CHAPTER 6 JACKSON
JACKSON
“I can’t believe you’re going to be on TV.
” Adeline bounces her way across my bed, one of my dress shirts around her neck like a cape.
She launches herself in the air on her third bounce and extends her legs, then lands flat on her back.
My shirt flutters over her face while I have a silent heart attack.
“This is so cool,” she adds, her voice muffled.
Cool. I can’t believe I’ve gotten to the place where a teenager’s opinion on my professional life makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a helium balloon, but here we are.
I fold another sweater and place it in the open suitcase. “You really think so?”
“It’s super cool.” Penelope flops down next to Adeline on the bed. “You’re going to be on the news, Jackie. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”
“No.” Pretty sure I’ve had nightmares that start this way. “I wanted to work at the National Weather Service, not be on television.”
Penelope and Adeline give me matching unimpressed looks. “C’mon. Not even a teensy-tiny part of you is excited about this?” Adeline asks.
I fiddle with a folded pair of socks. “Maybe a little bit,” I admit.
While I’m not thrilled about the broadcast piece of it, I am excited to cover a storm in real time. Fifteen-year-old me who used to fall asleep with his face buried in his science textbook is absolutely losing his mind.
“I knew it.” Penelope points at my face. “Look at you. You’re smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are.” She shifts so her head is resting on her sister’s lap. “Gosh, just think of it. You could have been doing cool stuff like this for years if you never got saddled with us.”
“Stop acting like I didn’t actively pursue custody of you guys.” I poke her in the forehead, then do the same to Adeline. “I wanted you with me.”
I wanted them so bad, I spent months working every odd job I could to pad my bank account.
I put together a presentation for my mother with timelines and data sets and graphs, trying to convince her it was the best for everyone.
I went to Bed Bath & Beyond and stood in front of the comforters, debating if they’d want lilac or sky blue.
I got a house with enough room for all of us. I built a bunk bed.
And in the end, my mother didn’t even fight me on it. She simply said, I love that idea! Like granting me custody of the girls was the same as dropping off dry cleaning or picking up pizza for dinner.
I refold my socks and nestle them into the proper spot next to my sweaters, then do it again with the next pair. The debilitating doubt creeps out of the corner I’ve shoved it into. Am I doing enough for them? Are they happy here, with me?
My mother’s voice coils around my apprehension and tugs. You’ve gotta make sure you’re giving those girls fun. Teenage girls need fun.
Am I fun? Am I what they need?
I try to think of the last fun thing we did, but come up blank. We went ice-skating at the harbor over the holidays. They loved that when they were little.
But they’re not eight anymore. They need something different. They’re changing and growing and expanding and I need to change with them. I’ve spent so much time focusing on the practical, the rest of me feels like a garden gate with vines growing over the hinges.
I’m hoping this trip fixes that for me. I’m hoping I can figure out how to be someone they want to be around.
“Why do you look like you’re mad at the socks?” Adeline asks, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah. What did the socks ever do to you?”
“The socks did nothing,” I mumble. I drag my fingers through my hair, tugging at it in frustration.
I don’t usually tell the girls when Camille calls, but it’s been the devil on my shoulder since she reached out a few days ago.
It’s not unusual for her to call out of the blue after months of radio silence, but it is unusual for her to ask about anyone other than herself.
“Jackson,” Adeline sighs. “You look like you’re about to explode.”
“Fine. Camille called,” I say, reluctant. The smiles slip from their faces, and I almost wish I could snatch the words out from the space between us. I sigh, committed now. Annoyed with myself as much as the situation. “She wanted to know how you’re doing.”
Adeline’s face settles into a stony mask. “Why?”
“I don’t know. You know there’s rarely a rhyme or a reason.” Just vibes and planetary alignments. Hastily scribbled horoscopes and prescriptions left unfilled.
I flip my suitcase closed, then sit down on the edge of the bed. I choose my words carefully, trying to hedge the delicate balance that comes with all their interactions with Camille. Honesty, with a touch of protective caution. “She was interested in how school is going for you both.”
Adeline rolls her eyes. “Interested,” she repeats. She plucks at the top of my comforter. “That’s not the word I’d use.”
Penelope and I exchange a loaded look.
“What word would you use?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze goes somewhere behind me.
Penelope and I wait. Adeline’s nosedive into a sullen attitude is unusual for her.
She’s my sunshine girl. The one who used Crayola markers to doodle seventy-three rainbows on my bedroom wall when she was five.
She hides her face behind a curtain of hair. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she mumbles.
I nod. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Fine.”
Silence blankets the room. The ancient heater cranks on downstairs and the floorboards groan.
Adeline makes a small sound under her breath then rolls off the bed, the shirt that was tied around her neck fluttering to the floor.
She shuffles out of the room. A second later, a door clicks shut quietly down the hallway.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I sigh.
“No, it’s good to know when Mom is sniffing around. Remember when she showed up at Easter that one year? With the skateboards?”
“Yeah, I remember.” She said she wanted to take the girls to the skate park and teach them how to shred.
The girls had been eleven with approximately no interest in shredding.
Camille left two hours later, despite promising the girls she’d make a new ravioli recipe for dinner.
She left to get ricotta, and we didn’t see her again for close to a year.
Another time, she stayed in town for two weeks, only to disappear the night of the girls’ dance recital with a hastily written note left on the kitchen counter.
Opportunity came up, it said. I’ll catch the next one.
She didn’t make the next one. Or the one after that. Or . . . any of the recitals before the girls decided they didn’t want to dance anymore.
“It’s hard for Addie,” Penelope continues, “when Mom pretends that she’s interested in knowing us, only to vanish for another eleven-month stretch.” She sits up on the bed and tucks her long legs under her. “There’s this luncheon coming up at school. I think Addie is more sensitive than usual.”
We have a calendar taped to the middle of the fridge downstairs. I try to remember what I’ve penciled in recently. “What luncheon?”
“There’s a brunch thing coming up for the sophomores. Our school is great about making it inclusive, but most of the other girls are bringing their moms. Addie has been having a tough time.”
“She hasn’t said anything.”
“Duh.” Penelope gives me a bemused look. “You haven’t exactly made it a secret you’re not Mom’s biggest fan. Adeline doesn’t want to disappoint you by wanting her there.”
Guilt loops around my heart. “Shit.”
“I mean, totally warranted given the history of behavior. But I think between the three of us, Addie is the hopeful one. She wants things to be different.”
I make a mental note to check in with her over cereal tomorrow morning. To be better at this too. “What about you? Are you having a hard time?”
“No.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “Like I said, Addie is the hopeful one.”
They should both be the hopeful ones, but Camille has a bad habit of taking good things and twisting them until they’re broken. I study Penelope, looking for the lie. She keeps her face impassive, letting me look.
“All right.” Satisfied she’s not suppressing any major emotions, I zip my suitcase shut. “You should have said something.”
“I’m saying something now, aren’t I?”
I pull my luggage off the bed and set it to the side. “Maybe I should stay home,” I say. “This doesn’t feel like the right time to leave you guys.”
“Noooo,” Penelope whines, throwing her body dramatically across my bed.
“Jackson. I love you, but please go on this trip. We have big plans for movie marathons and unhealthy dinners and braiding Aiden’s hair.
We’re going to make popcorn and play Stardew Valley and talk about boys.
It’s going to be great. We won’t think about Mom at all. ”
That feels like a convenient excuse with suspicious timing, but I allow it. “Do you plan on going to school at any point?”
She waves her hand over her head. “If the storm really is as big as you say it is, then we won’t have school.
The city of Baltimore has, like, two snowplows.
” She lifts herself off the bed, grabs my suitcase, and tosses it into the hall.
It skids across the floor before it tips over down the staircase, descending one dull thud at a time.
“Go on the trip, Jackie,” Penelope says. “Be nice to Delilah Stewart. Get your weather kicks in. Talk to someone who understands what you’re saying.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “Oh my god, yes. Consider it a favor to us at this point.” She grabs onto my arm with both hands and tries to shake me back and forth. “Fly the nest, big brother. Spread those wings and soar.”
I frown. “What have you been watching on TV?”
“I’ve been listening to inspirational podcasts. Very helpful.” She gives me one last shake, then skips toward my door. “Oh, and if you could become best friends with Delilah, that would be great. Adeline and I want to invite her to dinner.”