That earns me a laugh, and the sound of it makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something truly remarkable. “This is a really weird request.”
“Pres.”
“I’m going, I’m going!” she assures me, her voice still a bit stuffy from the tears she shed.
I wish I could be there to wipe away every single one of them.
I hear her footsteps clack against the hardwood, and it feels like I’m right there with her. I can practically see the wide oak planks and the huge center island with the marble top. I still remember walking into that kitchen and thinking it looked like something out of a magazine. I expected to see a chef pop out of nowhere and offer us hors d’oeuvres, but instead it was just Tilly with pizza bites and Capri-Suns.
“You there yet?” I ask, running a hand through my unruly hair. In high school, I used to keep it on the shorter side because I was insecure about the color. It’s on the darker end of the ginger spectrum, but it still made me stand out.
And since I was always the new kid, thanks to my mom, I hated any extra attention directed at me.
“Yup,” she replies. “Does whatever we’re doing only work with the door shut, or can I leave it open?”
“You can leave it open,” I tell her. “Now, go to the back left corner.”
The Creed family pantry is spacious, able to comfortably fit several grown adults or at least five teenagers.
Believe me, we tried.
“Okay, now what?”
“Sit down. Face the wall.”
“Am I in time out?”
“Depends. Have you been bad?” My eyes widen. “Fuck, I mean?—”
Laughter fills my ears, and I exhale in relief. “What am I doing in here, Beck?”
Hearing her call me by my last name makes me smile. There’s something so familiar and easy about it, and I know then that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this friendship between us.
Not dropping flirty innuendos would be a solid start…
“You’re treasure hunting,” I inform her. “Now, what do you see in front of you?”
“Beans.”
“Huh. Your mom used to keep the cookies there. Guess she’s moved some things around.”
“I think they’re both on a health kick now—low sugar and sodium for my dad. We usually bring our own desserts now.”
It’s strange hearing her talk about her parents. Mostly because I still don’t know how I feel about the eldest Creeds. As angry as I was when everything went down with my mom during those last few months of my senior year, I knew none of the blame fell on Presley or Hendrix.
I still distanced myself from them, but I never blamed them.
Tilly and Lance, though? I wasn’t so sure.
They promised I was family. They loved me like a son, but the second my mom showed up at their door, they just stood there and let her take me away.
They didn’t fight for me.
As an adult, I can rationalize why. I know their hands were tied, but the younger version of me didn’t understand the legal issues they faced, and so I carried around that anger for a long time. It’s a hard thing to let go of.
“Makes sense. Okay, so there’s a story that goes with this, but first I need you to move those beans,” I tell her, and then say with a chuckle, “And if that isn’t a sentence I thought I’d ever say…”
She laughs, and I can hear the sound of cans being moved around and stacked. “Well, I didn’t expect I’d be sitting in my parents’ pantry tonight, so big surprises all around.”
