“Love you too.”
They wave before pulling out from the parking lot, and once they’re gone I slip back inside the diner, into the booth opposite Jack.
“You okay?” Jack asks.
I take a deep breath, assessing. I don’t feel sad, like I did last time they left. I’m just . . . me.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m good.”
He studies me with those bright blue eyes, and a smile splits across his face as he decides I’m telling the truth.
Mrs. Benson returns with two plates stacked full of pancakes, and a third plate to divide them up. She reaches over to lay a hand against my cheek after setting down the food. “I’m so proud of you, Eli.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes.
She returns to the kitchen. Jack watches her go. “Sometimes I feel like you’re more her favorite than I am.”
“Sometimes he is!” Mrs. Benson calls over her shoulder, before disappearing behind the door.
Jack’s mouth drops open. “Parents aren’t supposed to admit they have favorites.”
“I don’t see a problem in this case.”
“Because she chose you!”
“Sometimes,” I say.
Jack shakes his head, a soft smile blooming. “No, Eli,” he says in a different voice. “She always chooses you.”
Our gazes remain locked for several heartbeats, and then Jack’s moves to the pancakes. “Food time!”
EIGHT
JACK
I make sure to tell Mom later that night, after Eli is gone, that he’s okay. That she was right that this was good for him. (She gets such a satisfied look when I tell her she was right that I realize I’ve never told her she’s wrong . . .)
“You do know you’re my favorite, too, don’t you?” she checks.
“Sure,” I say, teasing. “Try to take it back now, when he’s gone.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says with a chuckle. “You think he had a good day?”
“He told me he did after I walked him home.”
It wasn’t too frigid outside, so after breakfast we grabbed Hugh and brought him to the park. Eli suggested we bring Widget, too. It was his first time leading the spazzy dog on the leash for a prolonged time, and the number of times Widgets twined the leash around Eli’s legs and almost tripped him washilarious. Eli and I went to Kenny’s house later in the day, after we feasted on turkey hash for lunch, and discovered Eli is much better at video games than I am—though Kenny is still the champ. Eli invited him to play soccer with us sometime. I almost kissed him on the spot, for being so effortlessly sociable. I resisted until we left Kenny’s house, and we took our time walking back to mine.
We followed that with turkey soup and rolls (extra rolls, just for Eli) for dinner at home, and then a bit of decorating. We always set up Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. Funny Christmas movie in the background, Janet and I on tree duty while Mom decorates the mantle—that’s how it’s always been, the day after Thanksgiving. Hugh runs around with the tree skirt over his shoulders like a cape. It’s nice having Eli do it with us. Cozier.
“So,” Mom says now, “you’re baking for your soccer party tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Do you want help?”
Would it be guaranteed to be delicious if she helped? Yes. “If I can’t make a pudding pie, with Eli’s help and a pre-made crust, I’m really hopeless.”
Mom bites her lip.
