Mom’s looking down at me with this super-serious expression on her face, and I realize sometime in the night I fell asleep with Finn on the couch. The bag of ice has become a sloshy bag of water, and Finn looks relaxed, all his sharp edges softened from sleep and the morning light, the bruising hidden in the sun. But when I look up at Mom, I see what she’s seeing—her daughter entwined on the couch with a boy, one who has dried blood on his face to boot.
I extricate myself, careful not to wake up Finn, and follow her into the kitchen. Dad’s sitting at the table, his face tightly knitted with fury, and I reflexively straighten. I can’t think of the last time I’ve seen either of them this mad.
“Want to tell us what’s going on?” Mom asks, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding her arms against her chest.
“I’m sorry—my friend Finn needed help last night.”
“Your friend?” Dad asks. “How come we’ve never heard of this friend before?”
Mom does a double take. “Is this the same Finn . . . ?”
I nod, cringing as the eyelid twitch returns.
“The same Finn what?” Dad asks.
“Parker’s friend from first grade.”
“The Casper kid?” Dad’s face is so red, it looks like he might keel over.
“Seriously, Dad?” I snap.
Mom’s frown furrows all the way up into her brows.
“Yeah, he is a Casper, and he’s my friend. He needed me,” I say, my voice getting louder, daring either of them to contradict me.
“This is the type of person you want as your friend?” Dad says, but Mom shoots him a look.
“Phil,” she says, and he flops back in his seat, irritated with both of us now.
I cling to the fact that Mom has a soft spot for underdogs.
“He was boxing in some amateur contest—”
“For chrissakes,” Dad mutters.
“Boxing?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, and he got punched really hard”—I mentally cross my fingers against the lie I’m about to tell—“so he called me and came over here, because he was worried he had a concussion.”
“He drove here while he had a concussion?” Mom says. “He should have gone to the emergency room!”
“No. Someone dropped him off. And his dad and brother? They aren’t the best. So we figured it was better he was here.” I’ve lowered my voice, praying Finn isn’t awake and listening to all of this from the other room.
Dad looks doubtful, but Mom’s face is softening a bit already. Time to bring it home.
I look at my father, channeling my best valedictorian voice. “Dad, he knows I want to be a doctor, so he thought I could help. I figured it was better than nothing, you know?”
He’s still grimacing, but he gives a tight nod. “You should have woken us up.”
“You’re right. I should have. I’m sorry.”
Finn appears in the doorway then, plastic bag of water in hand, looking pretty terrible. His face is starting to bruise, and he’s holding his side gently, like it hurts.
“I’ll get that,” I say, taking the bag from him and then turning to my parents.
“Mom and Dad, this is my friend Finn. Finn, these are my parents, Phil and Jean McCullough.”
Finn stands there awkwardly in front of my parents, and I watch it happen when they don’t say anything, his face starting to harden, all his defenses going up, but then Mom steps forward. Stopping just short of hugging him, she puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Finn, let me get you some more ice. Sit down, please.”
Surprise crosses his face. “Um, okay, thanks.”
“Coffee?” she asks.
“Water is fine, thank you, ma’am.”
Mom smiles at the “ma’am.” “So, Parker tells us you were boxing last night. How are you feeling this morning?” she asks, handing him back the bag, now filled with fresh ice.
Dad’s still scowling from across the table.
“Okay. A little sore, I guess,” Finn replies.
“Would you like some aspirin?”
“Um, yeah, I mean yes. Thank you, ma’am.”
“You can call me Jean,” she says, handing him a glass of water and aspirin.
“Thank you, Jean,” Finn says as Dad grunts.
Charlie comes clattering down the steps into the kitchen. He freezes when he sees us all: me and Finn sitting next to our glowering father, Mom doing her thing bustling about and trying to make everything better with small talk.
I jump in before Charlie outs us. “Charlie, this is my friend Finn. He came over here last night after his boxing match,” I say significantly, as much for Finn as for him, mentally begging Charlie to roll with it.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Charlie says, stepping forward and shaking Finn’s hand.
“You too,” Finn says, doing that guy-nod thing.
“You were lucky to have my daughter taking care of you last night,” Dad finally says.
“I know, sir. You’re right. She’s going to be a good doctor.”
Nice one, Finn.
“Humph,” Dad replies, but I can tell he’s thawing just a little bit.
It’s quiet for a moment, but then Finn clears his throat. “Parker said you like music, sir?”
Dad gives a reluctant nod.
“I was just reading online the other day how Charlie Parker’s nickname was Bird,” he says.
I let out a small breath of surprise.
“Humph,” Dad says again, not disagreeing.
“Phil just got a new Charlie Parker recording for Father’s Day, didn’t you, hon?” Mom asks. “Why don’t you go put it on?”
“It’s not new,” Dad says. “It’s just a digitally remastered recording.”
“I’d like to hear it,” Finn offers.
“Go on, Dad,” I say.
“All right. I guess so,” Dad says as he heads out to the stereo in the family room.
I turn to Finn. “Why were you looking up Charlie Parker stuff?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to learn more about your namesake. And when I read about Bird, I thought it might make for a better nickname than Parking Lot.”
I blush.
“Finn, can you stay for pancakes?” Mom asks.
Finn looks at me, checking to make sure it’s okay.
“Stay,” I say.
He turns back to my mom. “I’d like that. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Jean,” Mom reminds him.
Dad comes back in, the music starting to fill the room, and Finn nods appreciatively.
“It’s pretty good, right?” Dad asks.
“It is, sir,” Finn replies as Dad nods and grabs his paper, settling down across from Finn.
And just like that, I know it’s okay, that Mom and Dad are going to let this go.
I realize then what all my years of being the good daughter have earned me: my family’s willingness to trust me, to let Finn in despite all their better instincts.
I shift uncomfortably in the seat, making myself smile, trying not to think too hard what this moment would be like if they knew how much their good daughter was keeping from them.
Forty-Eight
“DO YOU SEE THEM?” Ruby asks, balancing four hot dogs in her hands as she stands on her toes.
I stop and stand on mine, too, trying to find Charlie and Finn in the crowd of parade-goers. “Charlie’s text said they were right around here. Let’s check the other side of the street.”
Ruby nods and I follow her to the crosswalk, weaving between the families with screaming kids in strollers, tattooed hipsters, and swarthy old men who populate Northside, trying not to drop our tray of drinks.
I’ve never gone to the Northside Fourth of July parade, but Ruby insisted we should all go. Her exact words: “It’s my only day off from the Float for the whole week. I guess I’d understand if you hated awesome things, but since you all seem to like awesome things, you have no reason not to come.”
We split up after Finn squeezed his truck into a spot that defied normal people’s parallel-parking skills. Ruby and I went to get food, while Charlie and Finn went to stake out space along the parade route.
“Do you have everything ready for the art fair on Sunday?” she asks.
“Yeah, we do. There was a lot of painting there at the end, but we did it. The rest home is letting us borrow a folding table, and Carla’s helping me get the crew down to Hyde Park Square to work the booth. We ended up with about fifty vases to sell and a few dozen mugs.”
I hear the rumblings of a band down the street, and Ruby and I both rush to cross before they close the street to the parade.
“That’s awesome,” Ruby says over her shoulder.
I feel a little burst of pride. “It turns out Henry’s daughter is a florist. She was able to get her store to donate daisies and sunflowers the day of, so anyone who goes home with a vase will go home with flowers, too.”