AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I shivered as I walked downstairs, not yet warmed up after the chill of the icy water. I was drawn by the smells from the kitchen and was about to sit at the breakfast bar, when Mom said, “Can you take these to the table, Cully?”
Resisting the urge to sigh loudly in irritation—gee, hadn’t I done enough today—I dutifully took the tray of condiments from her. “You’ve been busy,” I said, noticing the array of pots and dishes around the counter.
“Yes, I’ve made some meals for later in the week, for us and Nana and Granddad—”
“How is Granddad?” I interrupted.
“He’s good, he’s been taking it very easy, but he had a lot of visitors today,” she said as I laid the salt and pepper and sauce bottles on the middle of the table. “Ah, take your towel and shorts to the hamper.”
“What?”
“Your swimming shorts and towel. Down the end.” I glanced to the far end of the table to see the towel I’d taken to the Huntington’s folded tidily. “Sierra brought them back.”
Sierra’s name lodged deep in my throat. I was unable to even croak out a whisper, but the mention of her name sent a rush of heat through my body.
“She biked over. Said you left them at her house.”
My mind raced. Sierra didn’t have her driver’s licence yet, but I’d never known her to be prone to biking anywhere. Well, not since sophomore year when none of us drove and it was our only mode of independent transport. That, or walking.
She’d brought them back.
As small as that was, suddenly everything was right in my world. She’d come over to see me. Well, that was an assumption, but my heart couldn’t be wrong.
“Yeah,” I said, gathering them up. Leaving the tray on the counter, I went to the laundry room and chucked them in the basket. Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts. She wasn’t in there, but it wouldn’t take much to send her a message.
Dad’s footsteps made me shove it back into my pocket and return to the kitchen. Mom was laying out plates and dishes. I sat down, avoiding any eye contact with Dad, trying to picture Sierra on her bike, it was a purple one if I remembered right.
I zoned out as we ate, hungry after the long day, leaving Mom and Dad to discuss Granddad’s health and the weather forecast for the upcoming week. As long as it didn’t rain, I wasn’t concerned.
The state championships were being played over three days at Finley Stadium in Falls Creek, with our division playing on Thursday afternoon. That was good for us, we’d played our last two games in the afternoon. Less dew and moisture in the grass, better for throwing and catching. But rain would be a whole game changer.
I cleared the plates and asked to be excused, but Mom told me to sit down for some dessert. She said I needed to refuel after my busy day. The cinnamon aroma indicated she’d baked a pie, but I imagined I’d be served up a fresh fruit platter with natural yogurt for protein.
Mom brought over the dessert bowls on a tray. It occurred to me that I hadn’t spoken a single word to Dad as she laid out three bowls of apple pie and ice cream before each of us.
As I frowned at Mom’s error, Dad simply said, “No.”
Expecting Mom to apologize and say she was being a bit ditzy, I pushed the plate away. I hadn’t eaten a slice of pie in months. As for ice cream, not since summer.
Mom pushed the plate back in front of me.
“Not this close to the final,” Dad said curtly, like there could be no argument.
“A bit of pie is not going to derail any chances of winning the championship,” Mom said, her tone matching Dad’s. “I made this pie and Cully will eat it.”
I shrunk back in my chair, afraid I was about to be caught in the crossfire.
“This is no time to go changing things,” Dad said. “There’ll be time for celebration after this is all done.”
“Celebration?” Mom’s tone edged on sarcasm. “This is pie. Plain ol’ apple pie. Full of vitamin C, fiber and natural sugars. If a boy can’t eat a slice with his dinner, then that’s a sad, sad indictment of how you run your program.”
I froze. Like, I literally did not move, not even allowing myself to take a breath. Mom had just criticized Dad—well, not only Dad, but his coaching program.
“I think I’ve sat by for long enough,” Mom fired on, her stance fearless as she placed her palms down on the table. “I’ve watched you, and supported you on this journey. This journey of focus and determination and sacrifice, but enough is enough. If our son wants a piece of pie, let him have the piece of dang pie!” The slam of her hand on the table jolted me. “Eat the pie, Cullen!” she directed, but her eyes were glaring down at Dad. “If you want it, eat it!”
Of course I wanted the pie. Would a dehydrated man in the middle of the desert decline a sip of water? No. And neither would a teenage boy turn down the heavenly cinnamon scent of apple pie accompanied by a creamy swirl of ice cream.
I stretched a tentative hand out toward the spoon.
