Always Never Yours(76)

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “Oh, Jesus.”

Mom folds her lips inward, trying not to smile. Rose looks between the two of them, eyebrows arched. “On the roof?” she repeats.

I try to nip this in the bud. “We really don’t need to relive that. It’s . . . It’s in the past. There’s . . .” I gesture to Erin in her high chair. “ . . . a child present.”

“Erin’s not too young to start learning from her sister’s misadventures,” Dad says, then nods to Mom. “You tell it, Catherine. You’re the one who found him.”

I shake my head. But for a moment, it feels like it’s four years ago, my parents are together, and Rose and Randall are just a couple we’re having over for dinner.

“We were in bed watching some horrible movie . . .” Mom begins, looking to Dad. “What was it? You really wanted to watch it.”

Dad leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Hey, Snakes on a Plane is a classic of American cinema.”

Mom waves off his unsolicited review. “I thought I heard thudding on the roof,” she continues. “Henry tried to tell me it was just in the movie.”

“In my defense, I knew she was looking for every reason to pause the film,” Dad cuts in.

“The third time it happened, I went outside to see for myself. Lo and behold, there’s somebody standing on the roof over the garage.”

“The next thing I know,” Dad takes over, “Catherine’s running back inside, looking pale, telling me there’s some guy trying to break into the house. Not an overreaction at all.”

Mom laughs into her hand, blushing now, and through my mounting mortification I realize what’s happening here. My parents are rediscovering their friendship over what they have in common—embarrassing me.

“I obviously pause Snakes on a Plane,” Dad goes on, “grab a baseball bat, and go downstairs. We get outside, I take one look at the guy on the roof, turn to Catherine, and say, ‘That’s a fourteen-year-old boy. Why is there—?’ and then I realize he’s there to get into Megan’s room.” He levels me an accusatory look.

“I ask if he’s sure.” Mom jumps back in. “He just says, ‘Believe me, I’m sure.’ Then he yells up at the poor kid, and the kid trips and falls on his butt. Henry orders him to get off the roof, but the kid just sits there, looking like he’s about to throw up. I take Henry by the arm and tell him I think the kid’s stuck.”

Rose and Randall shake with laughter. Even I have to admit the situation was kind of funny.

“I get the ladder and climb halfway up. But the kid doesn’t move. I hear the upstairs window open, and Megan sticks her head out.” Dad looks at me. “Megan, why don’t you tell everyone what happened next?”

“Okay, what was I supposed to do?” I protest.

“Not invite the boy on the roof into your room,” Dad says.

“You did what?” Rose gasps.

“He was stuck!” I defend myself. “My window was closer than the ladder. I didn’t want Charlie to fall!”

“I swear to god, Megan yells down to him, ‘Come on up! Just come in here,’” Dad confirms, and I collapse my head into my hands. “Needless to say, that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Falling wouldn’t have even been the worst of Charlie’s worries,” Mom mutters. “He finally opens his mouth and explains he’s not good with heights. Let’s just say, Henry made it very clear Charlie had to come down right then.”

“What did you say to the poor kid?” Randall shares a grin with my dad.

“I might have told him . . . I’d throw him off if he didn’t,” Dad says with a shrug.

“That worked?” Randall returns incredulously.

“Not exactly.” Dad bashfully massages the back of his neck. “Catherine coaxed him down eventually.” He looks up at Mom. “I’m just glad you were there. I honestly might’ve killed the kid. You were always the even-tempered one.”

It happens so fast, I nearly don’t notice. But Mom’s eyes flicker, and her smile falters just a touch.

When we finish dinner, I stack dishes to carry into the kitchen while Rose gets dessert ready. Erin begins the frustrated whimper that means we’ve overtired her, and a tiny spoon clatters to the ground. I hear Dad get up, mumbling about Erin’s bedtime.

“Would you mind if I read to her?” my mom asks.

“Please,” Dad says. “I could use a night off from reading Green Eggs and Ham for the five-thousandth time.” Mom lifts Erin out of her high chair and goes upstairs while I load the dishwasher and Rose pulls a pan out of the oven.

In fifteen minutes, Mom still isn’t back and Randall’s regaling me with the financial intricacies of his current case at work. When Rose comes out of the kitchen, a peach cobbler held in oven mitts, her eyes go to my mom’s empty chair, and she frowns. “Megan,” she says, interrupting Randall’s endless string of details. “Would you go upstairs and tell your mom dessert’s ready?”

I shoot her a grateful look and escape into the hallway, passing the photo over the stairs from Dad and Rose’s wedding. It’s dark in Erin’s bedroom, the door ajar. I push it open and find Erin’s in her crib, already asleep. “Mom?” I whisper the moment before I see her in the rocking chair, the book closed on her lap.