The Code for Love and Heartbreak - Jillian Cantor Page 0,55
the pie. “Izzy’s not even here. And you shouldn’t be eating pie,” I remind him.
“The point is, your pies are delicious. Dr. Hiller said I’m allowed to indulge once in a while. And I told Mrs. Knightley you were bringing one.”
“Mrs. Knightley?”
Dad frowns. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? Mrs. Knightley called to check up on me this week, and she invited us to have Thanksgiving dinner with them this year. I think they’re missing John just as much as we’re missing Iz.”
I nod, thinking about how George and Mrs. Knightley were so nice to me when Dad was in the hospital. And how George hugged me before he left that night and I hadn’t wanted him to leave. How I felt something weird and empty when he’d let go of me. I’ve driven him to school a few mornings since then, and have been extra careful to walk into school far enough apart that we don’t accidentally touch. “Wouldn’t you rather eat here, just the two of us, though?” I ask Dad now.
He shakes his head. “I think it’ll be nice to spend the day with friends instead of all alone, don’t you?” And it occurs to me that maybe it’s good for Dad to have a place, other than here. He’ll need it when I’m gone next year, too.
Dad is still looking at me, waiting for a response. “Yeah, sure,” I finally say. “I’ll bake a pie to bring to the Knightleys.”
* * *
We have the whole Thanksgiving week off school, so when we show up at the Knightleys at three p.m. on Thursday, I haven’t seen George since last Friday, at our coding club meeting. He and Jane and I have all been working on our own this week, updating code in GitHub, and I know he’s been working on tweaking the animation, because I get a notification every time he makes an update.
Hannah texted me on Saturday, before she left to go to her dad’s for the holiday, that she and George went on a second date, for coffee. She said it was great, with a heart emoji. I texted back a thumbs-up, but I didn’t ask her for more details. I’d sat there staring at the heart emoji for a while, trying to analyze why she put that there. She loves me for setting her up with George, or she already loves George, after only two dates? Or maybe she just overuses heart emojis? Because she has texted them to me a lot so far this year.
I’m still debating this when we ring the bell at the Knightleys’, and I’m wondering if I should ask George how he enjoyed the dates with Hannah. Purely to collect data for the upcoming competition, of course.
But then George answers the door, his eyes go to my pie and he holds out his hands to take it. “This smells amazing,” he says. I went with the same macadamia white chocolate chip pie as last year. As Dad pointed out in the car on the way over, zero points for creativity, but one hundred points for taste. No one is judging this year, I’d reminded him, which only made me miss Izzy more.
“Thanks,” I say now, and George steps aside and ushers us in. I notice he’s wearing jeans and a UCLA sweatshirt and socks. His hair is sticking up a little more than usual, like he just woke up from a nap. Dad has gotten dressed up for dinner in a nice shirt, tie and dress slacks, and he’d told me to put on a dress, so I already feel awkward and out of place.
“You look like you’re feeling better, Mr. Woodhouse,” George says to Dad.
“Yes, I am. Thanks.” Dad smiles at him. “Oh, you know what I wanted to tell you, George? I’ve been doing a little eBay browsing while I’m off work and I put in a bid on a 1980 signed Mike Schmidt baseball.”
“No way!” George reacts, and I tune them out the way I always do when they talk baseball, walking inside behind them.
Mr. Knightley is on the couch, watching football, and invites Dad to join him. Dad prefers baseball to football, but nonetheless, he abandons me, sits down with Mr. Knightley and takes off his tie. I follow George back to the kitchen, where Mrs. Knightley is wearing jeans and a sweater and an apron and checking the oven.