“I flushed it and shoved the wrapper in my overnight bag.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” but then I shake my head no.
“I know, Baby, I know.” He kisses my temple, then cracks the door open, peeking down the hall. “All clear,” he mouths.
We tiptoe past Jack’s room, and Ford walks me to the base of the stairs. “I love you,” I breathe over his lips.
“And I love you. I’ll see you in a little while.”
I nod, and before I talk myself out of going, I rush up the stairs. I stop in the kitchen and get a glass of water. If I get caught in the hall, I’ll say I was thirsty, but I make it to my room without incident. I stack my pillows and lean against my headboard. I feel tired, but we’re getting up at seven to go out to breakfast, for our usual Sunday family tradition. If I go back to sleep, I probably sleep through my alarm. My door creaks, and I sit up, thinking it’s Ford, but Hank comes shuffling into my room, rubbing his eyes.
“Hanny, are you awake?” he whispers.
I sit up and turn the bedside lamp on. “What’s going on, buddy?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“You don’t want mom and dad?” I ask.
He shakes his head no.
“Come here.” I pull open my covers, and Hank crawls into the bed next to me. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”
“Just the usual monster dream, I guess. They were chasing me, but mom came and saved me, and I woke up.”
“Moms are good like that. You’ll have to tell her how she saved you tomorrow at breakfast.”
“It was my other mom, the mom, just you and I share, that saved me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears away. “Oh.”
“Do you remember her?”
My lip trembles, and I clear my throat before I can answer. “Yes, I remember her. Do you?”
“Not very well.” Hank sits up and pulls a picture from the pocket of his pajama shirt. “I like these pajamas because they have a pocket.” He hands me the worn photograph. It’s a picture of our mom. She’s holding a baby in her arms, and a little girl with wild curly hair is leaning against her knee, smiling. “That’s me when I was a baby, and that’s you, and that’s our mom.” He points to each person in the old photograph.
“Hank, who gave you this photo?”
“Mom did—I mean our mom now. She gave it to me, so I’d always remember my mom, Diane. She said I was lucky because I got to have two moms in my life instead of just one.”
“We’re very lucky.” Hank yawns, he tucks the picture back into his pocket, and snuggles down under the covers, falling back asleep. I haven’t thought about my real mom in a while. I wonder what kind of advice she’d give me about my feelings for Ford. I may not be able to talk to her, but I believe that she’s helping me make good choices and holding my hand when life gets hard.
34. Cameron’s Mom
Jack and I are playing the Xbox Sunday afternoon, but I’m just not into the game. “Dude, that’s the third time you’ve died in the last five minutes. Where’s your head at?”
I toss the remote next to me on the sofa. “Sorry, I’m trying to figure out how to ask Hannah to homecoming.”
He scrunches his forehead, giving me an irritated look. “We planned it yesterday. We’re asking the girls Friday at the pep assembly.”
“I know we did, but I can’t wait that long. I’ve already had a girl ask me. If I wait until Friday, I’m afraid I’ll end up with more proposals on my doorstep.”
Jack sits up, his eyes getting wide. “Who? It wasn’t Chanel, was it?”
