“AuntTrudy’s.”Emersonjoins me in leaning against the railing, staring into the moonlit backyard. “Blakewas really mad and knew that he would likely yell at you but he didn’t want her to witness it.”
Icould say a lot aboutBlake, especially after tonight, but one thingIcould never say is that he’s a bad dad.Heidibeing dropped in his lap as a six-month-old with no mother in the picture was a shock to all of us, but it has brought out the best inBlake.Itdoesn’t mean that he’s not still cranky toward the rest of the world, butHeidi’seffect has surprised us all.
Emersonchuckles as we look out at the backyard we spent so much time in as kids. “Doyou remember that time it was just the two of us home one summer afternoon, and we used a rope to pull one of those round plastic snow sleds behind the riding lawn mower, then drove it in circles as we took turns giving each other rides on the sled?”
NowI’mchuckling, too. “Andthat was the one day thatDadcame home from work early.I’llnever forget that look on his face as we both rounded the corner back there and saw him, arms crossed, leaning a shoulder against the side of the garage.”
“AndI’llnever forget how we had to take turns mowing the lawn for the rest of that summer without going faster than the slowest speed it was capable of.”
“Man, that was slow,”Isay. “Wecould’ve mowed the lawn in half the time using the push mower.”
Weare both quiet for a moment, just listening to the crickets and watching the lightning bugs fly around the trees furthest from us.Itwas times like those that cementedEmersonas the brotherIam the closest to. “Ireally missDad,”Isay.
“Ido, too.”
“IwishIcould still talk to him.”
Emersonnods. “Hewas really good at giving advice.”
“Yeah.”Ilook across the backyard. “SometimesIcould really use that.”Mydad was a giant of a man.Notphysically.Buthe was just such a presence.Mostof my friends outgrew the whole “Mydad can beat up your dad” phase and went right onto the “Ican’t believeIhave to be seen in public with him” phase.Inever did.Inever stopped being proud to call him my dad.Hestill drove me nuts sometimes, andIstill felt the need to really push back quite often, especially whenIthought things were unfair, butIalways respected him.Ialways wanted him around.
Istill do.
Weare quiet for another long moment beforeEmersonsays, “Iget why you toldMackenzie.”Heshrugs. “Deepconnections are important.Ashumans, we need to be vulnerable and share with one person a deeper part of ourselves than what we share with others.Ithink it helps us on a multitude of levels to know that they truly see the real us.”
Iglance at my brother.That’ssurprisingly deep, even forEmerson.
“Whatyou need to ask yourself is why did you tell her?Isit because you really like this woman and can see a future with her?Oris it because you are craving that kind of connection and the opportunity presented itself, but it didn’t really matter if it wasMackenzieor someone else?”
Mygut reaction to that is to punchEmerson.Andif it were any other brother out here suggesting that,Imight ignore my no-punching rule.ButEmersonalways delivers blows like this with an earnest face, andIknow there are good intentions behind it.That’sjustEmersonfor you.
SoImatch his earnest question with an earnest answer. “It’sbecauseIcan see a future with her.”
Henods. “Thenthat’s a good enough reason for me.”
ThenIadd something that surprises meIcan actually voice aloud. “Andit scares me.”
Emersonnods again, for longer this time, before turning and patting me on the shoulder. “Ithink that comes with the territory.”Thenhe walks back into the house, leaving me alone to dwell on my worries.
Thanksa bunch,Emerson.
CHAPTER32
SOCCER BALLS, TEXT TONES, AND A FISHY COMPLIMENT
MACKENZIE
“I’mso nervous,”Isay asIcome out of my bathroom, whereI’dbeen checking my hair one last time, and hurry to my kitchen table at the opposite side of my apartment whereI’dmistakenly left my earrings.
Mysister— who’s standing on my cement stairs, holdingAddiand leaning against the door that leads to her house— has been watching me asIrace around my garage apartment like a squirrel on a triple espresso.
NotthatI’mnervous to seeJace.Overthe past two weeks, we have seen each other every night that he’s not been on a mission.
Oneof those days, we rented bikes and biked on a fun trail not far from here thatI’vewanted to try. (Imay not be good at sports, butIdo love a good adventure and this one was the best.Andnot only because we pulled off into a cove of trees to catch our breath and drink some water and ended up taking off each other’s bike helmets and kissing for ages.Hisface was just looking all sun-kissed and the little band of redness on his forehead from the helmet somehow just looked so unbelievably adorable on him.)(ButIhave to admit that alone would’ve made that particular adventure one of the best.)
Earlyon aSaturdaymorning, we went to a farmer’s market, and a local beekeeper was selling honey straws of all different flavors.SinceIhad toldJaceabout the honeypot with the “You’rememorable” label on it thatLivigave me, he bought me fifty of the honey straws.Thenhe bought a handmade card from another vendor that had cute little bees on it and wrote inside the card “Iagree,” in his slanted writing, then tucked it into the bag with the honey straws.IfIwas a crier and prone to shed tears from overwhelming emotions (outside of debriefings in secret government agency buildings), that would’ve done it.Asit was,Istill nearly died from an exploding heart.
Wealso went to a couples cooking class (whereIlearned thatJacealso looks irresistible with a bit of flour on his cheek and that together, we can make a mean pasta from scratch), curled up on his couch together to watch a movie (he even let me pick the movie!), and painted pottery together. (Wherewe learned that neither of us is good at working with glazes, but both of us can laugh at our mistakes until our guts hurt.)Weeach went home with the other person’s masterpiece as a reminder of how much fun we had.Thebowl thatJacepainted now graces my kitchen table.Ikeep the honey straws in it, right along withJace’snote.
