had decided as much. It was after school, on a Friday at dusk, when I’d padded down the stairs to tell him I’d give the Connecticut thing a try.
He’d stood with his back to me by our sliding doors to the deck. We had this thing about scaring each other, and I was stoked, because damn, this was a good one. He’d been so deep in thought, he hadn’t even heard me walk across the living room floor. I was about parallel to him, ready to pounce, when I noticed he was crying. Not sobs, just quiet, wet streams on his face. He was holding his glass of Bushmills, swirling the ice in the glass. And in that instant, even at eleven, I knew that if I left, this was what his life would become. When he saw me, he staggered back and dropped the glass of whiskey. The moment became about mops and blotting and vacuuming the shards, and it all took a good ten minutes to clean up.
We’d had a frozen Red Baron pepperoni pizza that night, and I’d told him I wanted to stay with him.
My mother already had Mr. Motherfucking Home Wrecker and a wedding date and a house in Connecticut. Pop had me,Bushmills, and frozen pizza. Maybe it all would have gone down the same if I chose to live with my mother. Maybe Pop would have found Tiff, and his real-estate business would still have boomed. But maybe it wouldn’t have.
“Screw them,” I said, standing up. Sick of the darkness, the beer, and the depressing direction this conversation had taken, I clicked on the lamp and squinted in pain. My father put his hand over his eyes.
“Hey, don’t talk that way about your mother,” he said.
“Why? If she cared so much about keeping the family together, why’d she go create a new one?”
My father made an attempt to stand up, but he kept sliding down, losing his footing. He slammed down his drink on the end table; a splash of whiskey came up over the side.
“I hate this effing couch; my ass keeps slipping!” he yelled. A beat passed where neither of us said anything, just stared until we both cracked up. I reached out, gave him a hand, and pulled him to standing. He squeezed my shoulder.
“They are your family, Grayson. Even Laird.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t whatever me. I won’t be here forever.”
“That’s the whiskey talking. Stop.”
“Maybe. But promise you’ll make an effort at Christmas.”
“Yeah, sure,” I lied.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
NINE
WREN
“ SO TELL ME AGAIN, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH Caleb?” Maddie asked, handing me another piece of tape.
In an attempt to build some community-service hours, I’d joined the Sacred Heart Spirit Club. The club must have been a holdover from the century when most Sacred Heart students got married right after graduation. The bylaws were an old-fashioned decree about learning how to beautify the world at large, beginning at home. I was pretty sure that hanging glitter stars and snowflake garlands along the hallways after school wouldn’t impact the world at large, but if it counted as community service, then I was determined to beautify. Mads was along for moral support.
“Let’s see, he licked my neck—and not in a sexy way, in a Great Dane kind of way. Sloppy,” I said, securing part of thegarland and shimmying across the step stool to drape the rest of it. I reached out for more tape.
“That’s it? One flaw was enough to make you blow us off for the rest of the weekend?” she asked. She pulled the tape away as I reached for it, forcing me to turn to her.
“What?” I asked, grabbing it.
“There’s more to this, Wren. I know it. Caleb was hot, funny, and here for two nights. In a word, perfect.”
“Then why didn’t you offer Jazz that perfection?” I asked, taping the last bit of garland to the crease where the wall met the ceiling.
“I did. She wanted to rest up for her long run on Sunday, so she said. I think she’s just afraid that no one will
He’d stood with his back to me by our sliding doors to the deck. We had this thing about scaring each other, and I was stoked, because damn, this was a good one. He’d been so deep in thought, he hadn’t even heard me walk across the living room floor. I was about parallel to him, ready to pounce, when I noticed he was crying. Not sobs, just quiet, wet streams on his face. He was holding his glass of Bushmills, swirling the ice in the glass. And in that instant, even at eleven, I knew that if I left, this was what his life would become. When he saw me, he staggered back and dropped the glass of whiskey. The moment became about mops and blotting and vacuuming the shards, and it all took a good ten minutes to clean up.
We’d had a frozen Red Baron pepperoni pizza that night, and I’d told him I wanted to stay with him.
My mother already had Mr. Motherfucking Home Wrecker and a wedding date and a house in Connecticut. Pop had me,Bushmills, and frozen pizza. Maybe it all would have gone down the same if I chose to live with my mother. Maybe Pop would have found Tiff, and his real-estate business would still have boomed. But maybe it wouldn’t have.
“Screw them,” I said, standing up. Sick of the darkness, the beer, and the depressing direction this conversation had taken, I clicked on the lamp and squinted in pain. My father put his hand over his eyes.
“Hey, don’t talk that way about your mother,” he said.
“Why? If she cared so much about keeping the family together, why’d she go create a new one?”
My father made an attempt to stand up, but he kept sliding down, losing his footing. He slammed down his drink on the end table; a splash of whiskey came up over the side.
“I hate this effing couch; my ass keeps slipping!” he yelled. A beat passed where neither of us said anything, just stared until we both cracked up. I reached out, gave him a hand, and pulled him to standing. He squeezed my shoulder.
“They are your family, Grayson. Even Laird.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t whatever me. I won’t be here forever.”
“That’s the whiskey talking. Stop.”
“Maybe. But promise you’ll make an effort at Christmas.”
“Yeah, sure,” I lied.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
NINE
WREN
“ SO TELL ME AGAIN, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH Caleb?” Maddie asked, handing me another piece of tape.
In an attempt to build some community-service hours, I’d joined the Sacred Heart Spirit Club. The club must have been a holdover from the century when most Sacred Heart students got married right after graduation. The bylaws were an old-fashioned decree about learning how to beautify the world at large, beginning at home. I was pretty sure that hanging glitter stars and snowflake garlands along the hallways after school wouldn’t impact the world at large, but if it counted as community service, then I was determined to beautify. Mads was along for moral support.
“Let’s see, he licked my neck—and not in a sexy way, in a Great Dane kind of way. Sloppy,” I said, securing part of thegarland and shimmying across the step stool to drape the rest of it. I reached out for more tape.
“That’s it? One flaw was enough to make you blow us off for the rest of the weekend?” she asked. She pulled the tape away as I reached for it, forcing me to turn to her.
“What?” I asked, grabbing it.
“There’s more to this, Wren. I know it. Caleb was hot, funny, and here for two nights. In a word, perfect.”
“Then why didn’t you offer Jazz that perfection?” I asked, taping the last bit of garland to the crease where the wall met the ceiling.
“I did. She wanted to rest up for her long run on Sunday, so she said. I think she’s just afraid that no one will
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