He can’t believe Brianna was out sick today, of all days. He kept thinking she must have shown up, because he heard her name among those on the daily list of students called down to the office between periods. But at the end of the day, there was still no sign of her.
Throughout basketball practice, he kept thinking about the gift box he’d stashed behind the bags of prunes. As soon as the coach blew the whistle, he took the world’s fastest shower and then raced from the locker room to the cafeteria. The doors were locked, and the room beyond the windows was dark. He had no choice but to leave the gift there until tomorrow and hope the rest of the treasure hunt clues remain intact overnight.
The minivan is in the driveway at home, and he braces himself for the inevitable barrage as he steps into the mudroom. But instead of questions, he hears his mother let out a high--pitched cry.
“Mom?”
“Mick! You scared me,” she calls from the kitchen. “I didn’t realize it was so late already.”
By the time he’s taken off his sneakers and the lightweight jacket she’s sure to point out isn’t nearly warm enough for this weather—-“and where is your good down coat that cost me a fortune?”—-she’s disappeared. Doofus is there, sniffing his empty water bowl and food dish.
Mick hears Mom’s swift footsteps retreating up the stairs, and her voice calling, “There’s leftover meatloaf in the fridge. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“What’s the matter, boy? Did she forget to feed you?” Mick asks the dog, who responds with a forlorn gaze.
Mick pours food and water into Doofus’s bowls, then puts a plate into the microwave for himself. As it heats, he notices that the kitchen is even messier than usual. There are dishes in the sink and a cutting board covered in vegetable scraps alongside a chef’s knife and unopened mail on the counter. Nothing interesting. Mostly catalogs and a stack of Christmas cards from -people he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care about.
He thinks about last week, when Mom got that crazy package of burnt cookies. Caught up in Brianna drama, he never did remember to ask her again about it.
She shows up in the kitchen as he’s eating his ketchup--smothered meatloaf and browsing the ski jackets in the catalog, wondering if he should ask for a new one for Christmas in case the old one is permanently lost. He expects her to have changed into comfortable clothes, but she’s still wearing a skirt, sweater, boots . . . and her wool coat?
“Are you going someplace?” he asks her.
“What? No.” She looks down and quickly strips off the coat. “I got distracted when I came in, same as always in this crazy house.”
Mick digests that. Some days are definitely hectic around here. But as far as he can tell, this isn’t one of them.
“How was school?” she asks, draping the coat over a breakfast bar stool.
“Good.”
“Good.” She goes to the fridge, takes out a bottle of water, and stands silently drinking it, staring off into space.
He keeps his head bent toward the catalog but watches her, wondering if she’s okay. She looks pale.
“Mom? Are you . . .”
“Hmm?” Snapping out of it, she looks at him, and he decides not to ask if she’s okay. He’s not so sure he wants to hear the answer. Instead, he changes his query to the first inane question that comes to mind.
“Are you . . . going to drive me to work?”
“Of course. How much homework do you have tonight?”
“Not a lot.”
“As soon as you’re finished eating, go start it. Okay?”
“Okay.” He can’t believe she didn’t ask about the test he said he had to take this morning. Maybe Dad didn’t mention it to her, and maybe she didn’t notice he’d left early.
That’s hard to imagine, though. When it comes to Mick and his brother and sister, Mom is so good at interrogation techniques that Dad teases her she should be a detective.