He swallows, the smirk dropping from his face.
“Ma’s home in an hour. You can stay till she gets back, show your face, then leave. Obligation over.”
I nod, my heart sinking.
He lets out a big sigh before turning and walking into the house, leaving the door open behind him. His bare feet slap on the vinyl on his way to the kitchen.
“You want a drink?” he calls to me. “Something to eat? We’ve got enough casserole for a year out here.”
I follow him out and lean against the counter while he pours two glasses of juice.
“You still drink store-brand, right?”
I pull a face and he almost smiles.
He puts the juice on the counter by the sink, just out of reach.
“Can I have that?”
Ignoring me, he says, “Shouldn’t you be playing tennis or throwing a frat party or something?”
“I’m off-duty today.”
He rolls his eyes and turns to the window, leaning against the sink and gazing out. The sun coming through the glass highlights the muscles in the backs of his arms.
“I met your boss at the funeral.”
He stiffens at the word ‘funeral’.
“Where do you work?”
“A warehouse. Why?”
“How long you been working there?”
“Since school.”
He pushes off from the sink and looks at me, a challenge in his eyes. “We don’t all have rich stepdaddies to pay for Ivy League colleges. Some of us have to contribute.”
I flinch, but he’s not looking at me to catch it. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.
I’m not only here because your mom asked me. When I saw you at … I realized I should have made more of an effort. I did go and see your dad at the hospital, but you were never there and-”
“You went to see my dad at the hospital?”
“Yeah, of course. Your dad taught me how to ride a bike. He was there more than my own dad was. My real dad.”
His face softens and he wraps his arms around himself.
Neither of us have touched our drinks. The silence starts to build.
I know somehow that it’s my responsibility to break it, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Hey, you still gotGTA?”
He blinks hard at me, like I’m speaking a foreignlanguage.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “The PlayStation’s in the living room, Stacie made me move it.”
“Shemadeyou?” I smirk.
