Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,39

this family gathering, but you need to talk to Echo about guys like Tug. You can’t just go adopting people from rehab like shelter dogs. You can hope for the best, but there could also be serious setbacks, and—”

“Of course we’ll call Echo if you think we should.” Mom reached out and gripped my hand. “We might be sappy-go-lucky, but your dad and I aren’t deluded. Are you taking your own advice?”

“Yeah.” I sipped my beer. “I’m trying, anyway. It’s hard.”

“Well, I want to find a way to support him if I can.” Mom had already made up her mind. “I always hope for the best, but I’m prepared for other outcomes.”

After a few more minutes, we made a tacit agreement to leave the subject of Tug behind. The rest of dinner went smoothly with them talking about the shop and me telling library stories. Before we started dessert, we had a surprise visit from my oldest brother Ben, his wife, Becky, and their son, Chaz.

Chaz was two years old and the first of my siblings’ offspring, so we liked to joke he’s the one that made me a funcle.

While Ben and Becky talked to Mom and Dad, I led Chaz to the box of Duplos, and we put together shapes that resembled houses and cars and dinosaurs until his little eyelids started drooping from exhaustion. Then it was time for them to leave.

I didn’t linger. Maybe I took a few seconds to bathe in the warmth of Mom’s kitchen, which had nothing to do with appliances and everything to do with love and respect and sacrifice and the sweetness of knowing you were accepted for just being yourself.

“Night, guys,” I hugged them both hard. “See you around.”

Dad nodded, and Mom said, “Find a way to ask Tug if we can come to the movie at the park.”

“I will. Call Echo right away. Tomorrow.”

“Will do.” Dad patted my shoulder, and I left.

Driving through the darkened streets of Galt, I marveled at how an accident of birth had given me parents who made me feel wanted and secure and loved unconditionally, while Tug had had to scrape and claw for scraps of kindness after his grandmother died.

It was so unfair, so random, that it stole my breath.

When someone’s self-esteem tank was that empty—when there was nothing but corrosion and ancient dirt inside and getting anywhere near that person made them clank like a hollow milk jug—could anything be done to fill them up?

Or was someone like Tug doomed to live with the emptiness that drove him to extremes just to fill an unfillable void?

I didn’t know the answer. Echo wouldn’t commit to one.

“Individuals,” she’d said the last time we’d talked, “are unique. And good things can happen as often as bad ones.”

“Thanks, Yoda.” I’d hung up unsatisfied with her response because I wanted guarantees even though she had none to give.

I wanted to believe that if my family and I poured compassion over Tug the way I watered the little vegetable patch in my yard, he’d be able to soak at least some of it up and grow.

Even if I was naive, I couldn’t help wanting to believe in kindness, in myself, and most of all, that Tug wasn’t some lost cause.

I looked forward to the following Saturday.

I hoped Tug would use his card to call me so I could ask him if my parents could come with me. I’d done it now. They wanted Tug’s life to turn around as much as I did.

I only hoped we weren’t headed toward a disappointment I feared none of us would recover from.

Chapter Fourteen

Hope House, Day 43

Okay. Okay. It’s going to be okay, just chill.

I gave Luke permission to tell his parents about me, and what did he do? He just went out and did it. He told them I’m in rehab, and he even asked me if it was all right if they came with him to movie night.

I knew.

I knew it was going to be like that—a whole big thing—because Luke’s family is so fucking extra.

There isn’t a reserved, quiet, deliberate bone in any of their bodies. They don’t have volume control. Often, they don’t wait until people finish talking before reacting. They’re enthusiastic, exuberant consumers of pop culture and livers of life.

Which is why I liked them. After the kind but slightly oppressive house I grew up in with my grandmother and the super-regulated, picture perfect Instagram influencers that were my dad’s new family, I found the Greaveses so easy