Every Other Weekend(97)
I didn’t respond, because Jeremy swung open the door and leaned against the frame. “Five minutes are up, lovebirds.”
As he started tugging me inside, I thought I saw something flicker over Jolene’s face, like she wanted to reach out and stop him. But her hands stayed at her sides, and after saying bye, she left, her braid swinging behind her.
* * *
I hated myself for not hating the next two days more. Jolene and I texted a little on Saturday, but mostly I spent time with Dad and Jeremy. We ate out, hit up the home improvement store, reframed windows, played video games, hit up the home improvement store again. We also visited Greg, and when Dad once again offered to send Jeremy and me home with Mom, when she said no, we didn’t push it. In short, we acclimated to each other again. There were still stretches of silence and moments when I had to grit my teeth in order to keep my temper in check, but I did it.
I did such a good job that Jeremy didn’t balk on Saturday evening when I said I needed a couple hours to myself the next day. Once Dad left to fix a drippy bathroom faucet on the second floor, I pulled up the Danish pastry recipe Mom had texted me earlier along with the stuff she’d helped me pack from home. I’d made it with her before, but I was still hoping Jolene would judge me more on the intent rather than the taste.
Jeremy frowned when I told him what I was doing, then frowned further when I told him why.
Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and fledgling relationship with my dad or not, there was no way I wasn’t seeing Jolene.
I hadn’t wanted to go the flowers-and-candy route because A, Jolene would have called me lame, and B, flowers and candy cost money and I didn’t have a ton of that. What I did have was a helpful mother and the knowledge that Jolene had been bugging me to make her something else ever since I brought her that piece of sweet potato pie from Thanksgiving.
I’d put the dough in the fridge to rest overnight when Jeremy—still frowning—said, “Think I should have planned something for Erica?”
I turned away so he wouldn’t see me smother a laugh. “No way. Girls hate it when guys do thoughtful stuff for them.”
“But we’re, you know, really new. She’s probably not expecting anything, right?”
I pulled out a bowl and added cream cheese, sugar, salt, and a cracked egg on top with one hand for the filling. I stared at him when I turned on the hand mixer.
“She’s totally expecting something.” He cupped the back of his head with both hands and tugged it down before letting his arms drop to his sides. “So I’m screwed?”
“You’re not screwed. Come up with something.”
“What? I can barely afford my car insurance. I can’t get her anything.”
That was true, and unlike me, he hadn’t planned ahead. Which meant Erica was going to be SOL. Again. I groaned. “Here.” I gestured for him to take over with the mixer.
“I don’t have time to help you. I need to figure out what to do for Erica.”
“I’m about to stick your thick head in this bowl. This is what you do for Erica. Mom gave me enough ingredients to make another batch in case I ruined the first one.” I hadn’t. “I’ll help you and then you can drop it off at her house tomorrow. After you take me home.”
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 having Shaun of the Dead thoughts 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.