Kern Carter writes about the struggles of losing a parent in latest YA novel read an excerpt now

Kern Carter is no stranger to writing about the complexities of trauma and grief, like in his previous young adult novel Boys and Girls Screaming. Now, his upcoming novel And Then There Was Us draws on the deeply personal experiences of his family from the perspective of a teenage girl.

After spending four years in the safety of her father's home, 18-year-old Coi is not equipped to handle the sudden death of her abusive mother. And Then There Was Us is a coming of age story about the challenges of losing a parent as a teenager after already having survived so much pain. When Coi begins having lucid dreams about her mother and reconnecting with her side of the family, she is confronted by her loss and complicated feelings it brings.

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Carter is a Toronto author and freelance writer. His other books include the novella Thoughts of a Fractured Soul, the novel Beauty Scars and the YA novel Boys and Girls Screaming. He was named one of CBC Books' writers to watch in 2023.

Carter's novel Boys and Girls Screaming also touches on themes of familial trauma as a young person.

• What makes a family? Kern Carter explores this question in YA novel Boys and Girls Screaming

"My daughter has inspired so many stories, but this one is the most personal, the most intimate, the most heartbreaking. I say that because it asks the question 'what if,' and as a parent, it's a question I'm constantly grappling with," said Carter to CBC Books in an email.

"And Then There Was Us isn't a fairy tale. It's a story about family and forgiveness told from the perspective of a young girl who has all the reasons to never let go of the hatred and anger she feel towards her mother."

And Then There Was Us will be out on April 9, 2024. Read an excerpt below.

Today is the day I've been expecting for four years, seven months and 24 days. I put my hand over my heart to catch it from sinking and let the phone ring out while staring at the screen. Mommy? Why does my screen say mommy? There's no way I'm ready to hear her voice. No way I'm ready to listen to what she has to say.

My dad is moving stuff into storage today, so it's just me, sitting in my room with my headphones on drawing on my iPad. My phone is on the floor beside me, still lit from the missed call. I'm waiting to see if there's any text notification, one of those long, essay-type messages I'd have to scroll through to read her explanation for where she was when I graduated middle school, or what she was doing when I got my driver's license, or why she wasn't there to scream at me when I smoked weed for the first time, got my nose pierced and dyed my hair blond.

I don't know why I'm acting like this. I told myself a million times that I'm over this whole having a mom thing. And I am. I really am. Never mind that her number is still saved as Mommy in my phone and seeing that word splashed across my screen triggers all this bullshit I spent years dealing with.

I told myself a million times that I'm over this whole having a mom thing. And I am.- Kern Carter

She calls again. Mommy. And it's like the vibration from the phone is echoing through my body. I'm staring at the red Cancel icon knowing what I should do, but I lower my headphones and swipe green to answer.

"Hi."

My first words. Our first words since not long after I got my period. I put my iPhone to my ear and cover my other ear with my finger to keep it all in. Even the walls in my room feel like intruders, so even though I'm home alone, when I say "hi," it comes out just above a whisper.

"Hello, Coi." Her voice sounds restrained, almost calm, and still has the melodic tone I remember so well. I wait for what's next. What words are going to come out of her mouth? "How are you?"

"Good."

"You sound good."

"Thanks."

"Are you busy?"

"No."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

My mother was never comfortable with silence. I can still hear 50 Cent and Jay-Z and Beres Hammond and Buju Banton blaring at all times of the day and night. The only thing louder than the music was her screaming at me to do some chore or yelling at her boyfriend over the phone. It was either that or her laughing at one of the Housewives shows, usually Atlanta, like she had the same condition as the Joker, and getting so into it that she'd jump on the couch and turn the volume all the way up.

"Nothing?" she repeats. I don't respond. "I really miss you, Coi."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"You can start by saying you miss me too."

I remove the phone from my ear, press End, put it on silent, and put my headphones back in.

But I can't hear the music. The only sound in my head is my mom's voice on repeat like a catchy pop song. Except this isn't a song I want to hear.

You sound good.

Are you busy?

What are you doing?

I really miss you.

I stuff my face in my pillow and scream till my ribs hurt. Then I stop and do it again.

You can start by saying you miss me too.

That was a joke, right? It had to be. I don't remember my mom having any sense of humor, but that right there is Dave Chappellelevel comedy. Maybe that's why part of me feels like bursting out in a belly laugh. My eyes are closed so tight I can feel the pressure on my temples. I just spoke to my mother.

***

It's hours after the call when I finally hear the front door of our apartment unlock and feel a wave of relief. Normally I just wait for my dad to knock on my bedroom door and tell me he's home. He always stands in my doorway for a few seconds to ask what I'm doing before heading into the bathroom or starting dinner. This time, I rush out of my room and meet him in the hallway while he's taking off his boots.

"My mom called me."

My dad chuckles like he thinks I'm not serious, but when he sees the look on my face he knows this is real.

"What? When?"

"A little while ago." I'm always looking up when talking to my dad. Even when his boots are off, he's still tall enough that I can see the bottom of his chin.

"Did you answer?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

I shrug my shoulders and follow my dad into the kitchen. He turns on the tap and uses the dish soap to wash his hands.

"She didn't say anything, really. I hung up on her."

We both burst out laughing. It's our favorite thing to do together. But I know my dad won't let me get away without giving him more info.

"So you hung up on her?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

This should be an easy answer. I can name at least a dozen reasons off the top of my head. My dad's leaning up against the sink waiting for me to say something. I'm searching through my mind thinking of which of those reasons is the most obvious. Which one makes me hate her the most?

I'm searching through my mind thinking of which of those reasons is the most obvious. Which one makes me hate her the most?- Kern Carter

The necklace?

My dad's still waiting. I'm still searching.

My sister?

Now my smile is gone.

One thousand six hundred and ninety-nine days?

I can't catch my breath. My dad's already pouring a glass of water from the fridge. I'm hunched over with my eyes closed, trying my best to focus on inhaling long and deep through my nose and exhaling through my mouth.

"Just breathe, Coi. You're okay. Just breathe."

My dad says this as he's rubbing my back. Tears are streaming down my face, faster with each memory. I'm trying to wipe them away as quickly as they're flowing.

I don't cry. Not for her. Not ever.

Excerpted fromAnd Then There Was Usby Kern Carter. Copyright 2024 Kern Carter. Published by Tundra Books, an imprint of Penguin Canada, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited. Reproduced by arrangement with the Publisher. All rights reserved.