Not If I See You First(50)

“I’m worried that you’re not worried.”

“I’m plenty worried.”

“Then let’s go back. I mean, two and a half years of nothing and now… what’s the rush?”

“I’m not rushing. I’m just not waiting anymore. Are we there yet?”

“God, are you twelve?” She pulls over. “And yes, we are. I’ll wait around the corner till you text me.”

“Are you sick of me telling you how good of a friend you are?”

“Keep trying; I’ll let you know. His path is directly in front of your door.”

I get out and then unfold my cane while Sarah drives away. The path is flat concrete with grass on both sides, just like I remember. I find the doorbell and press it. The silence tells me they still haven’t fixed it, so I knock. I hear footsteps inside and I adjust my scarf. I chose Peace Symbols this morning because I wanted some peace; maybe now it can mean something else.

The door opens.

“Parker!” It’s Scott’s mom. “Parker Grant! Oh, look at you! Let me give you a hug!”

Before I answer she hugs me warmly, which feels strange because she was always very nice to me but seldom hugged me.

“You must be half a foot taller since I last saw you! How did you get here, did you walk? Come inside!”

“Sarah dropped me off,” I say, folding my cane.

“Come into the kitchen. It’s still straight ahead and then left, I’m sure you remember.”

I do. Six steps, left, three steps, table, chairs… I sit without incident.

“I wish the furniture in my house stayed put this much.”

“Old habits—” She stops herself. Then she sits and her hands grab mine and I manage not to flinch. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Parker. Martin was a wonderful father. You must miss him terribly. What an awful time for you.”

“Not so good for him, either,” I say and instantly regret it. I don’t want to sound glib, I just don’t know what to say sometimes when people talk about Dad. “But thanks. My aunt’s family moved in with me because…” But my usual answer, how my house was just better than theirs, won’t come out, not to Scott’s mom. “They moved here so I wouldn’t have to move in with them. It takes me a long time to learn my way around new places and they didn’t want me to have to go to a new house and a new school and town right after…” I stop talking—it feels like someone is squeezing my throat. It’s awful saying all this out loud.

“That was very nice of them. So now you have cousins with you? Your aunt has kids?”

I clear my throat. “Two. Sheila’s a junior like me and Petey is eight.”

“Oh, it must be hard for her, moving in the middle of high school. That happened to me and, well… well… it’s not nearly as hard as what you’re going through, of course.” She pats my hand to comfort me but only emphasizes how Sheila’s life was ruined so mine wouldn’t be. “When terrible things happen, it’s hard on everyone. When Scott found out… well…”

She squeezes my hands again and lets go. “Let me get you something to drink. You still like iced tea?”

I haven’t had any since… well, Dad was the one who made it.

“I do.”

“It won’t be as good as Martin’s. I don’t know why his was always so much better.”

“Put baking soda in the water while you’re boiling it.”

“Baking soda? Are you sure?”

“It counteracts acid in the tea and makes it taste smoother. A quarter teaspoon per quart.”

“Well… I’ll certainly try that… baking soda…”

She sets a glass in front of me and I take a sip. Yes, it needs baking soda.

“Thank you.”

“I thought Scott would have heard us by now. I’ll go get him.”

Maybe he just doesn’t want to come out. Sarah was right; he’s going to feel like I’m cornering him. It’s stupid—I didn’t even think about his mom being here. It’s surreal sitting here having a normal conversation with her like the last couple years never happened.

She’s gone longer than it takes to walk down the hall and back. What am I going to say if he won’t see me? How much does she know? What am I going to say if he does come? I really haven’t sorted this out.

I hear shuffling and doors opening and closing. Then footsteps. He’s alone.

“Hey.” He sits down.

“Hey. Where’s your mom?”

“In her bedroom.”

“Oh.”

I hear the soundtrack to Grease start playing, muffled by the intervening walls and closed doors… The sound wraps itself around my heart and squeezes.

God, I should have thought this through. I usually just say whatever I think but my mind is blank. Now I wish I’d planned something.

“I guess I should have texted you instead of just coming.” My voice surprises me at how quiet it is, like I’m talking to myself. “I just wanted to hear your real voice, not just texts or over the phone. I know that’s not fair… I didn’t let you do that…”

“It’s fine, though I need to go to work in a few minutes.”