Twelve Steps to Normal(84)

I nod in affirmation, realizing I don’t really mind having these people around. They’re helping not only my dad, but each other, too.

“Dad?”

He looks at me.

“Did the twelve-step program work for you?”

He thinks for a moment. “Not at first… but I think it’s only because I wasn’t allowing it to work, if that makes sense? I’d get stuck on steps for what I now realize are very obvious reasons, like I didn’t admit my problem to myself. Or I didn’t feel like I owed someone an apology. And a part of that was because I was too stubborn and prideful, but not enough to not want to fix myself.”

“I tried to make a list for myself when I came back,” I admit. “But it sort of backfired.”

My dad smiles. “You know, there’s a step—step nine—that says ‘Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.’ Even if you don’t realize it, both of our apologies accomplish just that.”

I remember my promise to fix my relationships with everyone. Those weren’t bad steps to take, but it’s about time I accepted my life is different now. Not in a bad way. I’ve gained three extra people in the house who really care about me. About Dad. And I know even Grams would be grateful for that.

I lean into his shoulder. “I’m glad you came back.”

He smiles, then wraps me into a hug. I hug him back. We don’t say anything, but we don’t have to. For right now, this is enough.





THIRTY SEVEN


“YOU’RE BURNING MY BUNS!”

Nonnie playfully snaps the grilling tongs close to Saylor’s face. “Oh, trust me, if I were burning your buns, you would know.”

It’s a perfect day for a barbecue with a gentle, crisp breeze in the air and miraculously low humidity. Both Saylor and Peach have the day off and since Nonnie doesn’t go to the shelter on Sundays, my dad decided to grab burger meat and veggies from the store so we could enjoy the day together.

“Don’t take offense to this,” I tell Nonnie as she wraps her rainbow, iguana-patterned shawl around her. “But do you know what you’re doing?”

Her turquoise frames slip down the edge of her nose. “Of course I know what I’m doing.”

Smoke billows from the grill.

She suddenly looks unsure. “Okay, go get Peach.”

Smiling, I walk back inside. Wallis stays at my heels, but he doesn’t jump. He’s gotten better at controlling his enthusiasm, which I appreciate.

I find Peach standing at the island, knife in hand. “Nonnie needs some assistance. Preferably before she sets our lawn on fire.”

“I’m on it.” She gestures toward the tomato she was chopping. “Want to take over?”

I do, attempting to carefully slice them using her same perfect method. That’s where my dad finds me as he rounds the corner out of his room.

“Now here’s something I’ve missed,” he says, ruffling my hair. “You and me in the kitchen.”

“Don’t look so impressed. I’m only slicing veggies.” I gesture out back. “Peach took over the grill. I think she has it handled.”

My dad looks around, then grabs his apron. “I guess I’ll start preparing my World-Famous Potato Salad.”

I finish chopping the vegetables and put the platter in the fridge so they stay cold. Then I begin helping my dad peel potatoes over the sink.

“The secret ingredient is cumin,” he tells me.

“Should we post it on the internet and make millions?”

“Maybe we’ll keep it in the family, like those baked beans,” he says. “This was always a hit at Grams’s Fourth of July parties.”

Back then, Grams would invite her work friends over and tell me all my friends were welcome to join us. Of course I’d only invite Whitney, Raegan, and Lin. They were the only ones that mattered. Since we didn’t have a pool, my dad would let us set up the Slip ’N Slide, and Grams always said it was a miracle no one ever broke a bone on that thing.

After eating, we’d walk down to the Cedarville public park. There was a huge hill that gave a perfect view of the city’s fireworks, and the four of us would spread our towels into one giant square and eat the popsicles my dad had carried for us in the cooler. I remember smelling like sunscreen and bug spray and smoke from the grill. It smelled like happiness.

“Dad?”

He glances at me.

“Can we make those chocolate lava cupcakes later?”

“Yes, oh—” His eyes gleam. “And if they come out good you can take a selfie of them for your Instagram.”

I crack a smile. “That’s just called a picture.”

“I can’t keep up with your lingo these days.”

As he begins to launch into a conversation about a phenomenal grilling app he discovered, the doorbell rings. He starts to take off his apron, but I stop him. “I’ll get it.”

I wipe my potato-y hands on my jeans and run to the front door. When I fling it open, Jay is standing there.

“Hey,” I say, surprised.

He’s wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and a red Cedarville T-shirt. He’s sweaty, as if he just got back from playing ball.