Dismantling Evan Read Online Free Page B

and lean back on my hands. “Sorry. Just tired.”
    It is always my excuse to get her off my back. I know she thinks it is an excuse, but she doesn’t say so aloud, which I appreciate.
    Mom looks back out the window before she asks, “Where does he live?”
    My sarcasm is like a whip as I snicker. “Which one?”
    Mom shifts only her eyes in my direction raising one eyebrow with the look that says, ‘Quit giving me shit Evan.’
    I had gotten to mom and not wanting to push her over the edge at the moment, I answer, “The one with the army cap that was in front of our driveway is Gavin.”
    All of a sudden, mom inquires relentlessly; like a dog with a bone. “He talked to you? Told you his name?”
    I shake my head, “No his older brother Brody called out to him. Took him back home.”
    Mom raises her eyebrows again and smiles like a Cheshire cat; damn I could read her every thought with the movement of those eyebrows, and damn her for the cheeky smile. “Older brother, huh?” she asks.
    My cheeks get hot from the direction her questioning is taking. I quickly cover my semi-embarrassing moment. “Yes. Hell, it is not a big deal, Mom!”
    Mom’s playful smile turns into a sour scowl making me resent myself for making her feel any less than what she was trying to be for me; a silly, playful mom. She moves away from the window and toward me. “I was just trying to...”
    I don’t want her getting close to me now and she has that look like she is going to hug me, tell me she loves me and wants to talk like we are best mother and daughter pals. My skin crawls with annoyance as she gets closer. Just as she reaches her hand out to me, I get up and walk toward the door to escape her touch. “Shit mom, just stop trying so damn hard!”
    “Hey! Watch the language!” she says, firmly.
    She is only making things worse; making me worse. I lean against the door, leaving a path for her to leave. “Could you please go?”
    I don’t look at her again, both pissed and ashamed by my stupid irritability, but I feel her eyes on me as she leaves.
    Her voice changes, becomes soft, tender even as she stands in the middle of my room. “Evan, you don’t need to blow up. . .”
    Her speaking again kindles the tension in me. “I am not blowing up! Just stop talking all right! You are making things worse than they really are!”
    Pleadingly, she says, “I was just joking about your new friends.”
    Every single word that comes out of her mouth is painful to hear. “I am not making friends! I was just talking to them for God’s sake!”
    She is obviously not leaving, so I walk past her and open a box, pretending to unpack. I can feel her watching me, wondering if I’m going to have another mental blow up. UGH! She just needs to back the hell off!
    The brief silence makes me look back and mom slips out the door without a word. I feel like shit now, but I can’t say sorry. I’ve made her feel like complete crap by sending her out of here.
    Way to go Evan. Just fucking great!
    When Dad gets back, we eat lunch in silence. I know mom told dad what happened because they keap looking at each other and me sideways. In their minds, I just had just had a ‘spell’ and my ‘disorder’ or ‘condition’ was rearing its ugliness once again.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    THE MOVERS COME AND GO. Boxes line every hallway in the house, but it is looking more like a home with the kitchen table, living room sofa, love seat, and recliners filling the main areas of the house. Looking at the boxes, stacked two high along the walls of my bedroom, is daunting, but I was able to get the movers to place my bed and dresser where I wanted before they left.
    With my earbuds on and the playlist my parents deem ‘eclectic’, at best, I start unpacking my boxes.
    The closet is easiest since we left my clothes on hangers when we boxed them. The bureau in the corner was moved with