Flying Read online

  “Because I wanted to stay here an extra night, okay? I like my own bed.”

  She couldn’t blame him for that. Tristan had had his own room at his dad’s house since the divorce. She could argue with her son that his bed in his father’s house was his own bed, but she understood. And, truthfully, there was also a quiet sort of vindication that Tristan thought of her house as home, no matter how many presents Cynthia bought him.

  “I have to leave super early,” she told him now. “Can I trust you to get yourself off to school?”

  “Don’t I get up on my own every day?”

  This was true, but it was different when she wouldn’t be here at all, just in case he overslept or missed the bus. “Just making sure.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Tristan took a long swig from the bottle, then let out a long, reverberating belch.

  Stella burst into disgusted laughter. “Oh. Nice.”

  Tristan, grinning, lifted a leg and prepared to let out a fart, but Stella made such a threatening gesture that he stopped and backed up into the hall, laughing.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she said, acting tough. “Don’t you bring that in here.”

  So instead, he did it out in the hall. “Ten points! Gold medal stuff here, Mom!”

  “You are repulsive, you know that?” she called after him.

  Tristan stuck his butt through the doorway, wiggling it. “Shouldn’t have made chili for dinner.”

  “No! Tristan, don’t!” But it was too late. He let out another long, ripping fart that sounded like hands clapping. Stella shrieked, running after him, but he was already ducking away from her. She shook her fist at him instead, shaking her head. “You’re a pig, you know that?”

  Tristan pushed up his nose to look like a snout. “Remember that time he ate the chili dogs at the baseball game and farted so bad we had to roll down all the windows?”

  All the laughter left her.

  Carefully, Stella turned back to her suitcase, where she made an effort of sorting through her socks, tucking a couple pairs into an empty space in one of the packing cubes. “I think you should call your dad and have him come get you tonight. You won’t have to get up as early tomorrow morning if you’re at his house, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re not here alone.”

  Silence from behind her. Then a long, snuffling sigh. “I’ll be fine. It’s a few hours in the morning, God.”

  Stella kept herself focused on what she was doing. “Don’t argue with me, Tristan.”

  “I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. It’s already going to suck that I have to be there for a whole week!”

  “It’s only half a week,” she pointed out. “You have your ski trip for the second half.”

  “Whatever.”

  She turned. “What’s wrong at your dad’s house? Is there something going on I need to know about?”

  “No.” But his gaze shifted from hers in a way that told her otherwise.

  “Is it Cynthia?”

  Tristan shrugged. “She’s fine.”

  “Is it your dad?” His look gave that away, even though he shrugged again. Stella sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Is he giving you a hard time about something?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I just like being here better.” The stubborn set of his jaw was more Stella than Jeff. The resemblance wasn’t often there except when he made that face.

  “I understand that, but, sorry, kid, you can’t be here by yourself for a week. Or even half of one. But, fine, you don’t have to go tonight. Just...go to bed,” she told him wearily. “I’m tired, and I have to be up early, and I have a lot to do before I leave tomorrow.”

  Tristan didn’t move at first. The look he gave her was calculated, sort of aggressive, and somehow wary at the same time. “Cynthia told Dad I should see a counselor. I heard her talking to him about it.”

  Stella blinked rapidly against this unexpected news. “What the hell?”

  “Yeah.” Tristan’s shrug looked casual, but she knew it wasn’t. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  Stella shoved aside the suitcase and patted the bed. “Come here.”

  He wouldn’t at first, but then did, dragging his feet. His recent growth spurt meant he was a head taller than her even while sitting, and for a moment the fist of emotion squeezed tight around her throat, making it impossible to talk. Instead of words, Stella put her arm around her son’s shoulders and squeezed gently.

  “You want to talk about it?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “No meaning not at all, or no meaning not with me?”

  Tristan shrugged. Incredibly, for a moment, he leaned against her, and all Stella could do was hold on to him as tight as she could. She stopped herself from petting his hair—Tristan had never been her snuggler.

  “I just don’t like going there as much as being here,” Tristan said in a low voice.

  “Why, honey? If it’s a problem with your dad or Cynthia, you can tell me.” It would’ve honestly surprised her to find out that Cynthia had ever been anything but sweet as sugar to her stepson. That was just how she was. Jeff, on the other hand, could be a pain in the ass.

  “He never lived there with us,” Tristan muttered, so low Stella had to strain to hear him.

  She went cold inside. Involuntarily, her fingers tightened on him hard enough to make him shift. She let him go. They sat in stolid, awkward silence, side by side, for half a minute.

  “I know, sweetie,” Stella said finally. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not okay for you to live there.”

  Tristan looked at her, blue eyes narrowed against the tears he was bravely trying to hold back. Her heart ached for him, but when she tried to hug him, he pulled away just enough to make it clear he didn’t want her embrace.

  “If you need to talk to someone,” she said, “we can find you someone to talk to, but only if you want to.”

  During the divorce, Stella had taken Tristan to a round of counseling, first with the school guidance counselor, then with a child psychologist who specialized in grief issues. Tristan had hated going then; she couldn’t believe he wouldn’t hate going now. Again, in this he’d been unfortunate enough to inherit the worst of both his parents. Jeff’s quickness to dissatisfaction and Stella’s reluctance to open up emotionally. But she had to offer it.

  Something shifted in his gaze, something flaring brightly before it faded like a firework arcing through the sky and fizzling to darkness. He shook his head. “Cynthia just thinks I should, like, be going out with girls and stuff. And doing more than playing video games with my friends. She’s too into social stuff.”

  “Hmmm. I can see that. I think she was one of those popular kids in high school.” Which was, like, last year, Stella thought meanly, and was proud of herself for not saying aloud.

  “Dad says my grades are shit too,” Tristan added.

  Stella frowned. “He thinks B’s aren’t good enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stella sighed and patted his shoulder, then stood. “I’ll talk to him. Are you doing your best?”

  “Yeah,” Tristan said.

  “Then that’s your best. And that’s what matters.”

  He gave her a small grin, and it was better than nothing. “Thanks, Mom.”

  When he hugged her, Stella was too surprised to do more than stiffly accept the embrace for a few seconds, and by the time she moved to return the hug, Tristan had already broken away from her. He paused in the doorway to look back at her, his mouth open as though he meant to say more, but instead he shook his head and disappeared. She heard his door close, then the faint blare of music she was too tired to tell him to turn down.

  Exhausted, Stella sank back onto the bed and rubbed at the pain between her eyes. Sh