Page 143 of When We Were Young

I’m glad he went that route. I don’t need to try to explain procreation to my six-year-old.

“So, it’s not ‘cause you don’t want to be one? A dad, I mean?”

I freeze.

With my gaze pinned on them, I don’t miss that Holden’s shoulders tense a bit. But if he’s feeling any angst about the question, his face doesn’t show it. However, he does lean back in his seat and fold his hands together.

“No, of course not. I’d love to be a dad. I hope I will be one day.”

Simon watches Holden, studying his face for several long seconds. Then he returns his gaze to the checkerboard and makes his next move.

“You’d be a good dad,” Simon says the words so quietly that I almost miss them.

My breath catches. My heart races.

Holden remains calm and smooth as butter.

“Thanks, buddy. I hope so.”

And then they continue playing checkers like they didn’t just have the most tender conversation.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in the kitchen scrubbing cookie sheets when Simon bursts open the swinging door between here and the front of the store.

“Ruthie and Lester are here, Mom. We’re ready to go!”

I smile at him and reach for a towel to dry my hands.

With excitement radiating off him, you’d think they were going to a magical amusement park or something instead of the drive-in theater.

Before I can respond, he disappears again.

I’m hanging up the towel when Ruthie comes through the doorway Simon just vacated.

“You got any of those peanut butter cookies you make hidden around here?” Ruthie asks as she walks over to my fridge and peeks inside.

I chuckle.

Some might find her comfort level with rummaging around my refrigerator intrusive. I don’t mind. The familiarity she treats me with comforts me.

“Yes, but they’re over in the container on the island along with the sugar cookies.”

Ruthie pulls her head out of the refrigerator and closes the door. She tilts her head.

“You put them in a separate container this time, right? Can’t have sugar cookies smellin’ like peanut butter.”

I grin and retrieve the two containers of snacks I packed. I hold them up so she can see they’re separate.

“Please just make sure they eat the apple slices I packed before they get cookies, okay?”

Ruthie rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah, yeah. You’re really trying to kill the cool aunt vibe I got going on, aren’t you?”

“Cool aunt or cool grandmo⁠—”

“Uh-uh.” She wags a finger at me. “Don’t you dare say grandmother. I’m not old enough to be the grandmother type. Now let’s go.”

I hold back my laughter. She must’ve conveniently forgotten that she’s in her seventies because she’s definitely old enough to be a grandmother. She gets to the door before me and has one hand on it, poised to push it open.

“Hey, did you ever retrieve your knickers from under the island?”