a glowing shade of pink as she said, "And I come on too strong."
I let my lips curl into a smile. "You're fine," I repeated, and she replied, "So are you."
Chapter Eight
MY PARENTS HAD invited me over for Sunday dinner, and while I normally wouldn’t have welcomed any extended amount of time with them, I was in desperate need of a distraction from my night with Audrey.
I hadn’t slept well Saturday night, with thoughts of her and poetry and otherworldly eyes keeping me from finding a deep slumber. And Sunday morning hadn’t proven to be much better, with the regular stream of new Instagram followers coming in, constantly reminding me of what had started it all—that girl and her tattoo.
To say I’d been shaken was an understatement.
I walked into the house and was welcomed by the warm and fragrant scents of pot roast, asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes. They triggered my nostalgia, remembering a time when my parents regularly cooked these family dinners. That was so long ago, a lifetime even, but now I remembered those times like they’d happened yesterday. Back then, the house had been full of laughter and love. Not a single one of us had any reason to be unhappy. But that was before.
Now, the scents were there, but the laughter was missing. The love was stifled and damn near nonexistent. The house moaned beneath my feet with every ounce of agony my family had felt for the past couple of decades, and I recalled a moment from a few years ago, where I’d wondered, if I’d ceased to exist, whether it would make it all better.
I shook that thought away and walked into the dining room, where I found my father wrapped in an awkward conversation with Jake. Their interactions always left Dad with a pained expression on his face, like he’d rather lay on a bed of hot coals than engage in any way with my brother. I hated him for it—Jake couldn’t help the way he was, and he was still the man’s son. Dad could’ve made more of an attempt to treat him like it. But I didn’t expect he ever would.
“Oh, look!” Dad exclaimed, turning to face me with relief and gratitude. “Blake’s here!”
Jake’s face lit up at the sight of me. “Blake, I gotta show you the new plane Dad got me! You gotta see it! You wanna see it now?” He began to stand from the table when Mom bustled into the room, wielding a plate of asparagus and a bowl of potatoes.
“You’ll sit down right now, Jakey. No Legos until after dinner,” she commanded. Her eyes lifted to mine momentarily as she placed the dishes down. “Hi, Blake.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Glad you could make it.” Her tone was so dull and curt, she felt more like a stranger and less like my mother.
“You need any help in there?” I nudged my chin toward the kitchen.
“Um,” she stilled awkwardly, wiping her hands on her shirt, “well, I guess you could cut the meat, if you don’t think you’ll hurt yourself.”
“I can manage.”
She looked skeptical but didn’t say anything as I followed her into the kitchen. I set to work carving the roast, while she busied herself by fetching a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and taking it to the dining room. She made sure that she wasn’t alone with me for any length of time. It was just as well; we’d only argue, anyway.
When I was finished, I carried the platter of meat to the table, only to find Jake meandering around the room and my mother relentlessly scolding him for not sitting down. He stopped at the table and grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit and proceeded to tap it against the wall.
“Jacob!” Mom shouted, smacking her hand against the tabletop. The glasses and dishes rattled with the impact and Dad winced. Coward.
In a battle for control, Jake continued to stand by the wall, tap tap tapping the banana until the tip was chipped and ruined.
“Jacob, if you don’t sit down right now—”
"Hey, buddy," I finally intercepted, rounding the table to take the banana from his hand. His stare was centered on the bowl of fruit and he reached for another piece, an orange, but I was quicker. Dropping the banana on the floor, I reached for both his hands and held them in mine. "Hey. Look at me."
Jake turned and met my gaze. His eyes flitted up to the crown of my head, and they