“Forty dollars for sunscreen? Jesus. Guess I need to make another trip to the store then.”
“How’s your car been handling lately?” Bennett asked. “Sandro’s died on him recently and it’s as old as yours.”
“And how is my long-lost son?”
He snorted a laugh. “Sometimes I think you liked him more than me.”
“Sometimes I did,” Mom said sweetly. “Did you tell him about the maroon suit?”
“Uh . . .” Fingers hovering over the keyboard, Bennett thought back to their recent conversations. Had they talked about a maroon suit at some point?
“Guessing you didn’t,” Mom said. “Since I saw a picture of him online a couple of days ago and he was wearing it.”
Sandro had worn it to the game against Calgary last week, and the team’s social media people had snapped a photo of him coming off the bus and posted it on Instagram. Bennett had thought he’d looked sharp and sophisticated in that suit.
“What’s wrong with the maroon suit?” he asked.
“It’s not a good color on him. Remember? We talked about this. Never mind, I’ll text him myself.”
That brought him up short. “You . . . still have his number?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Bennett.”
He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Okay, I’ve got to go,” Mom said. “I need to finish packing, and apparently I need to go to the store. Do they even sell sunscreen in December?”
“In some states, probably. In Washington? Guess you’re about to find out.”
“I suppose so. What have you got planned for Christmas? Please don’t tell me you’ll be working through it?”
He had, in fact, planned to work through Christmas. The Trailblazers had a few days of downtime late next week to coincide with the holiday, so Fowler and his crew were flying home to be with their families, but Bennett’s only family was flying south for a trip with her girlfriend. It left him all alone for the holidays, a sad prospect when he thought about it that way, but if he treated it like any other time of year, it wasn’t so bad.
“I . . . might watch a movie.”
“A movie?” Mom scoffed. “Wow, living large. Have you decorated at least?”
“I have a wreath on the door.” He’d found it in his townhouse’s storage room in the basement.
“Has Sandro?”
Bennett glanced behind him, noting the distinct lack of holiday décor in Sandro’s cozy living room with its massive couch, plush rug, and rough-hewn coffee table. “He’s got the lights up outside.”
“So between the two of you, you did the bare minimum.”
“Shut up,” Bennett said, laughing as the front door swung open. He had a direct line of sight to it from where he sat and watched as Sandro stepped inside and dropped his gym bag on the floor, next to the table in the entryway where Mr. Wiggles still sat like the stolen trophy-bear he was. “We’ve been busy,” he told his mom, drawing Sandro’s gaze. “Go finish packing. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
“Was that Monica?” Sandro asked. He pressed a quick kiss to the base of Bennett’s neck as he walked by, and the cutely domesticated gesture had Bennett’s soul leaping in happiness. “You should’ve kept her on. I would’ve said hi.”
“She’s going to text you,” Bennett told him.
“To say hi?”
“And tell you not to wear the maroon suit anymore.”
Freezer door held halfway open, Sandro paused. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
