I moved all the way into the kitchen and pulled out a chair to sit down.
“Juice? Coffee?” Mom was hovering halfway between the fridge and the coffeepot as she waited for my answer.
“I can get my own drink.” I started to stand up, but she was at my back in a second, her hands urging me back down.
“It’s your birthday and you’re going to let your mother make you breakfast.”
“You’re already making me breakfast.” I plucked a piece of crispy, hot bacon from the plate on the table.
“Juice or coffee?” she repeated, not moving from behind my chair.
“Coffee would be great. Thanks.”
She smiled and a second later a mug was in front of me. “Give me one second to finish this last batch of pancakes, then I’ll grab some syrup and heat it up for you.”
Dad set the toast next to the bacon and eggs and joined me at the table with his own mug, taking the chair next to me instead of the one at the head of the table, where he usually sat.
He stirred his coffee with a spoon to busy himself as though he thought I might forget that he always drank his black, but then he sighed and let the pretense go. My shoulders hunched, because I knew he was waiting for Mom to leave before saying anything to me, and as soon as she disappeared downstairs—our house was old, which meant our kitchen didn’t have a pantry upstairs—I felt his gaze settle on me.
“I should have told you I was coming.”
I didn’t take my coffee black, so I had every excuse in the world to stir mine. Bent over my mug, I said, “Yeah.”
“I was worried you’d tell me not to come.”
My spoon stilled, weighing the statement in my mind. It was sad that I had to consider it, but we’d changed a lot since the last time he’d been in our kitchen.
“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t have told you not to come.”
I felt more than saw him nod. Then he drew his chair closer to mine and rested his arm on the table where I could see it in my peripheral vision. “I wanted to be here for your birthday, but I also want you to know that I heard you, okay? I’ve been doing what I thought was best, but if you’re saying it’s not—son, look at me.” There was no command in his voice. He was asking me to face him, all the while being fully aware that I might not be able to.
I might have surprised us both when I met his gaze.
“If you’re saying that it’s not enough, then I’m going to do more.” He glanced at the open cellar door, the one he’d made with his own two hands before I could walk. “I’m going to try as much as she’ll let me.”
I dropped my gaze then, not because I couldn’t look at my dad anymore but because I didn’t want him to look at me. I was blinking too fast, and every muscle in my body was pulling too tight.
My dad put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Happy birthday, Adam.”
I nodded and let him add a couple pieces of toast to my plate. “I’m, uh—” I had to push the air from my lungs and suck in a new breath before I could say “—glad you’re here. Dad.”
ELEVENTH WEEKEND
February 12–14
Jolene
Iwas waiting for Adam in the hallway outside his dad’s apartment when he and Jeremy got there.
“Hi,” he said with a smile I knew Jeremy would mock him for later, but when his eyes traveled over my hair, hanging loose and free down my back, his smile grew, and I knew he didn’t care. I’d worn it that way for him, and as he closed the distance between us, looking at me like he was remembering exactly what I tasted like, I wondered with a huge leap of my heart if he was going to kiss me in front of his brother.
And I wondered what he’d do if I kissed him first.
ADAM
Iwasn’t used to Jolene being shy around me, but for once she was the one with too much color in her cheeks (though I liked it), and she was the one chewing on her bottom lip (I probably liked that more). If my brother hadn’t been standing right behind me, I would have said something likehow the mighty have fallenand touched her cheek. But I wanted to make her blush for me, not because I’d embarrassed her. Assuming such a thing was possible. Looking closer, I realized that the redness in her cheeks probably wasn’t from blushing but due to being windblown and cold. But the lip bite, I thought, was for me.
The hair, too.
