Leap of Faith by Cassidy Shay (nice books to read .TXT) 📖

just be equally mad at both of you." 
    "That's fair," he says. We’ve had lots of conversations about this by now, and most of them ended in screaming matches, usually where my dad and I separate ourselves so nothing physical happens.
    "It's just weird. I always looked at kids with divorced parents and just wondered how they went through life, how they functioned as if everything was fine. And now I have to figure all that out on my own."
    "Well, not on your own. You have plenty of people to help you through this. You have Joe, and Amia. And I know I'm part of the problem, but I'm here if you need to talk, and so is your mother. And you can always talk to God." I give him a weird look, and he laughs. "I know, I know. I'm not really in a position to be talking to you about keeping up on your prayers. But this whole situation all stems from your mom and I taking God out of our relationship. We went to church, but we didn't let Him into our relationship, and things started to fall apart. Then we thought we could fix things ourselves, that we didn't need help." To himself, he says, "Boy, were we wrong." 
    "Well if you know the problem, why can't you fix it? Why are you just giving up?" He shakes his head and starts to say something, but I cut in. "Isn't that the whole point of identifying where you went wrong? So you can correct the mistake? Not just give up and say 'oh, well?'" My voice gets louder as more words come out.
    "Damn it, Mikey, it's not that simple!" he yells across the table. He pauses for a moment, and then says in a much gentler voice, "It's not that simple. I wish it was. I don't enjoy getting a divorce. It doesn't make me happy to tear my family apart. But..." He sighs. "There are some things that you don't understand, and I pray to God that you never have to understand."
    He folds his hands in front of him. "I talked to Father the other day, and he said that you're welcome to go in and talk to him any time. He'll probably be more helpful than I am."
    I close my binder and stack my books, making a lot of noise with them. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind. For now, I'm going to go do homework." When I get to the door, he calls my name. 
    "Mikey?" I stop and turn to face him. He's sitting slumped at the table, looking defeated. "I love you. You know that, right? Your mom and I both do. This whole thing has nothing to do with you. I just want to make sure you know."
    I feel all the muscles in my body relax, and my face goes from a scowl to an almost smile. "Yeah, I know. Love you too, Dad." Amia

 

The next few weeks, every time I think about Mikey I feel a smile creep onto my face. I hear those words, soft and barely audible amidst the rain. “I think I love you.” He loves me. I don’t think he meant for me to hear it, so I don’t say anything. But when I’m alone, I allow myself to think about it, to remember.

And I need to remember that, because that’s the last day when Mikey was my Mikey. I start to get really worried about him. He’s distant now, consumed with his parents’ divorce. It’s as if he doesn’t know who he is anymore. He doesn't ever laugh and he hardly ever smiles. I want to be able to help him, but nothing I do seems to work. 
    Over spring break, he goes to talk to the priest for a few days. After each conversation with Father Steve, Mikey comes over and talks to me. I can tell that it's helping him, and not just for a few hours after his talks. By the Friday of spring break, he's almost back to his normal self. He asked Joe to cover for him at the station, so that he could spend the afternoon with me.
    "When you go talk to Father Steve, what do you guys talk about?" I ask him. We're sitting on my living room floor, playing a game of Uno. I place a card down, and he studies his hand. 
    "We talk about everything, really. Sometimes we talk about my parents. Sometimes we talk about his parents. They got divorced when he was a junior, so he kind of understands. Of course, no two situations are going to be exactly the same, but he gets me." He puts down a card. "But sometimes we talk about other things. Life, the Church. Sometimes we talk about you, too."
    I look up from my cards at him. "Really? What do you say about me?"
    His cheeks get a little pink. Is he blushing? "Well, he knows your story because I told him about it last fall. So we just talk about your hearing sometimes. And how you can hear me even when I'm not on the radio, because that’s kind of a big deal." His voice gets deep and "proper" sounding, with a touch of an English accent. "And of course he wanted to make sure my intentions are honorable."
    I laugh. "That just sounds a little bit awkward." He nods a little bit, which makes me laugh more. "Well, I'm glad you've been talking to him. You're getting back to normal. And that's good, because I missed the real you. Seeing you like that, so depressed, just..." I shake my head. "It just made me sad." I don’t mention the hint of jealousy that I feel, since he really hasn’t talked to me about any of this since he told me on Valentine’s Day.
    He nods slowly. "Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just don't understand, I guess. I mean about them. About their problems that they know how to fix, but refuse to. But Father seems to understand those things. He's done quite a bit of counseling over the years. Apparently my parents went to him last year. They met with him like once a week for a couple months. But I guess it didn't work all the way." He slaps down his last card. "I'm out."
    "What?" I yell. "No, you never said 'Uno!' You have to draw two cards." I look at the four cards still in my hand. 
    "No, because you never caught me at it," he says casually, already moving on from the game. He starts to stand up, ending the discussion, and I watch as he stretches. "Do you know what time it is?" he asks. 
    I look at the clock on the wall. "It's about 5:30. My family should be getting home soon. I guess my dad is making chili." I gather the cards up and put them on the coffee table. "Do you want to stay for dinner?" As soon as I ask the question, I realize that we've never had dinner with each other's families. 
    He seems to realize the same thing, based on his facial expression. "Sure," he says. "Let me just call my mom and dad and let them know, so they aren't expecting me." 

At dinner that night, my mom has a huge smile on her face. "I'm so glad that you could join us, Mikey," she says. "How have you been lately?"
    He shrugs. "I've been a lot better. I'm sure Amia's told you, but I've been a little depressed lately. But the last week I've been getting back to my normal self." He smiles, as if to prove that he's okay. 
    "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that," Mom says, and then she looks down at her bowl. "How's the chili?"
    He smiles. "Oh, it's wonderful." He turns to my dad. "You make a mean chili."
    My dad takes a bite before answering. "It's actually my dad's recipe. I just follow the directions. But I'm glad you like it."
    "So Mikey," my mom says. "You're a senior, right?" He nods. "What do you plan on doing next year? I know I've asked you this before, but you didn't really know then."
    Only I see his smile waver for a second. "I'm actually still not sure. I've applied at lots of places, but I don't know where I'm going. And I haven't figured out what I want to do for a career." He laughs. "I'm kind of running out of time, but I just don't know. There are so many possibilities, and I'm just scared of making the wrong choice and being miserable. There's nothing that pops out at me and makes me think, 'Yeah, that's what I really want to do.'" 
    We spend a few more minutes talking about Mikey's future, and when my mom finally changes the subject, he looks deflated. I know that he's already stressed about it, and he doesn't like the constant reminders that he has no plan. I grab his hand, intertwine my fingers with his. While everyone else goes on talking, he turns his head to look at me. He smiles and sits up a little straighter. I hold his gaze for a few seconds, and then I smile too. I could stay like this forever- our shoulders barely touching, our hands grasping each other, our eyes locked. 

After dinner, I walk Mikey out to his car. "Thanks for coming," I say. 
    "Yeah, thanks for inviting me. It was a lot better than the awkward silence at home."
    "How are they doing?" I ask. "I mean, I know they're getting a divorce. But like... how is that whole situation working out?"
    He rolls his eyes. "I honestly don't know. They don't hate each other, so at least I'm not constantly caught in the middle of an argument. But they don't really talk and they're just... indifferent, I guess. They just don't seem to care about anything. Dad's been staying in the guest room, but he’s been looking for apartments.” 
    I nod. "I'm sorry, Mikey." I step towards him and wrap him in a hug, and his arms come around my shoulders, holding me against him. My heart aches for him, and I wish that I could fix all this. There's nothing I wouldn't do, if I knew it meant making his pain stop.
    "I'm okay," he says. "People go through this all the time. If everyone else can do it, then I can too." I close my eyes, my head resting against his chest. I try to hear his heartbeat, but nothing comes. I feel his chin resting on the top of my head, and we stand like that for a few minutes. "Thanks for dinner," he finally says, pulling away. "But I should