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“Is this your childhood home?” I ask.
Jackson shakes his head. “When my parents split, everything else did too. My dad got his apartment in Culver City, and Mom stayed here in Santa Monica. Mom’s feels like the closest to home, but I really miss where I grew up. It would’ve been cool to show you and Theo that house, but this one’s not so bad.”
Yeah, having a house is definitely not so bad. Not to mention the free flights he gets from a father who could probably easily afford every trip if he had to. I’m not about to call him out on any of that, of course—especially since you told me you did already. You were around him so much that bursts of Jackson’s privilege never bothered you. You cracked a couple of jokes Jackson never found too much truth in, but it reached a boiling point when he wanted you to skip work to hang out with him. “Some of us need jobs to afford the museum,” you told him, and a fight broke out. The fight wasn’t enough to break you up, though.
Jackson finds his keys inside his backpack and unlocks the front door.
“Mom, we’re here!” He looks around, crouching over expectantly, and fast little footsteps come charging our way. With a name like Chloe, I expected her to be a really beautiful golden retriever, but she’s a black collie. Her tail wags as she gets her ass scratched by Jackson.
“I’m in the kitchen!” comes his mom’s voice.
I step toward Chloe and she runs out from underneath Jackson’s hand and backs away from us.
“You’re too tall to walk up on her like that. Get down here with me,” Jackson says.
I crouch beside Jackson. He makes kissing sounds and says Chloe’s name in this funny voice that sounds like a stoned Mickey Mouse. I guess Chloe trusts Mickey Mouse on pot, because she comes over and lets us both pet her. In addition to the ass scratch, Chloe likes being pet roughly on her head.
Jackson throws his stuff on the couch and I do the same. The place feels very spare, not as elaborate as I was expecting. Maybe there isn’t so much history, after all. Or maybe it’s history that they don’t want to show off. I understand that now. They’ve been living here long enough that they should have more furniture, shouldn’t they?
I follow Jackson into the kitchen, where his mother is sitting at the dining-room table in her wheelchair. Ms. Lane is typing one-handed while she holds up a piece of mail. I’ve never seen pictures of his father, but Jackson is a younger version of his mother, no doubt. He bends over and kisses her on the cheek, then hugs her.
“I’m happy you’re home,” Ms. Lane says, hugging Jackson so hard she drops her piece of mail.
I rush over and pick it up for her, handing it to her when they part. “Hi. I’m Griffin.”
She smiles up at me warmly. “It’s great to meet you, Griffin. Thank you so much for hosting Jackson. I know it meant so much to him to be with friends,” Ms. Lane says. Then she shakes her phone and her face grows somber. “There’s a bounty out for your head, by the way.” She turns to her son. “You could’ve warned me that your guest was a runaway.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackson says. “You’re still okay with him staying, right?”
“Give your mother a call,” Ms. Lane says to me, sounding weary and resigned. “She’s coming around to the idea as long as you both stay here and not the dorm.”
Relief floods through me. That was the final hurdle. I know a shitstorm of trouble is still waiting for me when I get back, but I’m clear to be in California until Wednesday, for you, with Jackson. “Okay. Will do.”
“My condolences, by the way,” Ms. Lane adds. “I understand you and Theo were very close.”
“Thank you.”
She nods. “Have a seat.”
I wonder where you sat whenever you visited. I go for the seat to the left of Jackson, obviously.
“How was flying, Griffin? First time, right?”
I glance between them. “Jackson kept me sane.” I haven’t met someone’s parents at this level of face time since yours, and it feels really weird. “I think it’ll take a few more flights before I really get used to it, but it wasn’t the worst thing. Going home to that weather is going to really suck.”
“Ah, if I could go anywhere right now, it would be New York during the winter. I miss coats and walking down the street and my toes numbing because of the slush. Traveling has been admittedly frustrating since the accident. Rolling through the streets of New York would be difficult.”
I don’t ask about the accident that landed her in the wheelchair, even though she seems like she’d be open to talking about it. Jackson never told me. It still feels like her story to offer and not one I should ask just because I’m curious. It’s a lot like when people at school were asking
around to hear how you died. Just because people are curious doesn’t give them the right to an answer.
“I like your setup here,” I say. “Your house is awesome, too.”
“It’s home,” Ms. Lane says.
I want to study Jackson’s reaction, but I don’t want to give him away in case he hasn’t talked about this discomfort with his mother. I would be a little surprised since they seem so close, but you and I were close and that didn’t stop me from withholding stuff to protect your heart. Maybe that’s what’s happening here.
She turns to me. “I hope I’m not out of line, but Jackson mentioned you’re also taking a break from school at the moment. Something happened at school?”
