Jesse and I freeze. He stares at me with wide eyes. I hold my breath.

From the other room, I hear Mom ask, “Are you okay?” in her something-is-wrong voice.

Nobody answers.

Then there’s crying. Very loud, very high-pitched crying.

Jesse and I shoot up, abandoning our homework. We run to the living room. The scene is worse than I imagined.

Dad’s sitting in the middle of the coffee table. Seriously in it. Like, inside of it. He’s folded in half like a taco; his feet are in the air, and his butt is on the ground. A million pieces of broken glass surround him. His head is tipped back, and his mouth is open wide. I’m not sure if he’s even breathing.

Mom is on her knees, bent forward at the waist and holding her stomach.

She’s sobbing.

But then, she snorts.

Yes. Snorts.

She’s not actually crying. She’s laughing. So hard, tears stream down her cheeks. Her face is all pinched up. Except for a couple of spontaneous pig noises, no other sounds come out.

Dad gasps.

So, good to know, he’s not dying. He’s just hysterically laughing too.

I notice a new detail in this scene. Dad has neon green underwear over his pants. As in, he is wearing underwear on the outside of his clothes.

He puts an arm on each side of the coffee table frame and pushes himself up, unfolding as he tries to stand.

He’s successful—but only for a moment, then he steps away from the mess before he falls to his knees like Mom. He gasps, laughs, then gasps again.

Yup. That’s definitely underwear over his khaki pants.

“Oh,” Mom says, wiping her face with her hand. “Oh, gosh. That entire thing was recorded.” My parents both lose it again.

The hysteria spreads. Now Jesse is laughing too.

It is pretty funny. To see Dad folded in the table. Until I notice the blood.

“I think you’re hurt.”

Dad turns his arm so he can see the back of it. “Ha! Look at that! You’re right! I’m bleeding!” Then he guffaws. “And it’s deep.” Ha-ha-ha. “I need stitches.”

Jesse’s no longer smiling after glimpsing Dad’s gash. “Should I, um, help or something?”

“Oh, honey,” Mom says, finally catching her breath. “He’s fine. Really. You’re pale. You need to sit.”

Jesse nods and obeys, lowering himself onto the couch. He always acts like this when there’s blood. Even a drop.

“Milo. Could you get something for us? Like paper towels or a dishcloth?”

I listen, glad to leave, even just for a second. In the kitchen, I grab a roll of paper towels for Dad and a puke pitcher for Jesse.

“Thanks, honey,” Mom says when I come back. “Why don’t you take Jesse… somewhere else?” We all know this is code for: Get him out of here before he passes out.

I help Jesse stand. He wobbles. I put his arm around my shoulders and lead him to my room. I tell him to sit on the bed, but he collapses into the desk chair, probably because it’s the closest option.

“You need to breathe,” I remind him.

He nods.

“You’re going to be okay.”

His eyes roll back so I see only the whites. He starts to tip. I catch him. “You need to sit on the bed. Or the floor,” I say. It comes out harsher than I mean it, but I’m too busy trying to keep him from falling to worry about my tone.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to wake himself up. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m okay.”

“No, you aren’t.” And to prove it, I add, “Did you see all that blood?”

It works. Jesse’s pupils disappear again. He rocks. I let him tip; gravity takes over, and I control the speed of the fall.

After he’s propped against the wall, I sit next to him. “Take this.” I hand him the pitcher. “Just in case.” He holds it under his chin in ready position.

Jesse’s aversion to blood started after his dad died. We were in second grade when it happened. Todd worked as a fireman, but that isn’t how he was killed. Todd was on his way to work, and he stopped to help a lady with a flat tire. The lady told us later she was so thankful because she had her three kids in the car and with the rain, she was afraid she’d be stranded there for hours. Todd had just finished when a truck on the highway swerved. The truck hit the lady’s car and my brother-in-law. The kids and the lady were okay. Todd was not.

Now, in my room, I wait with Jesse until he gets control of his own body, until he refiles whatever deep-down thoughts he needs to put away.