“Ew,” he says, and I nod.
“Ew,” I agree. “So we’re going to turn that off. I’m not going to argue with you about it—no more chatting with people on video games.”
“You’re so dramatic.” He sighs, holding his hands out to the side, fingers splayed. I glance over at Jack again, feeling super glad to have an audience for this awkward parenting moment.
“Maybe. But that’s a hard rule and I’m being serious. Come on.” I wave him toward his room, shopping forgottenin my desire to get all fucking internet chat rooms off of Parker’s computer. Christ, how did that not occur to me before?
It takes me a somewhat embarrassing amount of time to figure out how to block the chat feature on Minecraft, and nearly induce a Parker meltdown when I ask him to pull up his other games as well so I can check those. I remind him we have company over, and he brings up the games before throwing himself on his bed and fuming silently.Give him ten minutes and he’ll be back out to talk to your hockey player, Victoria’s voice tells me, and for the first time I wonder if I might be going a little crazy. I can only imagine what the court-appointed psychologist would make of the fact that I regularly converse with my dead sister.
Back in the kitchen, Jack is awkwardly perched on the end of one of the dining chairs. He stands up when I walk back into the room, blushing and holding his book to his stomach like a shield.
Nico had given me a pretty thorough rundown of the team and their personalities. I was told that Jack, or Micky as they all call him, has intense performance anxiety. That, when asked about hockey, the only thing he has to say about himself is how much he sucks. He also, I’ve noticed, appears to regard Nico Mackenzie with the sort of nervousness that presents as fear. I seem to be exempt from that, luckily, although judging by his face right now, I didn’t miss it by much.
“Sorry,” he says, gesturing toward the recently vacated chair. “I wasn’t sure?—”
“Sit wherever you want, Jacko. You want something to eat?” Grabbing the last bag of shopping, I hold it up for a visual representation of food. He sinks slowly back into the chair and shakes his head.
“Oh, no. Thank you. I’ll have lunch at the school café before the game.”
“What’s on the menu today?”
“Tuna surprise,” he says, and somehow manages to do so without pulling a face. I stare at him, determine he’s being serious, and decide that yes, I need to feed him.
“Sorry about Parks,” I say quietly, pulling out a pan with the intention of sautéing some vegetables. “Poor kid’s having a rough time with it. He gets upset when people think I’m his dad.”
“It’s okay. You guys do look alike,” Jack replies, sounding apologetic. I smile at him over my shoulder, happy to see the blush receding. He’s still ramrod straight in the chair, hands resting on the table in front of him.
“Yeah, he takes after his mum. My sister,” I explain. I’ve had to say the words so many times, it doesn’t even feel like I’m talking about myself. It almost feels like a tragedy that happened to others, and I’m simply telling the story. “She died in a car accident with Parker’s dad. Six months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he replies softly. “That—that was really recent. You must…you must be pretty sad.”
Dropping the vegetables I bought pre-chopped into the skillet, the oil sizzles and I lean back to avoid a few stray splatters. Most people—as they should—think about Parker when I tell them what happened and why I’m taking care of him. Most people don’t care if I’m sad, when there is a nine-year-old who is most definitely sad. The greedy, selfish part of me that has lived alone for his entire adult life is happy to hear someone care about me for once. I clear my throat, pulling out the ground turkey I’d only just put away.
“Truthfully, I haven’t been sad much at all. Worried, stressed, exhausted—yes. But sad? I feel like I haven’t had thetime. And shit, that sounds bad, doesn’t it? I don’t mean I don’t miss my sister, but?—”
“—you haven’t grieved her yet,” Jack finishes. Gratefully, I turn and look at him.
“Yeah, that’s exactly right. You’ve got it all figured out, huh, Jacko?”
“No.” He laughs a little bit, ducking his head and fiddling with the corner of his book. “I just read a lot.”
“Lots of grieving in those vampire books,” I gently tease, and feel enormously relieved when he laughs. Flipping on another burner, I get the water ready to make a pot of rice, measuring out twice the amount I would for only me and Parker.
“I’ll read anything,” he admits. “This one actually isn’t so bad. I might keep it once I’m finished.”
“Not a library book, then?”
“Oh, no. There’s a public library across town, but it’s sort of hard to get to. The sidewalks aren’t great, and it’s a long distance to walk. Also, I’d probably leave with a dozen books and then have to carry them back, so.”
He chuckles again, smiling when I turn and meet his eye. He’s got a rather striking face, with that creamy skin and all those freckles. His eyes aren’t even brown, they’re more the shade of honey, and I’ve never in my life met a person with hair that color. If I were in advertising, I’d slap him on a billboard in Times Square. With a face like that, he could sell anything.
“I bet your pal Nate would give you a ride,” I point out, which makes him immediately shake his head and blush.
“No, it’s too much hassle; too far out of the way, and then he’d have to drive me back to return the books later and it would just be a lot for him. I’d feel bad.”
I nod, stirring the vegetables and thinking that he’s probably wrong, but I don’t know either of them well enough to comment. From what I’ve seen thus far, the pair of them are good friends and I doubt anything Jack could ask of Nate would make him feel put upon.
Lunch doesn’t take long to finish, and I make sure to keep an idle stream of conversation going with Jack, watching as his tension melts away by increments. Parker shuffles back into the room and sits at the table, occasionally chiming in with things of his own to say, although mostly hanging off of Jack’s every word as though he’s imparting the cure for cancer upon us.
