“I can’t believe my child and my brother have teamed up against me.” He sounds like an old, grumpy grandpa.
“Junie, do you want me to make you some porridge?” I don’t know how to make porridge, nor do I have any, but Ilove seeing her disgusted face when I suggest weird foods. It’s an uncle thing.
She makes a gagging face. “Can we go to the diner instead? I saw a TikTok where someone recorded the rooster in front of it. They said it’s his favorite hangout spot.”
“Actually, he was ju?—”
“Sure thing!” Jethro intercepts us by gently shoving Junie back into the house. “Go get dressed, and we will go.”
“Okay! I’ll be ready in a few.” With that, she runs back inside, seemingly forgetting about the cold air because the blanket nearly drops from her shoulders and yet it barely registers with her.
When the door closes behind her, I turn toward Jethro with my arms folded over my chest and the king of all smug smiles on my face.
“No more telling nasty stories about me, or I’ll tell Junie about your meet and greet with the rooster.”
He nods, throwing his hands in the air. “Just keep in mind that that story about the hockey bathroom from the seventh grade was toldbeforewe made this deal.”
“Jethro!” I roar, making him laugh like his life is depending on it.
I gather the tools and throw them in the box, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. The rooster cock-a-doodles from Nora’s yard.
“You need to tell Nora, Jericho. Before someone else does,” he finally says, clearly returning to our previous conversation.
“I will.”
45
Nora
Dick used to call medifficult. Not out loud. Not all the time.
Just with the way he looked at me when I got too excited. When I interrupted him mid-story. When I wore something with too much color or said something too bold when out with his friends.
“Maybe tone it down a little next time,” Richard would say, with a gentle, polished smile. Like he was offering advice instead of clipping my wings.
Back when I was a naive teenager, I thought that was love, and he was just trying to make me a better person.
Being chosen by someone clean and calm was good for the future, everyone told me. Being asked to be just a little less so I could fit better beside him was normal.
It was a Sunday when I first realized something was missing.
We were in his house. His parents left for the town fair, and we had the house to ourselves for three whole hours.
I’d baked muffins and brought them over. I was proud ofthem. Tried a new recipe, something with lemon and lavender, the kind of thing that tastes like springtime.
He bit into one and winced.
“It’s… interesting,” he said.
I waited, smiling, hoping he’d laugh and go back for another. I’d spent hours perfecting the recipe. Hours.
But he didn’t.
“Maybe next time go lighter on the flavor,” he added. “You don’t want it to be too different.”
I blinked. “Too different?”
He looked up from his phone. “You know what I mean.”
