“Because it’s fucking unfair,” she says. “Because your mom keeps getting up every time she’s been kicked to the ground. Because you’ve been the glue that’s held your family together. He ran away like a little bitch when things got tough, and he left you to pick up the pieces. That sucks. I know you adore your family, and you’d do anything for them, but it sucks that you had to step up.”
She presses a kiss to my temple, her arms still wrapped around me, her touch warm and soothing on my back.
“It’s okay to be pissed. It’s okay to be sad, and it’s okay to be scared. But she’s got this, Pete. It’s bullshit that she has to go through this again, but she’s going to beat it. And we’re all going to be here for you while she does.”
I can hear the promise in her words. Talking about the future is something Claire and I have studiously avoided, but right now, in her bed, on one of the worst nights I’ve ever had, I know she’ll stand by me no matter what.
Claire is the exact opposite of my father. She stays and fights. She’s loyal to her core. My eyes drift shut and exhaustion takes over, and all I know is that I’m damn glad to have Claire Fowler by my side.
25
Claire
“Quesadillas or pancakes?” I ask as I unpack another bag of groceries. I know people say that teenage boys eat a lot, and apparently, the Santos boys are on a mission to prove that theory.
“Yeah, sounds great,” Henry answers as he sets a case of sports drinks in the pantry.
“Uh, which one sounds great? Quesadillas or pancakes?” I repeat, turning to face him because I’m positive he’s got his earbuds in.
“Oh, I have to choose? Uh…quesadillas, I guess.”
The kid looks disillusioned, and I almost feel bad. But then I remember the bag of chips he housed while we were driving back from picking up groceries.
“We could make pancakes for dessert, I guess, if you’re still hungry.”
The look Henry gives me is patronizing. “If I’m still hungry,” he says, chuckling as he finishes putting away the groceries.
I get to work opening all the containers we’ll need, and I’m glad we threw in that extra tub of guac. We’lldefinitely eat it. Henry may just take it for himself. I’m slicing a bell pepper when I hear the garage door go up, telling me that Pete and Leo are home. I’m glad because I miss my fake boyfriend, but also because that means he can shred the rotisserie chicken so I don’t have to.
It’s only been two days since Pete’s mom’s diagnosis, but I’ve been trying to help out as much as possible. It was no trouble to do a grocery run after driving Henry to his guitar lesson, and I don’t mind cooking, if that’s even the word for what I’m doing in the kitchen. All I’m really doing is assembling, anyway. I’m not a great chef, but I haven’t given anyone food poisoning yet, so that’s a plus.
It takes the four of us a few minutes to get everything ready, and to open a few bags of chips and a container of salsa. Just as we’re sitting down, there’s a knock at the door.
“Gramma canceled Bunco, didn’t she?” Leo asks.
“Yeah,” Pete confirms, pushing his seat back so he can answer the door.
As soon as he does, I wish he hadn’t. Okay, that’s bad, I know, but don’t judge me. Kaden Kersey seems like a good guy, but his girlfriend, Sophie, is a lot. They’re standing on Pete’s doorstep and Kersey’s arms are loaded down with what looks to be a giant salad bowl.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” Sophie says, striding right past Pete and into the kitchen.
“Sophie made dinner,” Kaden says unnecessarily, because he’s still holding it.
Pete takes the oversized bowl out of his friend’s arms and sets it down on the counter.
“Put those snacks away, boys,” Sophie says to Leo and Henry, like they’re little kids and she’s their babysitter.
Henry’s unfazed as he loads a tortilla with guac and sour cream before hoisting it in the air like a trophy. “Thisisn’t a snack,” he corrects Sophie. “It’s dinner. Well, dinner number one. We’re still in negotiations about pancakes.”
If Sophie wore pearls, she’d be clutching them. “Nope, nope, and nope,” she says, sorting through the collection of condiments on the table. “This is glorified junk food. I made a salad with baked chicken breast. It’s Kaden’s fave, and since you’re all hockey players, too, I figured it’d be perfect. Well, you’re not a hockey player, Claire,” she says with a laugh, “but as a girl, you know the value of a salad for dinner.”
She shoots me a wink like we’re co-conspirators or something. We’re definitely not.
“As a human with taste buds, I know the value of guacamole,” I say in the same patronizing tone she used on me. Henry holds up another quesadilla and I bump it with mine in a silent toast.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Pete smiling at us. But of course, he’s also the most diplomatic guy around, so he turns that smile on our uninvited guests.
“Thanks for bringing this over,” he says congenially. “It’ll make a great lunch over the next few days.
