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“Like me and Mikey? Or more like Hannah’s mom and her new step-dad?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because, if it’s like Hannah’s mom. You can kiss him in front of me. I’m not a baby or anything.” Ah. So he saw the kiss. And he seems okay with it.
“That’s good to know. Thanks, Owen.”
“Hey, Pop?”
“Yes, Owen?”
“Do you think his car can do that thing where it can park itself?”
I laugh, ruffling his sweaty hair. “I’m not sure, bud. You can ask him tomorrow.”
“Cool. It would be awesome if he’ll let me drive it when I’m older. What’s for dinner?”
And just like that, he’s off on a tangent and we’re back to our usual evening routine. Dinner and homework and squabbling with Meg about what to watch on the TV before bed when she gets home from visiting with her friends after dance. But Owen’s right, I’m smiling more than usual as I play chef, tutor, and referee.
Chapter 11
Saint (December 22nd, 2023)
Owenissittingonthe rickety front steps when I pull up in front of Angel’s apartment the Friday morning before Christmas. Damn, the place looks even more rundown in the light of day. The kid lights up with a bright smile and slings his bag over his shoulder at the sight of my car.
I wave to him and he runs up to open the passenger side front door. Angel warned me about this.
“Hey, backseat, Owen.” I greet him, pointing over my shoulder.
“Pop told you?” He sighs dramatically and gets in the back.
“Yep. I’m afraid so. They also told me your sister has her own ride. So it’s just us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You have everything, lunch, homework?”
Owen rolls his eyes at me. “There’s no homework; it’s the day before vacation. We’re going to watch dumb kids’ movies and eat cupcakes and stuff. Mrs. Gray is having a party, and then I’m going to Mikey’s for his family’s party.”
“Were you supposed to bring cupcakes or snacks?” I ask.
Angel didn’t mention that. Owen fidgets with his seat belt and won’t meet my gaze.
“I didn’t bring home the signup sheet because it would have stressed Pop out, and it’s not like it’s a big deal. There will be plenty of cookies and stuff.”
“But you want to bring something?”
Owen shrugs.
I think back to my own long-ago class parties, but it’s hard to recall. Carl’s niece mentioned something about getting juice boxes for her class the last time we visited, I think? Or those little two-bite brownie things she likes. “We could stop at Loblaw’s and grab some brownies or juice boxes? I need to stock up on holiday treats for my staff anyway.”
“You do?”
Not at all, but my receptionist and part-time paralegal will both appreciate the gesture. And I like the little frosted sugar cookies they have in the bakery this time of year.
“I do,” I say.
Angel’s son trusts only a little easier than they do. But his narrow gaze softens, and he nods.
