Every Other Weekend(50)



“You’re still mine.”

Relieved, I stood up—super weird feeling when you can’t feel your butt. “Then let’s make it not weird. Let’s do something.”

He looked up. “Like what?”

“Well, we’re broke and there is a blizzard outside, so the options are endless. I spent all my brainpower solving your problem, so this one’s on you.”

“My problem? I didn’t even know it was a problem until you went off about it.”

“Oh, please.” I grinned. “That whole thing would have blown up in your face the second you accidentally kissed me.”

Adam’s eyebrows shot up and so did he. “I was going to accidentally kiss you?”

“I don’t know. Probably. Then I’d have to slap you, because you’d be making me into the ‘other woman’ and Erica would show up at my house in the middle of the night and we’d get into a fight—that I would win, by the way—and then we’d realize that you’re the one we’re mad at, so we’d egg your house, and then your mom would find out and she’d never look at you the same way again, and then...” I made an explosion sound.

Adam started slowly down the stairs, one step at a time like he was in a trance. “I’ve made a huge mistake. Maybe there’s still time if I call Erica right now and—” He grunted, then started laughing when I leaped onto his back. “I’ll tell her how you threw yourself at me, and beg for her help.” He locked his hands under my knees when I would have let go and hoisted me higher onto his back. “And there is no way you’d win in a fight with Erica. You’re like a buck ten soaking wet, and I’m betting most of that is your hair. She’d snap you in half.”

We were both grinning now. I almost said weirdness adverted but that would have been weird. “This, right here,” I said, as he started jumping down the stairs in a way that bounced me up and down with each step and added a staccato to my words. “We couldn’t—do this—if you had—a girlfriend.”

“A friend can’t give another friend a piggyback ride?”

“Not if he has a girlfriend. Not unless he’s a scummy boyfriend.”

“I don’t, and I’m not. So hold on.”





   ADAM

On Saturday morning, Dad was already up when I wandered into the kitchen.

“Morning. Coffee?”

“Yeah, hey.” I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and held it out for him to pour.

“I was thinking we could go to the rink today and play a little ice hockey.”

“I’m hanging out with Jolene.” I turned to take my coffee back to my room, but Dad stopped me.

“Why don’t you come with Jeremy and me? You love playing.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Adam.” Just my name. I turned to him. “I thought we were turning a corner after last month. Are you ever gonna let up on me? I mean, ever?”

“What do you want from me, Dad?”

“For starters, I want you to come play hockey with your brother and me.” He slammed his own mug down on the counter, and coffee splashed over the edge. “I never see you. I get you for a few days a month, and you spend them in your room or with the girl next door.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I’m trying here. I need you to try, too.”

“Yeah, you tried real hard.” I held my arms out and gestured around the room. “Look how hard you’re trying.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“No, you’re not. Your best is all of us home together. Mom not alone. Jeremy and me not living out of suitcases. This is pathetic. You’re not trying, so why should I?”

“Adam.” He let his head drop forward. “You don’t—”

“No, forget it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you say is going to matter.”

“And that’s you trying?”

“No. That’s me not giving a—”

Dad’s head snapped up when I started that particular phrase, and the way his eyes widened and then narrowed took some of my bluster.

I finished with “Crap.”

But he knew what I’d been going to say, what one look from him had quelled. I wasn’t nearly as indifferent to him as I claimed.

He took his victory—and his half-spilled mug of coffee—and went into his room. I had no time to reflect on any of that before I saw Jeremy sit up on the couch.

“What are you going to do when he really stops trying?”

I sipped my coffee.

“Yeah, you’re so cool. I keep forgetting.” He threw off his blanket, and his back cracked when he stood up from the couch.

“Sleep well?” It was a rhetorical question. The couch was more of a love seat.

Jeremy lumbered past me to the bathroom. He never bothered to shut the door even at home, but this bathroom’s proximity to the kitchen made it especially grating. I kicked the door shut when he started to piss.

“So are you really not coming today?” Jeremy asked when he came out.

“I have plans.”

“I heard. That girl again. Jolene. She’s cute,” he went on. “I’ll give you that, but Erica Porter.” Jeremy shook his head. “You’re either the biggest moron on the planet or... No, you’re pretty much the biggest moron on the planet.”

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