“It’s fine. You just said what I’ve been thinking.”
“Good. Keep listening.” His tone turns all assertive, and dang if I don’t like it. “Ilovedoing things for you. And since we’re getting this all out, why can’t you want attention? It’s not like you’re all that demanding. I happen to like paying attention to you. Sometimes there’s pie.”
There it is. We can’t be serious for too long.
“I promise I’ll always make sure you get pie.” I chuckle. “Why haven’t we ever talked about this stuff before?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
“Because we don’t wallow in our problems. We take sad songs and make them better,” he says with a cheesy paraphrase of my favorite song. “It’s what we do.”
If he only knew what those words mean to me, or that Aunt Judy said the same thing. I bet she’s gotten a lot of mileage out of those lyrics. “Aww, you’ve been holding on to that one for a while, haven’t you? I felt your little wink and smirky-smirk through the phone.”
“It’s taken you long enough,” he says, sounding adorably devious, and then I hear a loudSCHMACK. “Did you feel that too?” he asks, and the little burst of warm tingles makes me feel like all is right in the world.
“Yep. And I didn’t even have to fix my hair that time.”
“Are you okay? Do you need koala’d?”
Hmmm, lemme think.
“I’m okay, but I wouldn’t reject a koala.” Dang eye sweats.
We’ve been talking for an hour, and I don’t want to stop. This is the most he’s ever talked about himself.
“Any more problems to solve or demons to hunt? I feel like we’ve made some good progress today.”
“We have. This isn’t really a problem, but I want to find a better job and quit Pop’s. Let me know if you see anything. I’ve been working on my resume, and I’m trying to dress like a functional adult. I need a change.”
I hear the keyboard begin and grin to myself. He sings the Billy Joel song he always sings, and this time I stay quiet, letting him get all the way through it. I remember what Aunt Judy said about him singing the words he isn’t saying.
Warmth rushes over me as he singsthosewords—the words he’s been singing for a year that melt me every time. When he picks the phone up again, I’m a little sniffly, but I try to hide it, unsuccessfully, it seems.
“That made you cry? You’ve had a whole year to get used to that one.”
“I guess you’re just that good,” I tell him.
“It’s probably you. Hey, Punk, one more thing and then I’m going to let you go hang out with your family.”
“Yeah?” My chest tightens, wondering what on earth he wants to tell me.
“Sam needs help with a project. I like the idea, but it’s up to you. He’ll call you.”
“What kind of project?” He should be done with summer classes, so I have no idea what he could need. I was hoping not to do anything but eat, read, and sleep this weekend. In that order.
“He’ll tell you.”
“Well, now I’m terrified.”
“Don’t be. If you have plans or you can’t, that’s okay, but if you can make it work, I think you should do it.”
“I’m leaning toward no since you won’t tell me what this project is.” I’ve made it to my mom’s driveway, and Jamie’s holding a basketball, making faces at me from the porch as I grab my phone from the holder and get out of the car.
“Keep an open mind. Sounds like you made it home.”
“Nah, this is their house. Home’s where you are.” I realize how that sounds as soon as it leaves my mouth. “I meanthere, in Johnson City.”
Where my people are …who include him. I sense his amusement, but I meant what I said. Whatever. It’s true.
“Okay, Punk. Text me after you talk to Sam.”
