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“Yeah, I’m sure you had a rough time,” Blake says.
“Don’t you need to call Justin?” I ask as we start dishing up.
“He’s on an iPad chat with a schoolmate. They’re trying to figure out their group project, so we told him to finish up. He can grab frozen burritos. The kid doesn’t like steak for some reason,” Blake says.
“He likes what he likes,” Jewell says in her little brother’s defense.
“He’s incredible,” Blake says, leaning over and kissing her.
“How’s the new world of raising a teenager going?” I ask between bites.
Blake gets a big grin and answers, “It’s been hard at times, but I adore him, and he’s so damn smart. He’ll be working in the offices in no time at all.”
“As long as you don’t make him grow up too fast,” Jewell reminds him.
“I’ve already grown to love him. I wouldn’t think of making him grow too fast.”
“This steak is fantastic,” Jewell says.
“I have a secret method for cooking ribeye,” Byron brags. “I’m thinking of patenting it.”
“Yeah, you throw it in a pan and watch it sizzle,” Blake says.
“Hey. I know how to impress in the kitchen.”
“That’s not a room I’ve heard you brag about before.”
The two brothers guffaw, and Jewell looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Men. They’re not trainable,” she says with a shrug.
“Or they’re crude,” I add.
“That too,” Jewell says.
“Thank you for doing this,” Blake pipes in. “Jewell felt much better after lying down for a few minutes. Sometimes it helps to get the weight off her back.”
“Of course. It was no problem,” I tell them.
“How far along are you, Jewell?” Byron asks. I’m surprised he doesn’t know.
“Six months already. I can’t believe this child will be here in three months. I’m nowhere near ready.” Jewell leans back with a wince. Maybe her back really has been bothering her.
“I can’t believe it, Blake. Not only do you have an eleven-year-old boy, but you’re going to be a dad to a newborn,” Byron says.
“It’s something I vowed I never wanted,” Blake says. “What a fool I was to think beingfree and easy, or whatever they call it, is better than having a loving family.” Byron doesn’t reply to this comment.
Thankfully, the topic changes from family, and flows smoothly as we share a nice meal. The brothers keep ribbing each other, and I’m surprised when I actually laugh at a number of things Byron says.
I’m seeing a side of him I’ve never seen before — not that I’ve had all that much contact with him before this past month. Still, I’m shocked when two hours pass; it feels more like fifteen minutes.
Justin flits in for a few minutes, throws burritos into the microwave, and rushes back out, saying he’s still tied up with homework. What in the world kind of homework does an eleven-year-old have that requires hours of effort?
“We don’t let him do this every night,” Jewell says. “We normally eat as a family.”
“I’m not judging you,” I assure her.
“But I’m judging myself, and I probably always will. I hate that he was away from me for so long in the foster-care system. When I finally got him back, I overcompensated. Hell, I barely let him out of my sight. I totally smothered him. But I was always so worried. He’s doing wonderfully now. He loves school, and he’s made good friends. It kind of makes me sad at how little he needs me now,” Jewell says with a sigh.
I recall my own childhood. I could’ve done with some smothering, but I’m not about to say that. “You’ve done a good job with him,” I tell her. “That shows you’re an amazing sister, and I guess you’re sort of his mom now.”
