tackle her into a hug. Maybe I still don’t know what to do, but it’s nice to sort it out a bit. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome.” She hugs me, and I savor it. There was a time when she wasn’t much of a mother because of what Dad did to us—it feels like we’ve been making up for lost time.
“Whoa, did someone die?” Miles’ voice sounds groggy, and when I look up he seems to have just rolled out of bed.
“No,” I say.
“Are you begging Mom not to ground you?” he asks next. “Because I purposely slept in to avoid that blowout. Should I go back to bed so you can finish?”
“Very funny. I’m much more supportive of my kids than you give me credit for, son.” Mom holds up the formula to me. “I wasn’t half bad at chemistry. I’ll see if I can figure some of this out for you, okay?”
My eyebrows pop up in surprise. “That would be amazing if you could.”
Miles shakes his head. “Am I still dreaming? Is our mother seriously not freaking out about this?”
“Yup.” Mom stands from the couch, heading for her beloved coffee pot.
Miles takes her seat, staring me down suspiciously. It doesn’t have nearly the effect he thinks, since his eyelids still sag with sleep. “Are you sure you’re invisible? Or are you so good at persuading people that we only think you’re invisible?”
I snort. “Unless I can also persuade myself into thinking I’m invisible, no.”
“I’m not convinced. Never thought Mom would be so calm about what you did.” He turns on the TV, flips it to a baseball game.
“This is how she is now, without Dad,” I say.
He nods. “It’s scary to think he had that much control over you.”
“It is.” And now that we’re on the topic, I can’t help thinking about how Miles now has the very same power Dad has if he wanted it. “Are you ever tempted? You know, to use his scent?”
Miles actually looks away from the game, and his eyes meet mine. “No. Never. Sometimes I’m disgusted that I even know the scent—how could I ever want to take away choices from the women I care about?”
I lean on his shoulder, knowing he’s absolutely sincere. “I thought so.”
“You better.” The slight citrus scent he was emitting turns to blueberries. I’ve always appreciated how he changes scents just for me. “Besides, I enjoy smelling like fruits too much.”
After about fifteen minutes of baseball—nearly my max attention span for it—I realize someone’s missing. “Where’s Graham?”
“Went back to see Allie.” He shudders. “Those two can get so mushy together. It’s weird seeing him like that after so many years of Violent Angry Graham.”
“I can’t even picture it.” All I can conjure is a scowling Graham with some overly happy girl, and it just doesn’t work. “Do they have anything in common?”
“They really like playing board games together. Especially chess.”
Words won’t come.
Miles laughs. “I know, right? It gets really gross when they start flirting with chess euphemisms.”
“Ew. No more.”
“You asked for it.” Miles looks at his phone, and the smile falls off his face. “It’s nice that they do things like that together, though. You should want to spend time with the person you care about.”
I can’t stand that pout. He has to be thinking about Spud. “Can you at least call her?”
He shakes his head. “She uses a different number every time, hacks them and drops them just as fast. I never know where or when I’ll run into her.”
“That’s gotta be hard.”
“I knew what I was getting into. Keeps things interesting.” Miles shrugs off the sadness like he can’t stand to talk about it anymore, but I can feel how much this bothers him. I watch him—there are circles under his eyes, creases in his brow, stubble on his chin—it seems like Miles has aged years since he first showed up to help me get free of Dad. Where did my happy, carefree brother go?
“How long are you staying?” I ask after I
“You’re welcome.” She hugs me, and I savor it. There was a time when she wasn’t much of a mother because of what Dad did to us—it feels like we’ve been making up for lost time.
“Whoa, did someone die?” Miles’ voice sounds groggy, and when I look up he seems to have just rolled out of bed.
“No,” I say.
“Are you begging Mom not to ground you?” he asks next. “Because I purposely slept in to avoid that blowout. Should I go back to bed so you can finish?”
“Very funny. I’m much more supportive of my kids than you give me credit for, son.” Mom holds up the formula to me. “I wasn’t half bad at chemistry. I’ll see if I can figure some of this out for you, okay?”
My eyebrows pop up in surprise. “That would be amazing if you could.”
Miles shakes his head. “Am I still dreaming? Is our mother seriously not freaking out about this?”
“Yup.” Mom stands from the couch, heading for her beloved coffee pot.
Miles takes her seat, staring me down suspiciously. It doesn’t have nearly the effect he thinks, since his eyelids still sag with sleep. “Are you sure you’re invisible? Or are you so good at persuading people that we only think you’re invisible?”
I snort. “Unless I can also persuade myself into thinking I’m invisible, no.”
“I’m not convinced. Never thought Mom would be so calm about what you did.” He turns on the TV, flips it to a baseball game.
“This is how she is now, without Dad,” I say.
He nods. “It’s scary to think he had that much control over you.”
“It is.” And now that we’re on the topic, I can’t help thinking about how Miles now has the very same power Dad has if he wanted it. “Are you ever tempted? You know, to use his scent?”
Miles actually looks away from the game, and his eyes meet mine. “No. Never. Sometimes I’m disgusted that I even know the scent—how could I ever want to take away choices from the women I care about?”
I lean on his shoulder, knowing he’s absolutely sincere. “I thought so.”
“You better.” The slight citrus scent he was emitting turns to blueberries. I’ve always appreciated how he changes scents just for me. “Besides, I enjoy smelling like fruits too much.”
After about fifteen minutes of baseball—nearly my max attention span for it—I realize someone’s missing. “Where’s Graham?”
“Went back to see Allie.” He shudders. “Those two can get so mushy together. It’s weird seeing him like that after so many years of Violent Angry Graham.”
“I can’t even picture it.” All I can conjure is a scowling Graham with some overly happy girl, and it just doesn’t work. “Do they have anything in common?”
“They really like playing board games together. Especially chess.”
Words won’t come.
Miles laughs. “I know, right? It gets really gross when they start flirting with chess euphemisms.”
“Ew. No more.”
“You asked for it.” Miles looks at his phone, and the smile falls off his face. “It’s nice that they do things like that together, though. You should want to spend time with the person you care about.”
I can’t stand that pout. He has to be thinking about Spud. “Can you at least call her?”
He shakes his head. “She uses a different number every time, hacks them and drops them just as fast. I never know where or when I’ll run into her.”
“That’s gotta be hard.”
“I knew what I was getting into. Keeps things interesting.” Miles shrugs off the sadness like he can’t stand to talk about it anymore, but I can feel how much this bothers him. I watch him—there are circles under his eyes, creases in his brow, stubble on his chin—it seems like Miles has aged years since he first showed up to help me get free of Dad. Where did my happy, carefree brother go?
“How long are you staying?” I ask after I
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