Page 83 of The Scars We Heal

“Fuck.” Jake ruffled his hand through his hair. “Frick, I mean. Sorry,” he mumbled with a glance over at Whitley.

“She’s not paying attention, it’s okay,” I whispered.

She’d lost interest a long time ago and was playing with her food, pushing it around and making her leftover chicken nuggets fight.

“You don’t have to answer right now. Take some time to think about it. I’m sure they’ll understand this is a massive bomb they just dropped on you,” I suggested, hoping it would ease some of the tension in the room.

Our food, the meal Jake had worked so hard on, sat untouched on our plates.

“Do you want me to reheat your food for you?” I asked, pushing my chair back from the table to stand.

He swallowed. “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“Okay. I’ll put it in a plastic container for you. Where is your Tupperware?” I reached for his plate, but stopped when I noticed the glassiness of his eyes. “Hey, hey, hey.” I wrapped my arms around him. “It’s okay.”

A stray tear fell down his cheek, and I caught it with the pad of my thumb.

“If this is true…” He breathed out the words, barely audible. “My whole life has been a lie.”

I shook my head. “No. If this is true, it just means you get to choose your path. And maybe that means repaving it a little, but it doesn’t change who you are, Jake. It doesn’t change that you’re one of the most thoughtful, kind people I know.”

His eyes glazed over, a blankness replacing their normal brightness.

“Everything will be okay,” I promised, even if it wasn’t within my rights to promise something like that.

A few days had passed since Jake had received the texts from the person claiming to be his brother. We didn’t really talk about the subject, but there was an air of uncertainty that seemed to float around him.

I was still working on my bucket list, namely finding a hobby I wanted to stick with. I’d tried cycling, crochet, pottery, and wine tasting, I guess, if you counted all the times Bec and I had gone out. I wasn’t sure if painting Whitley’s room counted as painting for a hobby. I liked that, but I wasn’t sure if it was the act of painting or more because of Jake.

I knew I was good at baking, but it was supposed to be trying new hobbies. Besides, when I baked, I normally baked for everyone else. However, I did try making a sourdough starter once and quickly scrapped it.

“What hobby do you think I should try next, bug?” I asked Whitley, who was scribbling in her coloring book. Cheeto lay in her lap, his purrs filling the room.

She looked up at me with a blank expression, shrugged, then went back to her book.

“Thanks for the suggestion.”

I need a new hobby to try

Jake

Hmm…

What about horseback riding?

I don’t have a horse, silly.

Jake

I know at least five people who do, though.

Come on, I’ll take you out this afternoon. It’ll be fun.

Ellison might even be able to get Whit on a horse.

I don’t know about that.

Jake