she whispers.

For the first time in days, I take a good look at her. I was so worried about myself, and Maryanne, and Dad lying in his hospital bed, that I neglected to really notice my mother. I realize now how utterly destroyed she is.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“You’re not doing well.” I take her hand and lead her to one of the armchairs, forcing her to sit.

“No,” she admits. “I’m not. He was my high school sweetheart.” Her voice is choked. “What are we going to do now, Shane? How am I supposed to live without him?”

I reach for her, but she stumbles off the chair and walks toward his desk.

“How can I live in this house?” She waves her arms around. “I can’t stay in this house.”

“You don’t have to,” I assure her. “We’ll figure something out.”

She keeps her back to me, and I see her shoulders rise as she takes a long, deep breath.

That’s something I admire about my mom. I’ve seen her get emotional over the years, but she’s able to regulate so fast, calm herself in the blink of an eye. I watch her arch her back, straighten her shoulders. She’s in charge again. In control. She’s the town manager of Heartsong, Vermont. She knows how to get shit done, and I love her for it.

“I need a favor from you,” Mom says.

“Anything.”

“Maryanne’s not going back to school until January. There’s no point, since the holiday break starts soon anyway. Can she stay with you for a couple of weeks while I deal with the estate stuff and search for a new house?”

“Oh wow. You’re serious.”

“I cannot be here,” she repeats.

And I get it. He’s everywhere. This is my childhood home and I’ll miss it desperately, but the idea of being here without him is unbearable.

“I figured we’ll do the holidays at your aunt’s house. If that’s all right with you, I’ll let the rest of the family know.”

I nod. Usually we have everyone here, but I understand why she doesn’t want to.

“And of course Maryanne can come stay with me,” I tell Mom. “I’ll talk to my professors, see if I can bring her to some classes.”

“I think she’ll actually enjoy that.”

“Me too. She’s such a nerd.”

It’s the first genuine laugh we’ve shared in days.

“I’ll check if Diana or one of my friends can hang out with her on the weekends when I have games.”

“That sounds good. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She gives me another hug. “We should go back out there.”

“Do we really have to?”

Mom bites her lip. “Five more minutes?”

Without a word, we settle across from each other in Dad’s armchairs. The coffee table, still laden with his books, sits between us. In here, we can almost pretend he’s not gone. That he’s simply out checking on one of his properties, that he’ll be back soon, and we’ll all eat dinner together. We sit there until eventually a knock interrupts the fantasy and forces us to return to grim reality.