“You’re right, I’m wrong,” I deadpan. “Your mother hates doing anything for you and is undoubtedly counting the hours until she doesn’t have to make excuses to be close to you anymore.”
It’s astonishing to me that teenagers have yet to develop a more advanced reaction than an eye roll.
“Hey, about soccer—”
“I don’t get to make it in the spring either?” she says.
“I am truly sorry that I didn’t find a way to get you more playing time this fall. You’re good, and you’re a good leader. I should’ve made more of an effort to rotate you in.”
I get the hairy eyeball of teenage doubt, followed by her reshuffling her backpack. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Enjoy your Thanksgiving, June,” I call as she heads for the door.
“You, too, Mr.Jackson.”
Huh.
That’s a win.
She sneaks out around the third-period students starting to filter in the door. I hear Maisey call her name, and I can’t stop myself from smiling.
June’s getting on a plane first thing in the morning, and once Maisey pulls herself together, she’s all mine.
For the next week.
I don’t know what it means long term that I’m head over heels for her. I don’t know how June will eventually react when Maisey decides it’s time to tell her, which, knowing Maisey, will be sooner rather than later.
I don’t know that I won’t end all this with a severely broken heart.
But I know without a doubt that it would be far more painful tonotsee Maisey this week than it would be to walk away and miss having her in my life, no matter how much it might hurt later.
Chapter 30
Maisey
This isn’t the first time I’ve put Junie on a plane solo, but it’s the first time I haven’t been able to walk with her through security and be with her until the minute she boards the plane.
She’s sixteen now.
Old enough to be treated as an adult by the airlines.
I, on the other hand, am not too old to sit in my truck in the parking lot and sob as I wait and watch for her plane to take off.
And yes, there are cookies involved.
So many, many cookies.
My phone rings as I’m shoving one more in my mouth, and I almost hitignoreuntil I realize it’s the prison.
“Haawoo?” I sob into the phone.
Cookie crumbs dribble out of my mouth and onto my lap.
Dammit.
Need to get the truck cleaned now, before Earl smells the snack and helps himself to my leftovers.
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” my mother says dryly. “Did your warden also put you on laundry duty?”
