Taylor's Perspective

With a tiny creak, the chipped wooden front door falls open, dim-white streetlight spilling into the house's front room, casting awful shadows on the shoe rack next to the floor-mat. Taking in a deep breath and noticing the quiet and stillness of the house, I step inside.

On good nights in the Ferguson household, you would see Dad in the lounge-room watching an episode of Highway Thru Hell, his steaming cup of tea warming his hands. Ana wouldn't be far, either jamming to some punk-rock song through her headset or calling her best friend Lola to talk about school. I'd either be texting Darko or thinking of a song I'd want to practice on the piano. Even though we weren't all interacting with each other, it was always nice to just do our own thing in the same space. The company made the house feel warm and alive.

Tonight's not a good night. The house feels dead.

"Ana? I'm home!"

A tired hum sounds from the kitchen. Locking the door behind me and kicking off my shoes, I pass my unkempt and unvacuumed lounge-room and enter the kitchen, dropping my schoolbag on the dining table. Ana stands at the far end of the room, her head poking inside the cupboard.

"Welcome back--just got your text. What takeout are we getting?" She says, plucking a mug from the shelf. Fingers as pale as the piano keys in my room grab two Earl Grey tea bags from a nearby tea-box. A thick, black cardigan clings tightly to her chubby body.

It used to be so loose on her; she's at least double the standard weight for sixteen-year-old girls now.

I sigh quietly to myself. "Never mind the takeout, where's Dad? Are things okay?"

Ana shrugs, waving a dismissive hand in the air. Her focus is on the slow rumble of the kettle's bubbling water, the steam rebounding from her inky hair. "He woke up briefly and went to bed. I wanted to check on him, but... yeah. I guess things are okay, considering."

Understanding, I nod. Ana went on to explain everything that happened--Dad had come home after work and Ana was in her room when she heard smashing in the kitchen. She went out and saw what the commotion was and saw everything. In tears, he ditched a dining plate onto the floorboards, sending chips of ceramic flying everywhere. Before Ana went to her room, she saw a nearly empty bottle of whiskey behind him, precariously placed on the couch arm. He was shouting profanities by the time Ana locked herself in her room, but a few minutes later when things went quiet, she got out and found him passed out on the couch, face-first into a cushion.

While drinking isn't anything new, smashing things is. Maybe bills angered him? Money? Unclean dishes? I don't know. The alcohol's melting his brain, and the smallest of things tick him off now. The medicine he takes should be preventing this behaviour to begin with, so I don't know what's wrong.

By the time she's done recounting, her hands are visibly shaking. "Look in the bin. Dad smashed something else."

I cock an eyebrow. "What?"

She nods towards the trashcan in the corner of the room.

Getting up, I open it and I feel my heart twinge. Looking at Ana, she frowns before resting her forehead on her palm. Mum's favourite mug, a huge soup mug with a watermelon pattern painted on it, lay splintered amongst the trash. Dad, why?

"Why the heck did he..." I trail off, shaking my head. Closing the trash can, I look at the kettle.

"Why're you making tea? Thought you swore only by coffee, of the chilled kind."

The kettle began to whistle. Getting up, she grabs the handle, pouring the boiling liquid into the mug.

"I figured Dad would appreciate that--you know how much he loves it. Was going to bring it up to him. Could you grab the milk?"

With a nod, I open the fridge. Yesterday's leftovers are gone--aside from a few half-used condiment bottles, the milk, and a jar of pickles, the fridge is bare. With an exasperated sigh, I grab the milk and give it to her. She pours it in and the two liquids mix together, fusing to make the drink that always brings a smile to Dad's face.

With the cup in Ana's hand, we make our way to Dad's room. Ana's heavy footsteps trail behind me. It's a miracle she didn't spill any of it; she can be clumsier than Miss Lauriana sometimes.

"Dad... I'm here," I whisper, pushing his bedroom door open, "are you awake?"

Dad doesn't reply. I look at Ana and swallow a lump forming in my throat. She hands me the cup, and the warmth of the drink is almost comforting.

Creaking the door open further, I step in, immediately wishing Ana did it first. The smell of spilt alcohol hits me, then ripe, unclean musk. God, I really don't like coming in here.

The room's a complete mess; dirty clothes and empty food packets are strewn across the floor. A cracked glass cup lay on the stained carpet beside his bedside table. Dozens of bottles sit on his drawer, some completely empty, some half-drunk. This is probably the worst state I've ever seen his room.

"Dad?" I repeat, weaving my way through the mess and reaching his bed. Tentatively touching his shoulder, I place the mug next to his lamp, trying not to wake him up too suddenly. He used to snore really loudly, enough to wake up the neighbours, but ever since he started sleeping alone, he's quietened down.

As I turn on his bedside lamp, he snaps awake, his eyes blinking wildly. Sitting up, he opens his mouth, cocking his head to look behind me.

"W-who's that?!" he says, lip trembling. "Bethany? Is... is that you? Why are you dressed like that?"

Oh no.

Turning around, my stomach falls. Ana's face is bright red. She takes a few steps out of the doorway, her silhouetted frame deflating against the hallway light. Before Dad could say another word, she slams the door shut and stomps down the hallway.

"Dad, that was Ana!"

He stares at the door for a few moments, before fresh tears start to brew in his eyes.

"Oh... oh my God... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay," I say, lying. "Have you taken your pills today? Are we gonna talk about what happened before?"

He hangs his head. After a minute of silence, he shakes his head no. I close my eyes for a few seconds, quietly sighing with exasperation, feeling an uneasy knot form inside right at my solar plexus.

"Dad, why not? You can't do that to Ana, and you need to take those pills; you know they help. We can't afford to go back to therapy—this is all you have."

He sighs, forlornly gazing away. His eyes are hooded and puffy. Vacant. Vague. Pearls streak along his mottled skin. "W-what's the damn point? Ana will be fine. Look, just go away, lecturing me about taking them isn't going to bring--"

His throat tightens. He shuts his mouth, swallowing hard. He doesn't look at me.

"Dad, no." I say, voice uneven, "There is a point. No, it... it won't bring her back, but it'll help keep you here with me and Ana. We love you... we don't want to lose you as well."

Dad reluctantly brings his eyes to me for a few moments before weakly grinning, his lip shaking. Leaning forward, I wrap him in my arms, patting his back as he unloads a well of tears into my shoulder. I take off my glasses and wipe away a few stray drops—hearing Dad like this, seeing him like this; you'd be deranged if you didn't feel something.

"Hey," I say after a couple of minutes, "you need some rest. Drink this—Ana made it. It's tea."

He nods, lifting himself from my shoulder. I gesture to the cup on his bedside table. He tentatively takes a few sips of the earthy liquid before setting it back down. Lying on the mattress, he lifts the blanket up to his chin and looks up at me through glassy eyes.

"I love you, Taylor. Please, tell Ana I'm sorry."

I wipe a tear away from his cheek. "I love you too, Dad. I'll tell her right now. I'll put on some of my recordings, okay? Get some rest."

#

After putting a few quiet piano ballads on Dad's desk speaker, I walk out and shut his door, releasing a long breath of air. This usually happens once or twice every few months, but for the past few weeks, it's been happening every third or fourth day. Grief is one awful thing.

Picking myself back together, I take a few breaths, leaning on the wall for support. I head to Ana's room. Avoiding her "DO NOT ENTER" sign plastered on the door face, I turn the knob. She's sitting on her bed, arms folded, head hung low, and her eyes swollen. Her face is flushed.

Not an uncommon thing either. Guilt settles in the pit of my chest, but I shake my head and try to ignore it.

"Dad'll be okay. He said that he's sorry, as per usual."

Ana nods. Unfolding her arms, she plucks at the loose threads poking out of the hem of her doona.

"I've put some of my piano recordings on. He should be asleep by now. I'm going to head out later, but I'll order some food for you before I do. Do you want Italian or Chinese?"

She's quiet for a moment. "Chinese, p-please."

A single bead rolls down her cheek. Moving to her bed, I tentatively touch her arm. "Hey. It's okay."

Ana chokes back a laugh, looking up at me with tear-streaked skin. "It's really not."

I don't know what to say back, so I pull out my phone and place her usual order on our go-to delivery app. After a few moments of rubbing her back, letting her cry, she sniffles, pulling out a thin strip of string from her blanket. "I... I think I just need to be alone. Thanks for dinner."

My chest sinks. "All right, then. Your food should be here soon, keep an ear out. I'm going to head to Darko's soon, will probably leave in ten mins."

Ana's lips part, but the words die on her tongue. She snaps her mouth closed and starts unfurling herself into the bedsheets.

Getting up, I shake my head to myself and close the door behind me. God, I need some air.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I step out of the front door. Fishing the machine out, I see Darko's name flash across the screen as I sit on the concrete steps that lead out into our driveway.

My good sir, how are things? Are you coming to me or am I coming to you?

Sigh. At least the evening air is nice. That nickname will be the end of me.

I tucked Dad in and Ana's got her food coming soon. Come and pick me up?

Glancing to my left, I nudge a nearby pot plant with my foot, the dead leaves flaking off and falling onto the dry soil. Darko's name lights up my screen again.

I'll be there in ten. Do you want me to stay over instead? I can pack a bag.

I glance over my shoulder. The house is cold and distant. I also don't like the idea of being in his car, but the route from my house to his doesn't go past the spot where Mum...

It's fine. I won't see it.

No thanks, I don't really want to be here.

Fairo, I'll be there soon. Hang in there, bro <3

Darko never sends me hearts.

Smiling like a pre-teen at their favourite musician's concert the entire time, I dart to my room, packing some clothes into my school backpack. That's weird. Why did he do that? Was he trying to comfort me? With a heart?

It worked; I feel comforted all right, but now my heart rate is through the roof and my insides are melting.

Should I send one back?

I shake my head at myself, double-checking my school books and pencil case is packed. Would it be too obvious that I like him if I send him one? Do straight guys even send heart emojis to each other?

Without even thinking, I click the emoji and hit the send button, collapsing in my bed. A minute passes, and he's left the message on read. Ugh. Why did I do that?

Another minute passes. I pick up my phone, and he still hasn't replied. Feeling embarrassment well up in my gut, I archive the chat and shove the phone under my pillow, covering my face with my arms.

Seriously, why did I do that?

Loudly, I sigh and sit up, rubbing my face. Okay, distraction time. School clothes for tomorrow? Check. School books? Check. Toothbrush? I'll grab it in a second. Phone charger?

Nope.

Reaching behind my bedside table, I unplug the cord and bundle it up into a messy ball. As I reach for my backpack, I hear my phone vibrate loudly.

Oh no, it's him.

Feeling panic rise in my chest, I fish out my phone.

Your order is now on its way! Did someone say bon appetit?

Shaking my head at the screen, stifling back a laugh, I screenshot the notification and send it to Ana. Really? A delivery app had me in stitches with my feelings just then? Ugh. I'm pathetic.

As I look out the window, Darko's car pulls into the driveway. My phone buzzes as his engine cuts. Dread sets in.

I'm here!

He didn't say anything about the heart. Hm. Maybe he interpreted it as a friend heart? I don't know. Whatever; thank goodness.

Hoisting my backpack over my shoulder, I shout a hasty bye to Ana as I sweep into the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush. I shut the front door behind me, glad to be out of the house, and climb into Darko's passenger seat, greeting him with a smile I've learned to wear since the accident.

It's almost second nature now. 

==================

And, that's the end of the free previews for Keeping A Straight Face. Interested to see what happens next? What happened to Taylor's mother? To see what the boys get up to on their sleepover? The rest of that content's over on my Patreon for as little as $1 USD. 

You can find the link to my Patreon on my profile, on the chapter in this book labelled "Patreon Information" or here as an in-line comment.

I hope to see you there soon!

- J.S. xx