Page 16 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

“Thank you,” I say softly. Yet again, Jackson’s taking me by surprise, pairing his thoughtful actions with an air of callousness that I doubt most people have the patience for. But I take as good as I get, so I add, “And for the record, the chocolate at this place is my favorite. At the place across town, it’s the cookie dough.”

Jackson frowns like he disapproves, and I just raise both eyebrows to communicate to him that I don’t really care what he thinks. Because I don’t. I have every right to be basic with my favorite ice-cream flavors, and I won’t let a snob like him shame me for it. I get the sense that he says his is fancy anyway just to sound better, because I can’t help but notice what looks like vanilla in his tub.

“It’s just you and him, isn’t it?” Jackson asks suddenly, glancing over my shoulder to Matt who’s leaning into his friends so they can all look at a phone and roll back, laughing like whatever meme they just saw is the funniest thing on earth.

And I can’t lie to Jackson, but I can’t help but be guarded. “Yeah, it is,” I say cautiously, not wanting to give more detail than I need to.

“How come?” Jackson asks.

I pause. This isn’t exactly an easy subject, and it’s not one I talk about much. But Jackson’s eyes are so sensitive, focused on me like he’s really listening, like he really cares. Is that just projecting? Do I just want him to care?

Before I can help it, the words start slipping out of my mouth. “Dad was never really around when I was growing up. He was always on and off in my life, sometimes there for birthdays and Christmas and whatever, but we’d go months without seeing him. And then Mom got pregnant with Matt…”

“And you expected your dad would stay?”

I had been staring at a stain on the table, but my eyes snap back up to Jackson at that. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did hope so. But the second Matt was born, he gave Mom a pile of cash and ran off. We never really saw him again. It was like he didn’t want to know us at all.”

Jackson nods, then quietly says, “That’s dads for you.”

“Your dad wasn’t there for you either?”

He shrugs, suddenly defensive. “Similar to you. Me and my brother never knew him. I don’t care.”

Unconsciously, I reach out for his hand and stop myself at the last second. “Jackson,” I start, but he brushes me off with a wave.

“It’s whatever, really. He’s gone, so whatever. What about your mom?”

Another loaded question, and one that sticks a lump straight in my throat. Talking about Dad is one thing, because in a way, Jackson’s right. He’s gone and there would never have been anything I could do to change his mind. But Mom…

“Cancer,” I whisper. “Four years ago, she passed.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says, his eyes darting down to the table.

Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. I swallow back the tears and say, “Matt’s lived with me since he was eleven. I just graduated school, just landed my first job, and I thought — well, basically I had to quit that because it was more research-based, and then with Mom and Matt, and caring for them both, I just didn’t have the time. So, I started at the hospital, and Matt and I have been getting by on our own. Mom was gone, and he needed someone to be there.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” says Jackson hesitantly, his eyes darting up to meet mine before flicking away again.

I get the sense that he’s not entirely sure what to say to me. People never usually are when you tell them your mom’s passed. They get this strange look in their eye and an awkward twisting of the mouth, like they want desperately to express their sympathy but aren’t quite sure what the right words are.

The truth is, there’s no such thing as the right words. It’s just a hole that you can’t explain or fill.

“We’re okay,” I add quickly, trying to move past the silent block I sense coming. “We’re happy enough. It’s not always easy, and I have to work more than I would like, so I don’t see him very much sometimes, but we do what we can.”

“It must be nice to have a close family.” His voice is so strained that I can’t hold back anymore, and this time I do reach out for his hand, praying that Matt isn’t looking.

“I wouldn’t give it up for the world,” I say. “What about your Mom, though? Doesn’t she live nearby?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, “And my brother.”

He doesn’t offer any more information, but I’m feeling bold, so I say, “You could visit them, couldn’t you?”

All I get is a grunt in moderate agreement, and with that the conversation dies, leaving me burning with questions about the life of Jackson Kerr, which I am sure are never going to get answered.

CHAPTER 11

JACKSON

TWO WEEKS LATER

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