Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(81)

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Roland pretending to read the paper. I like that this family has just enough WASP in it to make me feel at home. Conversation starters between us are still awkward, but here in Nora’s home, I feel a surge of calm confidence. I slide a plate with the last three cookies on them in front of Roland, and then return to the sink to dry the last few dishes.

“There’s almond extract in them. Nora wants to know if they’re awful.” I slide the damp dishtowel through a drawer handle and sit across from Roland. He pushes the paper aside.

With half a mouthful, he gives his verdict. “Taste amazing to me.”

I nod, my eyes wide. “Right? That’s what I told her.”

“What’d you two talk about while I was gone?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease.

He grins. “Sorry for leaving you two alone.”

“No you’re not. But, it’s okay. I really like her, Roland. She’s just …”

“A lot like you,” he blurts out, then looks down as if he wishes he hadn’t said it.

Sitting back, I take a moment to consider his words. “I guess you’re right. She’s a bit gentler though, huh?”

“That’s a recent development thanks to so many grandchildren.” He polishes off the third cookie and leans back in his chair, running a hand over his stomach.

“She must have gotten along well with Mom. Wait, they met, right? I know you met my other grandparents …”

Roland nods, sitting forward again and folding his arms across the table. “A few times. And, yeah, they got along famously.”

“Did your mom ever try to, like, call her when you two broke up?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t tell them for several months. And, even though they liked her, I think once they saw the condition I was in they just let it go.”

“To focus on you.”

He nods.

“She loves you a lot.” My voice doesn’t usually sound this young. It’s startling.

He nods again. “I know. I love her a lot, too. I could have had different parents and it might not have worked out quite this way. They gave me a place …” he trails off, eyeing me concernedly.

I’ve started tearing up. The thought of different parents hasn’t filled my thoughts so much as it has since walking in this house. I could have been a part of this family, maybe. But, reality pushes those thoughts aside. I wouldn’t have had this family. I would have been plunked in the middle of a couple of high schoolers who were watching their older, anti-hero brother detox from his latest bender while his lovely parents vacillated between doting and tough love.

No thanks.

I fake a yawn and stand. “I’m going to get to bed. Night.”

“Night,” Roland calls after me after I’ve already left the kitchen.

I know he wants more from me. And I want more from him. What I don’t want, though, is more shit from my mother about what more I want from Roland. I wish Roland and I could develop our relationship in a vacuum, free from lookers on. Free from pressure and expectations.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I turn back for the kitchen. Roland is heading toward me, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Forget something?” he asks, yawning and stretching his arms overhead.

There’s no pressure. Just you and him, Kennedy. What do you want?

I shake my head, my eyes moving to his face, trying to read it. But, as always, it’s friendly, warm. Nothing evil. Nothing double-minded. No alternate agenda. Just Roland. My birth father.

“Just,” I start with a whisper, “I …”

Roland’s forehead scrunches. “Kennedy?”

My two-thousand pound arms lurch forward from my torso and wrap uneasily around Roland. A second later I fully commit and step into the hug.

He’s safe, Kennedy. It’s okay.

“I …” Roland starts to say something, but settles for a long exhale, squeezing my body into his.

“Goodnight,” I repeat into the worn print of his UCONN t-shirt before climbing the stairs. My arms still heavy, but my heart somehow lighter.

“Night,” he whispers.

I don’t hear his feet on the stairs until long after I’ve tucked myself into bed. I don’t wonder what he was doing all of those minutes at the bottom of the stairs, because somehow I know it’s the same thing I’ve been doing laying in my bed.

Processing what the hell just happened.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT





Get Back Up


Kennedy.




By the time Christmas rolled around, Mom and I had an actual, normal conversation. She apologized for seeming so short with me, once again conceding to my desire to see this “Roland journey” through. I think sometimes she gets her Roland journey mixed up with mine, and has a hard time processing that there might be a different outcome for me and him. Sometimes I have that difficulty, but its less now than it was in September.

Roland’s siblings and their kids arrived at their parents’—my grandparents—house the day before Christmas, and it’s been a whirlwind ever since. It was a blast watching the kids open their presents, and I was surprised to find a few under the tree for me. Safe gifts, but thoughtful nonetheless. Gift cards to iTunes and Amazon came from Roland’s brother and sister, and Roland purchased for me a set of hardcover C.S. Lewis books.