Chapter 13
Abby is finishing up a section on polynomials when the front door opens and closes.
The low murmur of Jo and Lisa talking drifts from the living room, and I catch snippets of their conversation.
I make out the words Mawmaw, memory, and in a strangled voice, I hear Jo tell Lisa that her Mawmaw didn’t know who she was.
Penny has mostly caught me up to speed on the situation with Jo’s grandmother, and a pang of sadness shoots through me at what that must have felt like.
Abby stiffens next to me, clearly hearing it all as well.
A few minutes later, Jo tells Lisa goodbye and she enters the kitchen. Her shoulders are tense and she flashes me a tight smile. I return the smile with one that I hope shows my empathy for what she’s going through with her grandmother.
Jo begins pulling ingredients from the fridge and putting pots and pans on the stove.
Within a few minutes, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes wafts my way.
From the corner of my eye, I see she’s not using store bought sauce or even a recipe.
With steady focus, she chops herbs, tossing them into a pot of canned tomatoes.
While that simmers, she begins a ground beef mixture, forming them into balls and placing them on a cookie sheet.
In between stirs, Jo reaches across the counter to a glass jar filled with some kind of orange candy. When it’s almost to her mouth I see what it is. Orange slices. I didn’t even know orange slices were still around, but she has a jar full of them.
It’s impossible to be in the same room with Jo and not think of touching her.
Everything in me wants to go to her, to help her prepare dinner, to wrap my arms around her in comfort.
Anything to ease the ball of tension she’s visibly consumed by.
But I know that’s the wrong thing to do, especially in front of our daughter.
Instead, I help Abby with math, like I promised.
The girl is truly smart as a whip, catching on quickly with my explanations.
Before we got started, she explained to me she’s only supposed to be in eighth grade, but in elementary school she was so bored her teacher suggested she be tested to skip a grade.
I remember feeling bored in school at times, too, always the first to finish my work.
That’s how I developed my love of reading.
A book was always in my backpack, spine ready to be cracked open.
If there was a negative to be said, it’d be that she keeps stopping mid-problem to ask me about Austin, and I have to steer us back to algebra.
I don’t know what the kid will think once she finds out he’s her second cousin.
Before long, Jo slides on hummingbird oven mitts and begins pulling things from the stove. I take that as my cue to wrap this tutoring session up and head out.
“Let’s make this the last problem, then I’ll get out of you guys’ hair,” I tell Abby.
“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Jo says, glancing at me from where she stands at the stove.
“Yeah, Mom always makes, like, double what we need,” Abby adds. “She has food trauma.”
Jo inhales sharply, spinning to face us.
“Abigail,” she says, flatly.
“You do! I heard you and Penny talking about it one time. I don’t know what you meant, but Penny was teasing you for bringing enough food for an army and you said, ‘Blame my food trauma,’” Abby says, complete with air quotes.
Closing her eyes, Jo takes a quick breath. When she opens them, a strained smile curves her lips.
“Tyler, I’d like for you to stay. There’s more than enough.”
“Would you, though?” I ask, eyebrows raised. Her face softens at my question.
“We all would. Please stay.”
“If you’re sure, I’d like that.” Turning to Abby, I hold up a hand for a high five. “Good job, kiddo. You nailed every problem we worked on.”
Abby slaps my hand with a small grin on her face and stands to clear her books from the table. She gathers plates and silverware, and Jo goes to call Jay in. Once everyone has washed their hands and plated their food, they all sit, leaving an empty chair between Jo and Abby.
Sitting around a dinner table eating homemade spaghetti and meatballs shouldn’t have an effect on me, and yet it does.
Being a firm believer that life happens the way it’s meant to happen, I don’t like to play the what if game.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from imagining what life would have been like had I been here all this time.
I’d have seen Abby’s life from the beginning, and Jo would never have been alone because I’d have been at her side through it all.
Then my eyes land on Jay, his sweaty blond curls and grin that looks an awful lot like his mom’s.
This kid isn’t mine, but he is the reminder that everything happens when it’s meant to happen.
And I refuse to take this opportunity with Jo, Abby, and Jay for granted.
“Okay, guys, whoops and poops.” Jo’s voice cuts through my musings.
I nearly choke on my water, unsure what she means.
Jay and Abby both start talking at once, and Jay spins, shooting Abby a murderous glare.
It takes all I’ve got not to laugh. I remember similar looks Cassie would shoot at Austin and vice versa.
Mom would play referee while I looked on with silent amusement.
“Jay, you go first,” Jo directs, pointing her speared meatball his way.
Jay shoots Abby a satisfied look and turns back to Jo. From my peripheral vision, I catch Abby rolling her eyes.
“My whoop is…PE was free play today.”
“And your poop?” Jo asks.
Every time she says the word poop, Jay snickers.
“Parker said his dad might not be able to coach basketball. Something about his work schedule. Parker overheard him on the phone telling someone.”
“Well, crap, Jay. You’re really looking forward to being on the team. If Parker’s dad can’t, maybe another dad will step up.”
Jay shrugs and slurps a spaghetti noodle in his mouth.
“I could be your coach,” Jo teases.
“No offense, Mom, but that’s weird. The other coaches are dads.” Jay’s eyes turn downcast, disappointment etched into his features.
Jo swallows hard, but doesn’t flinch at the words. Jay’s only a kid, so I’m sure he doesn’t realize the effect they might have on his mom.
“I know, son.” She gives his arm a squeeze, bringing his face up to hers. “I’m sorry things are like this—that you’re left disappointed.”
Jay lifts a shoulder and takes a bite of his dinner.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here.
Jo said Chad wasn’t worth the oxygen it would take to talk about him, but he didn’t only hurt her.
Jay must be constantly reminded that his father is absent from his life.
Cutting my eyes to Abby, I see she’s repeatedly twirling her noodles on her fork.
Silence stretches long, but finally Jo breaks it. “Abby, it’s your turn. Whoops and poops.”
Abby looks up from her plate wearing a tiny smile. “My whoop is there’s a new girl in band. Amelia.”
Jo’s face lights up. “She’s in my ArtStrong program! I met her today. Seems like a sweet kid.”
Abby nods. “I like her. Since she’s new she doesn’t have a chair placement, so I wasn’t close to her. But after band class we talked for a minute. She said she likes my shoes.” Abby points a finger toward the foyer where all the shoes are piled.
“Maybe she can come over this weekend,” Jo suggests. “Did you have a poop?”
Jay can no longer hold in his laughter. He giggles, banging his hand on the table. Jo shakes her head, smiling, and Abby is nothing short of annoyed at her brother.
Jay finally calms down, and Jo opens her mouth to ask again, but Abby cuts her off.
“Savannah and Kayley are at it again. They stuck a note on my locker today that said Ugly Band Nerd.”
Jo’s fork clatters to her plate. “I am so tired of this mean girl bullshit. Is this why you acted strange when I bragged on you at Thanksgiving?”
Abby’s eyes drop to her plate and she shrugs. “Yeah. This isn’t the first time they’ve made fun of me.”
Abby’s words hit harder than I expect. A sharp pang stabs through my chest, and I rub it right over my sternum, like I can ease the ache.
Is this what it feels like to be a parent? Like wearing your heart on the outside of your chest?
I’ve only known for a few days she’s mine and I’m ready to take down anyone who would insult her. Or at least have a talk with their parents. I don’t hear Jo’s response over the pounding in my ears. How do parents do this every single day?
Abby stands, rummages in her backpack, and produces a yellow sticky note with the words scrawled across it.
“And you’re sure it was them?” Jo asks.
Abby nods, and Jo sets her mouth in a grim line.
“I’ll handle this. I promise, Abs.”
Then Abby turns her eyes toward me. “Your turn.”
“Well,” I begin slowly. “My whoop is sitting here with you guys.” I know what’s coming next, and it’s not a negative exactly, more a fear.
A fear that Jo will keep me at arm’s length and I’ll never have a chance to get to know my daughter, Jo, and Jay.
All I can do is keep showing up until one day, she lets me in.
“And your…” Jo starts. Jay is on the edge of his seat, eagerly awaiting the word. Jo glances at him and back at me, smiling. “Not so great part of the day?”
Knowing damn well my thoughts have no business out in the open, instead I lock eyes with Jo and say, “It’s been a great day, Jo. Being here with you guys has really been great.” It’s not much, but maybe she hears the sincerity in my words.
“Your turn, Mom,” Abby says to Jo.
Jo’s gaze drops to her plate, absentmindedly swirling her noodles on her fork. “My day was fine. No poops.”
Jay howls with laughter, basketball coach momentarily forgotten, and Jo laughs along, but the humor doesn’t reach her eyes.