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“My God.” He shakes his head. “Frank Kelley set foot in the kitchen?”
“He’s had more free time since he retired. Much to his dismay.”
“Why did your dad leave Brookstone? I always pictured Frank as one of those stubborn old-timers who’d work until the day he died.”
My throat tightens. “That was sort of the problem. He never knew when to stop. My mom had to threaten to leave him if he didn’t retire after his second heart attack.”
Gavin’s fork stalls along the journey to his mouth. “Frank had a heart attack?”
I nod. “We found out about it after one of his routine echocardiograms.”
He lowers his fork and sits back in his chair, clearly shaken.
“Wait, did you saysecondheart attack?”
This is one anecdote I haven’t been looking forward to sharing. “The first one happened five years ago, the day after your falling out.”
Gavin scrubs a hand down his beard. His shoulders slump. I feel guilty for having told him, and for having waited to tell him. I don’t want to be the reason he has to make that face. He reaches across the table to grasp my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles.
“I’m sorry you and your family had to go through that,” he says.
I take comfort in the gentle squeeze from his fingers. “Thanks. It’s been...a lot to deal with. I think the most frustrating part was how reluctant he was to give up teaching. Even though it was clearly stressing him out.”
“He’s been doing it for so long,” Gavin says. “It would be an adjustment for anyone.”
“I don’t think he knows what to do with himself now. Meanwhile, the rest of us are walking around on eggshells, avoiding any topic that might raise his blood pressure.”
He resumes eating. “Like me?”
“Unfortunately. You, and the fact that I haven’t applied to grad school yet.”
“Brookstone accepts grad students on a rolling basis, so you still have time. Assuming that’s where you want to go.”
“I don’t know if I want to stay at Brookstone. I’m not sure if I even want to get my masters. My dad expects me to go into academia, of course. He’s been planning for it since I was little. But the thought of languishing at a desk for the rest of my life surrounded by molding literature makes me want to claw my eyes out.”
“Sounds like heaven to me,” he says with a chuckle. “But if it’s not what you want to do, don’t do it.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “You’re literally the first person who’s ever said that to me.”
“Come on, that can’t be true.”
“I’m serious. Everyone just assumes I’m going to follow the path my sister took, the same one laid out by our dad. Though lately, a few people have asked if I’m going to be an artist like my mom. I tell them to stay tuned for my study in stick-figures.”
Gavin chuckles, wipes his mouth with a napkin, then rises from the table.
“Ready for your second waffle?” he asks.
“I was born ready.”
He deposits a fresh waffle on each of our plates. I’m in the process of smothering mine with butter when I look up to find Gavin watching me.
“What?” I ask. “Do I have syrup on my face?”
He shakes his head. “I just like having you here.”
My chest tightens. I press my leg firmly against his under the table, so there’s no mistaking the gesture as intentional.
“I like being here with you.”
