The sound of thudding footsteps on the stairs knocked me out of my thoughts just before they started getting into dangerous territory.
My oldest emerged at the end of the hallway. He paused at the threshold of the living room, staring at the scene inside.
“Hey, Tommy,” I heard Sam say from around the corner.
Tommy said nothing, just stood for a moment watching them.
“Tommy!” I hissed to his back.
He grunted, which I guess was a facsimile of a greeting. Then he turned and slouched into the kitchen, opening the fridge without looking at me.
“I seem to remember raising you to have manners,” I reminded him.
Tommy ignored that. “What’s he doing here?”
I took a breath, setting down the potato I’d been peeling. My hands hurt from work, worse now trying to peel and chop a week’s worth of dinners. And my head hurt from Tommy’s attitude and being just so, so tired. But the last thing I needed to do was lose my shit on him.
“He’s getting to know his son,” I said. “That okay with you?”
Tommy said nothing, but I saw the way his knuckles went tight on the fridge handle.
My chest pinched. I’d been so caught up in my own feelings I hadn’t considered what this might be like for him. I pressed my thumb into my hands as if I could work away the pain and the guilt together. I couldn’t help shake the feeling thatIwas the reason Tommy was acting the way he was. Like if I’d just done one thing differently we’d be like we used to be. Me and my little guy against the world.
“What’s for dinner?” Tommy asked. He looked over the fridge door at the cutting board. “Not that gross stew again is it?”
The tenderness I’d been feeling for my eldest was quickly replaced with a flare of hurt. Last week, I’d decided to try to break out of our easy-dinner rut since I’d had a break before my next contract started. I worked my ass off preparing this elaborate French stew. It was my great grandmother’s recipe. She’d been a farmer in France. I’d messed it up somehow and ended up spending hours on it, nearly in tears, trying everything to fix it. Tommy had spat it out. It was notthatbad. It had turned into a huge fight. Him bringing it up again right now was kind of heartless.
I took a deep breath, picking up the potato and attacking it with the peeler. “No,” I said. “It’s not the stew.”
Tommy was so rude. Ruder than he had been lately. But at least he wasn’t acting out like he had been a few months ago.Sneaking out, coming back smelling like weed. Skipping school.
“We’re having spaghetti,” I said.
Tommy rolled his eyes, but said nothing, dropping back down into the fridge.
Every therapist told me his attitude was developmentally normal, even if it felt shitty.His moods and his anger aren’t personal,one of the better ones told me.He feels safe with you so he lets his worst self show.Sometimes it helped to remember things like that. Sometimes I didn’t care and blew up at him. Those times never helped.
Tommy clanked stuff around in the fridge hard enough something was going to break. Before I could tell him to quit it, he said, “Is buddy staying?”
“You mean Sam?”
“Sure.”
I forced myself to look past the attitude to what he was asking. I hadn’t considered Sam staying for dinner. Should I ask him? The thought made my stomach tense. With what, I wasn’t sure.
“I can’t,” Sam said, surprising us both.
CHAPTER 10
What do you Want?
ELLIE
Sam stood in the doorway holding Henry, who was kicking his legs, reaching for Tommy. “Ba!”
Tommy stood up straight, a pepperoni snack in one hand and a stack of instant cheese slices in the other. He was going to spoil his dinner.
Pick your battles.
