Jeremy looked at the partially mixed cream cheese and sugar, not nearly as enthusiastic as he should have been, and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I can ask Dad to lend me twenty bucks and get her a stuffed bear or something.”
“Sure,” I said, yanking the bowl back and attacking the contents with the mixer. “They sell those at every gas station in the country. She’ll know exactly how much she means to you.”
After another minute Jeremy grabbed another bowl and, after looking at the recipe I had on my phone, asked me, “What’s an egg wash?”
“Hey,” Jolene said when she opened the door to her apartment on Sunday afternoon. “I thought we were both going to be busy all weekend...” Her voice trailed off. “Also, why do you smell so yummy?” She leaned forward and sniffed me. “I’m havingShaun of the Deadthoughts right now, like I’m not 100 percent sure that I won’t bite you.”
I grinned and produced the still-warm-from-the-oven pastries from behind my back. “I’m a little offended that you thought I’d let Valentine’s Day come and go without, you know...” I gestured with the pastry.
Jolene leaned her hip against the doorframe, a sly smile curving her lips. “Adam Moynihan, did you bake for me?” She reached for the plate, but I moved it away. Her smile, if anything, grew bigger.
“Well, now, I don’t know. I slaved over a hot stove for hours making these for you, and—” I moved close to her, still keeping the plate out of reach “—FYI, they are so light and buttery that they literally melt in your mouth.” My gaze fell to her lips when I said that, and I didn’t blush even when I saw bright spots of color on her cheeks. “Maybe I should wait and see what you have for me before I hand them over.”
She glanced at the pastries. “Adam. A little credit, please.” Then she took the plate and left me in the hall and came back a minute later with a book in her hand.
A book by J.R.R. Tolkien with a bookmark stuck in it at slightly more than the halfway mark.
“I’m still not loving it but I’m reading it. Well, not the songs, but everything else. For you. So we can talk about it next—”
I kissed her before she could finish speaking.
TWELFTH WEEKEND
February 26–28
Jolene
Ididn’t wait for Adam on our next weekend. I watched from the roof as their car pulled up and he and Jeremy got out, followed by a woman I instantly knew was Adam’s mom. She had his reddish-brown hair and light complexion, and there was something in the way she moved to hug each of her sons that I recognized, an innate grace and strength that I’d only ever associated with Adam before.
She held on to them way too long, and though I was too high up to see the tears on her face when she pulled back, I saw her brush them away. Adam lifted his bag and pointed to the building. He was asking her to come up with them. Jeremy added his own request, reaching for her hand and nodding his head, but she shook hers almost violently and backed up until she was pressed against the side of the car.
Adam’s and Jeremy’s shoulders slumped in identical movements. I expected Adam to go hug her again and apologize for asking, reassure her that it was fine if she didn’t want to go up.
But he didn’t. His fists clenched, and when Jeremy took a step toward our building, Adam hesitated, watching their mom before dropping his head and following his brother.
I don’t know if his head fell farther when he didn’t find me waiting inside for him. I know only that, when he got upstairs, he didn’t come knocking on my door or calling to me from his balcony.
I didn’t know what to do with myself on Saturday. Normally, as soon as I woke up, I went over to Adam’s and spent the day with him. For months that had been our routine, but I couldn’t go get him that morning. And he didn’t come get me. Last weekend had told me what to expect moving forward, and without Valentine’s Day as an excuse for him to get away, this was how it would be. I knew I couldn’t spend the whole day in my bedroom working on the film I’d made Adam for Christmas like I had the night before, and I was so focused on getting away from everything that watching that movie made me feel that I neglected to check the living room before pulling my bedroom door wide-open.
My dad wasn’t there, of course not; it was Shelly.
She was dressed in a skimpy silk nightie and robe that she had to be freezing in. She walked to the coffeepot with her phone pressed to her ear, oblivious to my open door.
“—but I waited for you last night,” she said, her voice equal parts hope and hurt. “You said you’d wake me up when you got home.” She shivered and tugged the flimsy silk robe tighter around herself as she filled the carafe with water. “No, I know, I know, but—” She stopped talking as I imagined he cut her off. She had time to measure the coffee grounds before he let her talk again. “I thought that since it was our anniversary you might—”
I should have quietly closed my door and tiptoed back to my bed, pretend I’d never heard my dad feeding excuses to Shelly for why he apparently hadn’t come home for their anniversary. It was bad enough that I’d had to watch her hunch into herself as he likely berated her fortrying to make him feel bad for doing his damn job!
Growing up, I’d overheard him and Mom having that same fight more times than I could count.
You were the one who wanted the big house!
Because you’re never here! I needed something to make me feel less alone.
Right, because I’m not just responsible for putting this ridiculous roof over your head. I’m responsible for how you feel living under it! Well then, cheers to you, Helen. I hope it finally makes you happy.
Keep your voice down or you’ll wake Jolene.
That’s rich. She’s just another thing you said you needed until you actually got it. Buyer’s remorse doesn’t work so well with a kid, does it?
