“Yes. Thank you.”
Felix had eaten breakfast—brain food to help compose the letter—but Harry needed to feel useful. Felix had discovered this about his son. Besides, he could always skip lunch and squeeze in twenty minutes on the treadmill.
“I’ll bring you a tray, Mom!”
“How about I do that, Harry?” Felix said as he watched Harry trip over nothing.
Two hours later, Felix was scrubbing the griddle that Harry had supposedly cleaned. Why, oh why, had he let Harry cook? Simple. Concern for his son’s emotional well-being. He’d squeezed in an emergency appointment for Harry with the child psychologist after the panic attack, and everything had seemed fine. But you never knew. The young brain had a way of assuming guilt.
It was hard to say which came first—the doorbell or the sound of the front door opening. His house was no longer his castle.
“Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?” Eudora entered, followed by Katherine, who was carrying a huge Moses basket.
“Good morning, ladies.” He wiped his forehead with his arm, brushing back his hair. Ella had told him she liked it longer, that it made him look younger, sexier. He wasn’t convinced it was anything but untamed and irritating. “Did I miss something?”
“You and Harry are having the college talk today, right?” Katherine said.
His phone, buried in his jeans pocket, buzzed with a reminder.
“It appears so,” Felix said. How had he forgotten?
“Well, hon, since Harry believes talking about college caused the panic attack, we thought we’d keep Ella occupied with a girls’ day. English and southern style!”
Katherine dove into her huge wicker basket and held up two DVDs. “Love Actually and Notting Hill,” she said.
Eudora rootled around in the basket, too. “Plus Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias.”
“Also, popcorn,” Katherine said.
“Two bags, since I can’t bear anyone picking at my popcorn. And this.” Eudora pulled out a bottle of champagne.
“What’s that for?” Felix said.
“The best reason of all, son. To celebrate life.”
Harry came rushing in. “Hi, Katherine! Hi, Eudora! Dad, when we’re finished with the college powwow, can Sammie come over?”
Felix glanced up at the ceiling. His quiet, secluded hiding place was suddenly bursting with women and busier than Clapham Junction.
“Why not?” he said, too exhausted for argument.
Harry rocketed off toward his bedroom, and after five minutes, rocketed back. They settled at the dining room table—Harry with a glass of milk and a six-pack of Krispy Kreme Original Glazed Doughnuts and Felix with a mug of black Earl Grey. Harry twitched through a concerto of tics, then devoured a doughnut. Felix lined up his legal pad and two pens—one black, one red.
“We’ll start with a list of your top ten choices and go from there.”
Harry turned beetroot.
“What?”
“I’d like to discuss an idea. I mean, a proposal. About college visits.” Harry reached for another doughnut but pulled back.
Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m all ears.”
“Max and I have been doing some research,” Harry said. “Brandeis—you know Brandeis, up near Boston?”
Felix nodded.
“Brandeis has an open house in two weeks, and we’d like to go. By ourselves.”
Felix bolted upright into a coughing fit. “The two of you want to fly to Boston? A-lone?”
“Yup.” Harry clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“You can’t possibly expect me to agree.”
“Why not?”
“A thousand answers, most of which hinge on two facts: you’re phobic about flying, and you’ve never flown without your mother. What happens if you freak out and some airline employee assumes you’re a terrorist?”