Page 99 of Mr. Broody

I hope it’s Jade.

Forty-Two

Jade

I’m in my bedroom on Thanksgiving morning. Since there was no school this week, I spent Monday and Tuesday with Henry and Bodhi. We went back to Navy Pier to visit the children’s museum and did some shopping on Michigan Avenue and Watertower since the lights have been turned on. Of course, we went to see the big tree, and Bodhi’s dream is now to have one that big one day.

I scroll through my camera, looking at the pictures Bodhi took that day at the lakefront. A lot of them are just grass, blurs. Some I don’t even know what they are. But I love to see the world through his eyes.

My thumb pauses when I come to a series of pictures of Henry and me.

At first there are ones where I’m smiling, or Henry is staring at me. Others where we’re in a serious conversation. Some I’m just staring at him. Last, Bodhi took one from behind us, the two of us side by side, resting on our hands and looking over our shoulders at him. And then there are ten or so of just me. Me looking at Henry, me looking toward the camera, me looking at the lake.

I haven’t had a lot of time to think about my conversation with Henry the other day. We can’t deny that our relationship is different than most. By agreeing to see where this takes us, we have a responsibility to Bodhi. We aren’t just some couple. We’re Henry and Jade. Some would say soulmates. We’re in it for the long game, and I think we both know that by now.

I pause on the picture I took of Henry and Bodhi. Henry has Bodhi upside down, and he’s tickling him. Bodhi’s mouth is wide open in laughter. I’ve never really felt as right as I do when I’m with them.

All the doubts of the kind of mother I’d be to Bodhi rise to the surface, overriding that feeling of being home. I’d probably get him to school late, unfed and dirty. I’d take him to get pancakes at midnight just for fun. I’m not a checklist person, nor am I a calendar person. Most days, I don’t even know what day of the week it is.

I had a hard time leaving them Tuesday night, and I feel as though yesterday lasted forever. Whatever. I have other things to worry about right now. I still have to tell my mom that I’m leaving tomorrow night without letting her know I’m going to Henry’s away game.

After I look in the mirror one last time to make sure my curls haven’t fallen, I walk downstairs, hearing Mom and Reed in the kitchen. The boys are already sprawled out on the couch watching football in what looks like pajama pants and T-shirts.

“Nice of you to dress up for the holiday,” I say, passing them.

“Sorry, my suit is at the dry cleaner’s,” Waylon says, never removing his gaze from the TV.

Owen piles a handful of chips into his mouth. “Boyfriend coming over?”

“Sneaking out tonight?” I ask, implying that he’d better keep my secret or I’ll tell his.

When I walk into the kitchen, the oven is open, and Reed is basting the turkey.

I slide onto a stool. “Do you need any help?”

“No.” Reed has an apron on. He and my mom have done Thanksgiving every year since Aunt Hannah’s didn’t go well the one year I was at my dad’s place in Los Angeles visiting him. That was probably the last time I spent a holiday with him. “But we have a full house today, so you can probably help out with something closer to dinner.”

“Okay, just let me know what you need.”

He nods, and he and my mom go about doing their thing in the kitchen, ignoring me.

“So…” Why do I feel as if I’m a teenager asking permission to stay out past curfew?

They grant me a second of their attention, looking up from their cookbooks.

“I’ll be gone tomorrow night,” I say.

There, it’s out.

“Okay,” Mom says.

“I mean overnight.”

Both of them look at me at the same time. And here we go.

“Where are you going?” Reed asks.

I worry that he can see right through me. No one wants a prosecuting attorney as their stepparent. “Out of town.”

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