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Neither August nor Sunday notice when I enter the house, the blaring music concealing my arrival. They’re both in the kitchen, him on the far side of the island, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl while she watches from the opposite side, her back to me, shifting in one of the stools I need to replace for something comfier—she’s never outright complained but she huffs and puffs enough as she climbs onto them, and I got the point quickly.
As they talk and cook and sing, they look so natural. Like they’ve always been here, always will be here. I try to remember my house without them. Without August’s backpack strewn at the bottom of the stairs, ready to break someone’s neck. Without an excessive amount of baking cookbooks clogging the bookshelf in my living room. Without fucking Pickle leaving toys and forgotten treats and clumps of hair in every nook and cranny.
It’s not a matter of I can’t; I just really, really don’t want to.
When I loudly, pointedly clear my throat, Sunday shifts to face me, baring the full swell of her belly and the full glow of her welcoming smile. “Hey. You’re home.”
Home, she says. Like it’s hers too.
Chest tight, I close the distance between us and wrap myself around her, lips to her temple, palms on her belly. “Feeling okay?”
She dismisses my question with a roll of her eyes and a sharp nod—yes, she seems to say.I am okay. I was okay when you asked this morning. I was okay when you texted an hour ago. Every other time you’ve asked over the last week, I have been okay. Relax.“How’d it go?”
The truth clogs my throat. “Good. Making pancakes?”
“Waffles,” August corrects, slightly sheepish. “I used your laptop to look up a recipe.”
Waving off the apology in his tone, I make a mental note to look into getting him his own, but promptly reassess when fingers pinch my forearm. “Don’t even think about it.”
I lower my voice to the same quiet murmur as Sunday. “For educational purposes, sunshine.”
“I know it’s been a while, Grandpa, but the sixth grade syllabus isn’t all that complex.”
“What about seventh grade?” I counter. “That’s middle school. Super complex.”
“Shut up.” She pinches me again. “He’s not a middle schooler. He’s a baby. He doesn’t need a laptop.”
I chuckle and the noise is a relief, as comforting as Sunday as she leans her weight back against me, as comforting as August as he pretends to be disgusted by us, dipping to hide his smile behind the screen of my laptop.
The next few things happen very, very quickly.
I hear the whooshing sound of a new email notification. I watch August jolt upright, eyes wide. I hear him exclaim, “Holy shit,” in a pitchy shriek, and I’m still trying to decide whether or not I’m allowed to reprimand him for the language when he turns the laptop to face me, and then I’m uttering the same words because…
I got invited to play at the All-Star Game.
With the Devils.
“Holy shit.” August hurtles towards me, punching me excitedly with small fists as he all but squeals. “You’re playing at the All-Star Game.”
I repeat; with the Devils.
August is losing it, I’m losing it too, nervous and confused and oddly nauseous, and August isscreamingand even when I shush him, he barely stops. “You canplay, Cass.”
Yeah. I can. As of about an hour ago. Yet here I am, looking at an offer that isn’t just pulled together haphazardly in less than a day. Which means Ryan has been planning this for God knows how long, and he didn’t breathe a word of it to me.
Something I feel the need to clarify to a silent, gaping Sunday. “I didn’t know.”
Still, she says nothing, and her lack of a reaction puts a damper on August’s. “Mama, this is so cool.”
I’m not sure she agrees but she tries. She smiles at her son, smiles up at me, mouth stretched wide and fake as she asks, “You got cleared?”
“Today.” I swallow. “I had an appointment with Davies. And with Amelia,” I add, like partial truth absolves a whole lie.
“Wow.” She shifts, shrugging me off, and I tell myself it’s not because she’s mad; it’s just so she can turn to look up at me properly. “When is it?”
“July,” August answers for me. “Can we go?Please?”
“I don’t know if I’m gonna do it kid?”
