“Hey, Mclean, you really don’t—” Dave began. I looked at him, then at the screen, where my mother was still in view. “Oh. Well. That would be great. Thanks.”
It was easier to listen to the game than to watch, so I moved slowly as I scrambled the eggs, added milk, and preheated pan. I wasn’t sure what their position was on toast. Gluten issues? Was wheat bad ethically? I stuck some bread in the toaster oven anyway. While I cooked, the U came back, tying up the score, although they racked up some fouls in the process. Between listening to Dave and his dad reacting to the action—groans, claps, the occasional cheer—and the smell of eggs cooking, I could have been back in Tyler, in our old house, living my old life. I took my time.
There were about five minutes left in the half when I came back in, balancing two plates and the roll of paper towels, and deposited them both on the table in front of Dave and his dad. It was just eggs and toast. But by their reaction, you would have thought I’d prepared the most extravagant of feasts.
“Oh my goodness,” Mr. Wade whispered, slowly pushing his half-eaten tofu loaf aside. “Is that . . . Is that butter?”
“I think it is,” Dave said. “Wow. Look at how fluffy and yellow these are!”
“Not like Neggs,” his dad agreed.
“Neggs?” I said.
“Not-eggs,” Dave explained. “Egg substitute. It’s what we use.”
“What’s in them? ” I asked as Mr. Wade took a bite. He closed his eyes, chewing slowly, his reaction so full of pleasure I had to look away.
“Not eggs,” Dave replied. He exhaled. “These are amazing, Mclean. Thank you so much.”
“Thank you,” his dad repeated, scooping up another heaping forkful.
I smiled, just at the game came back on the screen. Immediately, the players were in motion, moving down the court, the U out in front with the ball. As they passed the bench, the action slowed, and I saw Peter again, my mom behind him. As the team set up their offense, I watched as she pulled out her phone, opening it up, and pushed a few buttons, then put it to her ear.
I turned around, looking at my purse, which was on the floor by the couch. Sure enough, I could see a light flashing inside. I pulled out my phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, honey,” she said over the din behind her. “I just had a quick thought about our trip tomorrow. Have you got a second? ”
Dave and his dad erupted in cheers, plates clanging in their laps as the U stole the ball and moved down the court. Where my mom was, there was noticeably less of a reaction.
“Actually,” I said, “I, um, have some people over for dinner.”
“You do?” She sounded so surprised. “Oh. Well, I’ll just call back later, okay?”
“Great,” I said, watching Dave as he took another bite of toast, then smiled at me. Real bread, real butter. All real. “Talk to you then.”
Thirteen
That night, I tried to wait up for my dad, so I could ask him about the councilwoman and what I’d seen between them at the model that day, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. Still, I busied myself packing and repacking my suitcase for the beach, trying not to think abt all the other times I’d folded clothes this same way, in the same bag. Once that was done, I made myself a pot of coffee and sat down on the couch to study for my last big test before break, feeling confident that the task and the caffeine would keep me awake until he returned. Instead, I woke up at 6:00 the next morning, the room cold and my mother’s quilt tucked over me.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. My dad’s keys were in the dish by the door, his coat thrown over our worn leather chair. Distantly, down the hallway, I could hear the water running in his bathroom. Just another morning. I hoped.
I took a shower, then got dressed before making a bowl of cereal and another pot of coffee. I was pouring a second cup when I heard a knock at the door. Glancing out the front window, I saw a black Town Car parked at the curb. Which could mean only one thing. Sure enough, when I opened it, I found myself facing a wide expanse of gray cashmere. I looked up and up, and there was Chuckles. Opal had mentioned he was back in town, but a home visit was a surprise.
“Mclean,” he said, smiling at me. “Good morning. Your dad around? ”
“He’s in the shower,” I told him, stepping back so he could come in. He had to duck under the low door frame, but something in the easy way he did it made it clear he was used to this. “He should be out in a minute. You want some coffee?”
“No thanks, I’m already covered,” he said, holding up a travel mug in one of his huge hands. “This stuff has totally spoiled me. I have to take it with me when I travel now. Nothing else compares.”
“Really? What is it?”
“A special blend, grown and roasted in Kona, Hawaii. I’ve been doing some business there lately and discovered it.” He uncapped the lid, holding it out to me. “Take a whiff.”
I did, although it felt a little odd to do so. It smelled amazing. “Wow,” I said. “Hawaii, huh?”
“You ever been?”
I shook my head. “I’d love to, though.”