“It is.”
“Apparently I’m already older than my father ever was.”
“I just don’t want to cause you additional stress right now.”
Carver leaned against his trunk and folded his arms. “It doesn’t need to be this loosey-goosey free love hippie shit, though,” he said. “Quite honestly, I hate that. You’re not some passing shadow, I don’t want you to be. Cause me stress, put some expectations on me, ask me for something. Put a dent in the furniture for once.”
Scott couldn’t help smiling at this. He made sure no one was around, then leaned in toward Carver, bowing his head to bump their foreheads together. “You don’t need to be intense about this.”
“Yes, I do,” Carver said, thrumming with energy under him like an idling engine. “I do, I do, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
“We waited a long time to figure this out. I can wait a little longer.”
“But I feel like I know. When we’re alone I feel like I know.”
“Me too.”
“So can’t we just be alone?”
Scott drew back and looked into his eyes. “Come on. I know you. You’re the guy who did all your homework on Friday afternoon ‘cause otherwise you couldn’t enjoy a single second of your weekend.”
Carver gave him a wan smile. “No, I’m a bad boy now, I punch holes in the wall and drive drunk and yell at my mom.”
Scott laughed and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth. Carver responded with instant eagerness, like he wanted more, but Scott pulled back and whispered, “Remember where we are.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Carver said wildly. “I’ll buy this whole neighborhood and knock it down.”
“You said you had a family meeting at eleven, right? What time is it?”
Carver checked his watch. “10:55. Shit.”
“Want me to walk you over?”
“No, you should stay here. My dad was weird about you earlier, I don’t need him to give him more reasons to psychologically associate you with this paternity stuff.”
“Alright, well, text me,” Scott said.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know how it goes. And how — you know. After I talk to Lillian.” He paused. “If I can find her.”
Scott squeezed his arm. “Good luck.”
Carver smiled at him, then got back in his car and pulled out of the driveway. Scott went to the edge of the sidewalk and watched him glide away until he disappeared around a curve.
When Carver knocked on the front door, he heard Conway shout, “It’s open!”
She and Chip were both waiting in the foyer; Chip was playing with his keys and dressed like he was ready to hit the road. Conway rushed over to Carver the moment he got in the door and pulled him into a hug, surprising him. He tentatively lifted his arms and patted her on the back.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” Conway said into his shoulder. “I’m so glad you finally know.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Chip jerked his thumb at her. “She was getting all weepy this morning,” he said. “She was like —” (he imitated crying) “— what if Mom’s right, and he doesn’t feel like he’s as much our brother, and he runs away with the nice Jews?”
“Stop,” Conway exclaimed, still not letting go of Carver. “Don’t tell him I said that!”
“Connie, it’s fine,” Carver said, laughing.
