CHAPTER TEN
LIZ
Idon’t know what prompted me to suggest a diner specializing in breakfast bread for dinner.
Maybe it was the prospect of eating Tammy’s tuna casserole that pushed me over the edge.
Maybe it was the idea of walking back into that house, making dinner and taking that first step toward something we’re destined to fail at. Becoming a family.
Either way, here we are, all seated around a corner booth, Gavin beside me and Remmi beside Jovi across from us.
“Can I have a strawberry shake, please?” Remmi orders when our server shows up.
“If it’s alright with your mom, it’s alright with me,” the woman says, smiling at me, pen hovering over her pad as she waits for my sign of approval.
Maybe this is worse than eating at home would have been.
“I think we’re all having milk shakes tonight.
” I force a silly face and take it in turns looking at Gavin and Remmi.
Gavin breaks into a giggle instantly, but Remmi is harder to sell.
I think she just realized the same thing I did.
Strangers will be assuming I’m her mother from now on. It’ll be like Lena never existed.
“I’ll have a cookies and cream shake,” I tell the server. Lena’s favorite. I’ll be damned if she disappears on my watch. “Gavin, what kind do you want?”
He’s still laughing to himself when he answers, “Chocolate.”
“And you?” I look at Jovi suddenly not at all sure if he’ll see the importance of ordering milkshakes as a united front.
“Vanilla.” He smirks. He gets it. Vanilla was Trent’s go-to order.
Our server takes another second to finish jotting things down before she zips off, leaving us to peruse the menu. Well, I’m perusing the menu. Given their frequent visits, everyone else is deeply familiar with it.
“Cinnamon and Sugar biscuits used to be on the menu,” Remmi informs me while I scan the first page.
“They took them off because people would order more biscuits than cinnamon rolls, and the cinnamon rolls are super good too and so that was just sad,” she pauses to help Gavin open one of the packets of crayons that came with their kids’ menus.
“Most people don’t know, but you can still order the cinnamon and sugar biscuits and they’ll make them special. ”
“Is that what you’re having?” I ask, waiting for her to answer before I move on to the next page.
“No.” She shakes her head, her voice quiet when she goes on, “Mommy only lets us order those for special occasions. Because they’re more like dessert than breakfast.” She looks up at me.
“But I thought maybe you’d like them. Since you’ve never had them and you wouldn’t know about them because they’re not on the menu anymore. ”
I swallow. And then I swallow again before I trust myself to speak.
“They do sound delicious.” I’m tempted to announce we’re all having them to go with our shakes, but the burning desire to not fuck up Lena’s kids stops me from going rogue in the name of avoidance and escapism.
“How about we order one serving to share after dinner. For a real dessert.”
Remmi smiles. “That’s a good idea.”
From here, things start to find their own rhythm.
Everyone orders a proper breakfast for supper, and we settle into quiet chitchat that isn’t too unlike the conversations we normally have.
Even the forced but cordial exchanges with Jovi are familiar.
The only thing strikingly different remains in the absence of those who brought us together.
It’s not until we’re driving home that the conversation stalls out again. Not a single word is uttered as we’re pulling back into the driveway.
Until.
“Shit,” I hiss at the sight of a small-framed woman standing in the light of the porch lamp, arms crossed and impatiently tapping the sole of her high heel shoe on the wooden planks underfoot. “We forgot Holly.”
“Did we?” Jovi smirks. “I thought that was intentional.”
I glare at him, but for the sake of the kids, I hold in the words I'm eager to pelt at him. Instead, I turn over my shoulder to face the backseat. “Who’s getting in the bath first?”
Remmi is quick to point at her brother. Gavin returns the gesture at a delay, clearly thinking he’s still dodged the bullet.
“Gavin, I think you’re it.”
He turns out his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna be it.”
“Why not?” Jovi parks the truck, glancing at Gavin through the rearview mirror. “Going first is always best. You get to have all the hot water. Then, you get first dibs on picking a snack before bed. And, you’re first in line for story time.”
Gavin thinks it over for a second. “Can I pick two books?”
I laugh. “Yeah, bud. You can pick two. Maybe three if you get really clean, really fast.”
This seems to seal the deal for him because he’s suddenly in a hurry to get unbuckled and out of the truck.
Having to face Holly once I’m out, I’m a little less eager but I hide my lack of enthusiasm and get moving along with everyone else.
“You left me.”
I briefly consider making a half-assed attempt at an excuse, but it’s hard to find an angle here that's even remotely believable. So, I admit it. “I left you.”
She uncrosses her arms and starts toward us. “Did you at least bring me back some dinner?”
“Tuna casserole,” Jovi offers. “Though, fair warning, it’s been sitting in my truck the last two hours and it’s definitely starting to smell.”
Holly’s nose scrunches and her lip curls. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Petra’s Pizza delivers here,” Remmi chimes in. “They’re the only place, but they’re really good.”
“I want pizza,” Gavin adds.
“You ate dinner less than an hour ago,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “My tummy always likes pizza.”
“It’s true.” Remmi grabs his hand and starts walking him up to the house.
I doubt he needs the assistance, but I remember the desire to control every ounce of care related to my younger sibling.
The burning burden of responsibility that both relieves and buries you after losing a parent.
The person whose shoes you’re suddenly desperate to fill.
Both to ease the empty ache as well as to keep all the balls of life from falling.
“Petra’s does make a damn good pie.” Jovi rubs his belly like he’s considering the possibility of adding more to it.
“You’re not serious.” I watched that man eat not only his meal but finish off both Remmi and Gavin’s leftovers. Plus, he slurped down the spare shake tin from my order.
“Let him be serious,” Holly cuts in. “I’m starving. The faster we get pizza ordered, the better.”
“The number is on the fridge,” Remmi says. “Mommy always keeps it stuck under the sunflower magnet.” This time, mentioning Lena doesn’t cause her to stumble.
“To the fridge,” I point at the door and the kitchen beyond it. “And the tub for you,” I remind Gavin, who frowns briefly before he remembers there are perks to going first.
“Can I have music? I like music.”
“Sure thing.” I turn to Jovi, who bounces his shoulders in response. If there are designated bath time tunes, he doesn’t know about them either.
“There’s a splish-splash playlist on the old iPod hooked to the sound system in the living room,” Holly says under her breath as I walk by her.
When I pause mid-step to stare at her surprised, she adds, “I was bored, okay? And I’m naturally nosey.
Also, I know where pretty much everything is in this house now. ”
“I don’t know whether I’m unnerved or reassured by this.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I just saved bath time, so I would go with the latter.”
Can’t argue with her there. “So,” I start, holding the door for her to go in, “what do you want on your pizza?”
JOVI
It occurs to me somewhere between cleaning up pizza boxes and reading a third book to Gavin that I don’t really have a reason to still be hanging around. The office is as ready as it's going to get for me to stay in it. I have no reason to not be there now. Settling in for my first night.
But Holly crashed early, wiped out from the drive, and then Liz was here alone with the kids, and I don’t know what happened. My brain checked out. I got caught up in the moment, focusing on the kids and making sure being back in the house transpired with as much ease as possible.
“Can I have milk?” Gavin asks as I’m closing our last book.
“You already brushed your teeth,” Remmi reminds him from where she’s sitting curled up in the bean bag chair across the room.
She insisted she wanted no part of the silly stories Gavin chose but then couldn’t quite make it out of the room when I started reading.
She hasn’t outgrown story time, but she may be struggling with the idea of keeping the routine alive without her father.
Trent was a kickass storyteller, always throwing himself into every character, coming up with the craziest accents and silliest voices.
I didn’t even attempt to replicate his efforts.
I simply read the story, word for word, hoping the content was entertaining enough to make up for my lack in performance.
I kept both kids awake through three of them, so maybe I wasn’t terrible.
“But I want milk,” Gavin whines.
“You can have water.” Remmi’s turning into a real hardass these days.
“You can have milk,” I override her, drawing a shocked glare from her. It’s my first experience being scared of a seven-year-old. “And then you can brush your teeth again.” I’m not the irresponsible idiot she’s making me feel like I am. I know milk is high in sugar.
Gavin leaps from the bed and runs from the room, probably trying to outrun another argument from his big sister.
“You know he’s only trying to stay up later,” she says snidely. “He always tries to get another drink when he doesn’t want to go to bed. Then Mommy says he can have water and it makes him stop asking.”
I fight the urge to chew the inside of my lip. It’s a nervous habit and I’m suddenly keenly aware of not exhibiting any signs that might show fear. If Remmi knows she’s making me doubt my choices one night in, she’ll be running this household within the week.
Well, at least on my watch. Liz probably won’t crumble quite as easily.
“Honestly, Remmi,” I sigh, getting up from where I’ve been sprawled out in Gavin’s bed to join her and squat beside the bean bag, “I think it might be okay for everyone to break a few rules for a little bit.”
She gasps, eyes darkening as though I’ve just enacted a betrayal against her parents worthy of war.
“Not big rules,” I rush to go on. “Little ones. Because little rules are going to change, Remmi. As much as we all want things to stay the same, they’re not going to.
So if it gives Gavin a little comfort to have a glass of milk and stay up a little past his bedtime, and if it makes you laugh a little to sneak into the kitchen after Aunt Liz tucks you in tonight, to scare the crap out of her,” I nudge her side and wink, “I think that would be perfectly fine.”
Remmi’s expression softens a little, the mischievous side of her I love slowly surfacing. “Aunt Liz is the best to scare. She always screams and falls to the floor.” She giggles as if imagining the sight.
“I know.” I wiggle my brows at her. “I used to scare her all the time when we were kids. Easiest way to get in a good laugh there is.”
Remmi scoots herself out of the bean bag. “I think I want a glass of milk, too.”
“You know,” I say, following her as she heads out of the room. “I’m pretty sure there’s a secret stash of ginger cookies hidden in the oatmeal box on the top shelf in the pantry. I think I might get them down and have a little milk myself.”
She turns over her shoulder, eyes wide. “You know about those?”
“Whose idea do you think it was to hide them there?” I laugh.
She grins. “Are you going to share?”
I shrug, side-eyeing her slyly. “Maybe.”
We reach the stairs, and she pauses, one foot hovering over the first step down. “How are we going to get them out of the hiding place without Aunt Liz noticing?”
“You’re right,” I say, tapping my chin. “We’ll need a plan.” I bend down to get closer to her and lower my voice. “Any ideas?”
She crinkles her nose and furrows her brow, getting serious about our scheming.
Seeing her like this hits me like a brick to the chest. It’s like I only just noticed how much she’s changed in the last couple of weeks.
How much of her was swallowed in the grief of losing her parents and weighed down by the responsibility of being the oldest child, the next in line.
My jaw clenches. I don’t care what it takes, I will ease this burden for her. I won’t see her grow up the way I did. The way Liz did.
She’ll be a child. She’ll be carefree. Maybe not for a while, but eventually.
And this is how she’ll get back there.
By remembering to play.
“Here’s what I’m thinking.” I lean in a little closer, dropping my voice a little lower. “You go down first and you go straight to Aunt Liz.”
She nods curtly, like this is serious business.
“Then,” I go on, “you tell her you can’t find something and send her on a wild goose chase around the house looking for it.”
“Like what?”
“Like…something you know Gavin will want the second he hears you say it, so he insists she finds it and starts looking with her.” I’m drawing a blank on what that might be, but judging by the way her face lights up, Remmi’s already thought of something.
“The galaxy light. Mommy puts in the hall sometimes and it makes pretty star shapes all over the walls. When our doors are open, it shines into our rooms as well.”
I remember hearing about it. It runs on a timer. By the time Trent would come strolling through the hall at night, the lamp would be out and he’d trip over it. Every time. Without fail.
He hated that thing.
So much, he refused to learn where Lena kept it stored. Never trusted himself not to throw it away one day.
“I like it.” I rub my palms together. “Now, before we jump into action, do you actually know where the galaxy lamp is?”
She rolls her eyes at me. It’s a humbling experience when a seven-year-old knows she’s smarter than you. “Of course, Uncle Jovi.”
“Okay.” I start to straighten myself up. “Then let’s do this.” I give her shoulder a little tap and she turns back toward the steps.
“Count to ten before you follow me,” she says, clearly having overheard it somewhere.
I hold in a laugh on the verge of escaping, pressing my lips together for the best serious face I can muster under the circumstances and give her a thumbs up.
She winks. It’s clumsy and looks more like both eyes blinking at me, but I don’t miss the gesture and return it.
Then she takes off down the stairs, a little hop to her steps she didn’t have earlier tonight.