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Jane shoots me a half-apologetic, half-encouraging look, then scurries out of the kitchen with her snack.
My mom heads back to her cutting board. Dad’s still standing in the doorway, uncertain.
“I’d like to meet him, Collins,” Mom tells me as she resumes chopping. “Remeet him, rather.”
“Okay,” I say.
My father moves then, heading over to the pile of papers stacked at the far end of the kitchen table. He hunts through the stack, ripping the bottom off a bill and then writing something on it. He folds it in half, walks over to the sink, and hands it to me.
“John Williams is a good friend. He’s the dean of the law school. If you need an attorney, you call him. Number should be on the schoolwebsite.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Absurdly, I feel the hot prick of tears start to form. He’s not telling me to call. Not chastising my choices. Not checking out either. It’s been a long time since I felt like I had that sort of support. It’s been a long time since I confided in my parents too. Since I let them see the struggle instead of showing off the solution.
He nods. “Anything else your mother or I can do, you let us know.”
“I will.”
“And close that window, or the next propane bill will be astronomical.”
He heads toward the living room, and I smile.
27
“We’re going to be late!” Bash bellows.
I ignore my brother and continue staring at my phone. Keep hoping the perfect text will magically appear on the screen.
I’m losing confidence in that by the second.
“Did you hear me—the fuck?” My brother skids to a stop, tie undone and hair mussed, in the doorway. “You’re not even dressed yet? You know Mom will notice we’re late even though she invited a hundred other people, right?”
“I’m busy.”
“Doingwhat? Posing for a portrait?” He guffaws.
I glare, not appreciating the interrogation. “You want to be on time for dinner? Stay at Mom and Dad’s instead of crashing here.”
Bash flashes a carefree grin. “No, thanks. You’re my favorite brother.”
Conveniently, I’m also hisonlybrother. Not much of an endorsement.
I sigh and stand. He’s right about Mom noticing our absences. This is the first Thanksgiving Lili is missing, so us being there is extra important to her.
“Give me ten minutes.”
It’ll probably only take me five to change, but Bash can learn some patience.
My brother sighs. “I’m not taking the blame for being late if Mom asks.”
“While I’m getting ready, why don’t you pack your shit?” I retort.
He holds both hands up hastily. “Hey, hey, I was kidding. See you in ten. Take fifteen if you need to.”
It feels like a long, long time ago that I was that excited about living someplace with no parental or collegiate supervision.
As soon as Bash is gone, I rake my hands through my hair. I can’t come up with a single meaningful or memorable thing to say, and I’m out of time. With a frustrated groan, I send the unoriginal message I’ve spent the past twenty minutes staring at.