“Don’t do it.” Amanda kicks me under the table. “I want you to stay my brother.”
I see her smile in my head, the one she gave me with my birthday mug, the one I flashed back to when I thought I was going to die. “Mandy, I will always be your brother.”
She plucks a slice of tomato out from under a mountain of spinach and holds it up for closer inspection. “Promise?”
“Fork please,” Darla says.
I snatch the tomato out of Amanda’s hand and pretend to take a bite out of it. She smiles, but it’s a fake smile, mouth only.
“I swear on, uh, this tomato.” I make the sign of the cross on it and pitch it back onto the top of her salad. She stabs the tomato with her fork.
I turn back to Ben and Darla. They’re both smiling at us, even though Darla’s trying to look stern. I feel horrible for the way I’ve held them at a distance all these years, for the way I never even gave them a chance to be my parents. I could have missed out on so many things because I was afraid to trust them.
You know what, though? I don’t think I did. They loved me too much to let me sabotage our relationship. Even though I did my best to keep them locked outside, they found their own ways into my life. When Adam pointed that gun at me, all I thought about was them—my family.
Ben, Darla, and Amanda are my family. And, okay, even the twins, though I can’t wait until they outgrow their insane screaming phase. Still, it’s a pretty amazing package, and I’m not ever letting anyone—least of all myself—take it away from me.
“Actually, I kind of like being a Cantrell,” I say. As I reach out and pat Darla on the hand, I try to squeeze out the word “Mom,” but I can’t quite make it happen. But just because I can’t say it, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.
Darla sniffles and I keep talking so that she doesn’t break down right here at the Steak Shack. “Well, then,” I continue. “If all the boring stuff is out of the way, let’s go back to having fun.” I launch a packet of sugar at Amanda with her salt shaker catapult. She drops her fork and catches it.
Ben clears his throat. “There is one other order of business.”
Oh boy. He sounds very serious. I fiddle with the edge of my cast. Maybe this is the part where I get the lecture. “Yeah?”
Ben hands me a white box with a blue ribbon. “This is for you.”
Everyone watches as I untie the ribbon and lift up the top. Inside it are a manila envelope and a birthday card shaped like a drum. The card looks like it’s for an eight-year-old, but at least Darla didn’t get one of those ones with poetry verses and people holding hands around a lake.
I flip open the card and the keys to Ben’s truck fall out. I almost don’t recognize them without his ginormous work key chain attached. “I don’t understand,” I say.
“We didn’t know what your plans were regarding college,” Darla says. “But we figured that no matter what you were going to need something to drive.” Her face brightens into a smile. “The car seats fit better in my car, anyway.”
I am, literally, speechless. I broke down and told Ben and Darla the whole story after most of the charges were dropped, including how Langston and Marcus got rid of my car. They were less than thrilled. I never expected them to give me 50 percent of their wheels.
“Thank you,” I finally manage to choke out. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down. Now I’m the one in danger of losing it at Vista Palisades’s numero uno family restaurant. I blink hard as I turn my attention to the manila envelope.
I undo the clasp, figuring my birth certificate or some other legal junk they felt compelled to give me is inside. I peek inside and see a letter and what looks like a bank statement. I can’t help it—I look at the bank stuff first. The statement’s in my name. My jaw drops. I glance over at Ben. “This can’t be right.”
“We didn’t read that,” he says. “Straight from the lawyer. It’s not our business what your dad left you.”
My fingers shake a little as I read the letter.
Dear Max,
Enclosed you will find information regarding Alexander Keller’s assets at the time of death, 100 percent of which was bequeathed to you, Max Alexander Keller, now Max Alexander Cantrell. This amount is payable in full on or after your eighteenth birthday.
Please contact my office at your convenience for more information.
Sincerely,
Roy Tanner, Attorney at Law
“Holy sh—crap,” I say. Darla clucks her tongue. Amanda looks at me curiously. I slide the paperwork back in the envelope and put the envelope back in the box. I never really thought about my real dad’s estate. It’s going to feel weird having money. “Dinner is on me,” I say with a grin.
“Absolutely not.” Ben grins back at me. “But we’ll let you buy dessert from the Cupcakery if you insist.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, but I’m already plotting one more purchase. If they can give me Ben’s truck, I can replace it with a better vehicle for them—a nice one, like my family deserves.
As Darla pulls her car into the driveway, the sun hovers just above the horizon, painting the sky a mix of pinks and oranges. Wind sends a cloud of the neighbor’s grass clippings spinning across the lawn. It’s a beautiful Southern California evening.
But there is something even more beautiful sitting on the front steps. Parvati. She’s dressed in camo pants and an olive-green long-sleeved shirt. Her hair is back in a ponytail so tiny that she must have hacked off a couple more inches at some point. I don’t think she’s wearing a speck of makeup, but somehow she’s never looked more stunning.
Amanda bounces out of the car while I’m still gathering my thoughts. “Hi, Parvati,” she bubbles. “I heard you were in the hospital. Are you better now?”
“I just got out today.” Parvati pulls the collar of her shirt down slightly to expose the edge of a gauze bandage. “I’m mostly better but I’m going to have a really cool scar.”
“No way,” Amanda says. “I know this other girl with CF like me and she has a scar—”
“Let’s let Parvati and your brother talk, okay?” Darla steers Amanda into the house.
Ben disappears into the garage. I sit next to Parvati on the steps, both of us staring straight ahead, watching the bits of grass dance across the driveway.
Parvati opens her mouth to speak, but then the door squeaks and the twins’ babysitter slides out of the house. She bounds down the front steps and heads toward a car parked across the street. Parvati and I watch as she pulls away from the curb.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say finally.
“You too.” She turns to me, her eyes lingering on my cast.
“Simple fracture,” I say. “No big deal.”