Something Like Normal(16)

Now Charlie is dead, and I’m having trouble even picturing a future with me in it. Still, I humor my mom. “Maybe. Anyway, you should see a lawyer. I’ll go with you if you want.”

Her smile slides off her face and I can tell the beer buzz has dredged up some doubt. She glances at her watch. “Travis.” She hiccups. “We need to go. We haven’t bought groceries yet.”

“Give me the keys.” I settle the tab, turn in my membership application, and follow my mom out to the Suburban. She keeps missing the slot on her seat belt, so I have to do it for her. “We should go home,” I say. “We can shop later.”

“Your dad will be mad.” She yawns. “I want a nap.”

I laugh. I’ve never seen her this way. “Okay, then, a nap it is.”

Dad is watching golf on TV, a bottle of beer in his hand, when we get home.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he says. “Linda, did you remember to buy beer?”

She nods and holds up three fingers, then uses her other hand to bend one finger down so she’s only holding up two. “Two pitchers.”

My mom is wasted. It’s kind of… cool.

His eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking?” He turns his glare on me. Cool Dad is gone. Real Dad is back. “Travis, you got your mother drunk?”

I shrug. “You can blame me if you want.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” He’s on his feet now, eyes blazing, voice sliding up an octave. “We’ve got company coming tonight and nothing is ready.” He turns back to her. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You have all the time in the world to buy socks for Travis and to google all night with strangers about your son in Afghanistan, but I ask you for one little thing—”

“This isn’t about Travis,” she says.

“Of course it’s about Travis,” he spits. “It’s always about Travis.”

“Mom.” I keep my eyes on him. “Why don’t you go up and take that nap? I’ll take care of everything.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got it under control.”

She plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “You’re such a good boy.”

I am nowhere near good right now.

“I thought the military would have matured you,” Dad says when she’s out of earshot. “But you’re the same disrespectful little punk you were before you left.”

I grab the front of his shirt in my fist. It takes this little punk no effort at all to pull him toward me. He looks scared, and he should, because there’s not much in this world more frightening than a pissed-off grunt. “You know what I was doing at six o’clock this morning? Sitting in the kitchen with Mom, who waited all night for you to come home. So don’t fucking talk to me about respect.”

He doesn’t say anything and his eyes are wide. I shouldn’t feel good about that, but I do.

“You want to be pathetic and screw around behind Mom’s back because she pays attention to someone other than you, that’s your business,” I say. “But I won’t be your excuse.”

I shove him a little as I let go and he staggers backward. If I wanted to drop him, he’d be on the floor right now, but this was my warning shot.

“I’m going to the grocery store.” I grab the keys to the Suburban. “Gotta make sure Becky feels welcome.”

Dad’s tanned face goes pale. He pulls out his wallet. “Do you—do you need some cash?”

“Not from you.”

It isn’t until I get to the Winn-Dixie that I realize I have a problem—I didn’t bring Mom’s list. I have no clue what people cook for dinner parties, even for people they hate.

I head for the meat department.

“Can I help you?” the butcher asks.

“What would you cook if you were having a, um—dinner party?”

Jesus, I feel like an idiot.

“Well, a roast is always tasty,” he offers. “Or pork chops. Or even lamb chops.”

Lamb chops? I walk away from the counter and stand in front of the cooler full of meat. I have no idea what to buy. I don’t even know what most of it is. This is a nightmare.

“Do you need help?” a female voice from behind asks.

I’m about to throw an offended no over my shoulder when Harper comes up alongside me, all green eyes and tousled hair. I could probably look at her forever and not get tired of that face. “If I say yes will you think less of me?”

She shrugs, but I can see a smile at the corner of her mouth. “I already do think less of you.”

“You’re not planning to hit me again, are you?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it, but I try to keep my options open.” She puts her plastic shopping basket in my cart. “So you’re having a dinner party?”

“Yes, I mean, no. My mom is, but she’s—not feeling well, so I figured I’d come buy the stuff, take it home, and cook it.”

She cocks her head, skeptical. “Do you know how to cook, Travis?”

“How hard can it be?” Her eyebrows lift and she doesn’t say anything at all, which makes me laugh. “Okay, no. But I want to do something nice for her.”