“You didn’t ask him if he’d like to come in for a drink?”
Jay lifts a shoulder and gulps down the rest of his water.
I take a few calming breaths and head to the front porch where Tyler sits, spread out on my porch swing, one arm stretched across the back. He’s staring off in the distance like he’s lost in thought. At the creak of the door, he glances my way and smiles.
“You coulda come in, ya know.”
“Just trying to stay out of your way. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me in your space.”
“You’re welcome here anytime. C’mon in.” I jerk my head toward the kitchen, and he rises, following me inside. Pausing in the entry, he kneels, allowing Smudge to sniff his hands before giving him a few scratches behind his ears.
Once Smudge has deemed him worthy to enter, I lead him to my kitchen, but he hangs back, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes tracking around the room. I can’t help but wonder what my small, messy kitchen looks like from his point of view. The baker’s rack against one wall is filled with Mawmaw’s cookbooks, stacked haphazardly on the shelf. Then there’s my wilted pothos Penny insisted I needed. But because I forget to water it, she now refers to it asSir Droops a Lot.
His eyes pause, lingering on my fridge which is covered in dozens of magnets holding down art projects, a school calendar, and glossy photos of Abby and Jay.
Grabbing a glass, I fill it with ice then water, and hand it to him. Taking the glass from my hand, our fingertips brush the slightest bit, sending a zing of awareness up my spine. My little house feels impossibly small with him in it. His presence is atangible thing and all I can do is stand there, heart racing, trying to take him all in.
Jay plops into the chair next to Abby, and Abby’s face contorts, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Jay, you smell like onions! Abby points to the chair across the table. “Move.”
Jay groans, rolling his eyes but swaps to the chair across from her.
“Abby. Be nice. But Jay, son, it’s probably time I buy you some deodorant.”
Jay shrugs, completely unbothered. Gah, raising a boy is wildly different from a girl. When Abby realized she smelled bad, she burst into tears and demanded we go to the market right then for a stick of deodorant.
“Abby, hon, hand me your plate so I can wash it.”
She passes over her plate and dives right back into her algebra. It takes maybe ten seconds before the muttering starts. Then the sighing.
“I literally cannot do this, Mom.” Dramatically, she lets her head fall to the table with a soft thud. “Guess I need to change my entire life plan because I am absolutely failing this midterm. What’s a job that doesn’t require algebra?”
Tyler has been standing in the kitchen doorway this whole time, quietly observing our family interaction, but at Abby’s question, he moves into the room.
“Mind if I look at this?” he asks, pointing to her paper with formulas scribbled across it.
Abby nods, still in her math-induced misery. He picks it up, studies it for a few seconds, brows furrowed, then sets it down, leaning to brace himself on one arm.
“You’re close. But right here”—he points to a spot on the page—“you started it correctly, but when you moved the constant, you forgot the negative sign. That’s where your answer’s going wrong.”
Abby’s brows pinch, and she scribbles furiously on a cleansheet of paper, trying out Tyler’s advice. Her eyes widen and she swivels her head to look up at him.
“That’s it! That’s what I was doing wrong.”
He offers a small smile, and straightens, moving to lean against the doorframe once again.
Abby spins in her chair to face him. “I wish you could tutor me. Mom’s been trying to find someone, but they cost too much.”
“Abby, Tyler is a busy man.”
“Actually, Jo, I’m not busy at all. And I can do it for free,” Tyler says, not missing a beat.
My eyes snap up to his, blinking. Did he offer to tutor Abby for free? Do I want that? He’s giving me a pleading look, begging me to accept the offer. I think back to what Penny said earlier this week. While I’m not ready to tell Abby yet, he deserves an opportunity to get to know her. It’d be cruel of me to prevent that. Then there’s his reassurance last night we’d figure this out together. Maybe tutoring could be a safe, neutral way for him to be around her while Tyler and I navigate our new reality.
“You’d do that?” I ask.
A muscle in Tyler’s jaw ticks. “Yes, Jo. I’d do that.” Turning back to Abby, he says, “Two times a week? What do ya think?”
