Page 60 of Sleepover

Chapter 28

Sawyer

Elle and I drive the boys back to the house—three in the back of my truck, seven in her van.

On the drive, I barely hear the boys’ rowdy Pokémon conversation in the backseat. I’m too busy chastising myself for going off on that Lucy tangent. I mean, everything I said was true, but Elle didn’t need to hear it. After all, she went out of her way to help me on a Saturday—when she didn’t need to. And it’s bad form to talk about exes—even the dead kind—with someone you’re messing around with, even when you’re not technically in a relationship.

But I have to admit, too, that it was a relief to be able to talk about Lucy.

All those words, I think they’ve been waiting for a chance to come out, and Elle makes it easy. She listens without judgment. She doesn’t push or pry or prod. She’s just…open.

The other night when I came in her mouth, it felt like I was pouring myself into her. And that’s what it feels like when I talk to her, too, like letting all the pent-up stuff just flow out, and she takes it in and accepts it.

But I have a bad, hangover-ish feeling about it now. Like I mixed beer and whiskey in the wrong order.

I pull the truck into my driveway and Elle is right behind me, pulling up to the curb in front of my house. Boys spill out of both cars, and we head up the front path as a pack. The front door opens to greet us.

“Uncle Brooks!” Jonah cries in delight.

Whoops, I forgot about Brooks. I’d mentioned the party to him in passing, and he’d muttered something about his work schedule and how much he hated spending time with packs of children and old people, so I figured there was no way he’d show up.

His eyes take in the scene, including Elle, and narrow in my direction. As in, What the fuck, bro? I need an explanation, pronto.

I shrug. As in, She’s my next-door neighbor I have phone sex with and use for her minivan.

I suddenly do not want to explain Elle to Brooks.

“Well, look who’s here!” booms a familiar voice—my dad. He’s big, like me, six-feet-plus and two hundred pounds, only with a crown of silver hair instead of my near-black. Until about five years ago, he was a really successful general contractor, but now he’s retired and drives my mother crazy doing projects around the house that probably don’t need to be done. “So who do we have here?”

Behind him presses my mother, no slouch size-wise at five foot eight, with long gray hair in a single braid, and behind her are Lucy’s parents. They’re the same age as my parents but look ten years older, and they’re quieter than they used to be, almost as if they take up less room in the world. Seeing them squeezes something painful in my chest. They’re the only people besides me and Jonah who know how hard the last two years have been, so when I’m with them, it’s a blessing—because I feel understood—and a curse—because their grief multiplies mine and makes it heavier.

The grandparents greet Jonah like he’s a celebrity and demand to be introduced to all of his friends. It takes a while to get the boys to settle down enough to make introductions. When the fray subsides, I introduce Elle.

“This is Jonah’s friend Madden’s mom. Elle Dunning. She was kind enough to help out with the logistics today by lending her minivan. I promised I’d reward her with pizza,” I joke.

Lucy’s mother’s eyes are sharp. They absorb every detail of Elle’s face, and then shift to mine with a question. I shake my head, a barely perceptible no—

Except I feel like a liar. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but there’s a compass in the center of my chest, and when I do something that veers me off course, I feel it, like a judgment. A nudge. The disappointed look your mom gave you when she caught you with your hand in the cookie jar.

There isn’t anything going on between Elle and me, not anything that would give Lucy’s mom pause, and yet—

I look up to find Elle’s eyes on me, and I swear that before she turns away, I see hurt.

There’s a stack of pizza boxes waiting for us on the kitchen island, and a big pink box that contains a birthday cake set off to the side, all courtesy of my parents. The boys dig in, hoovering the pizza at an alarming rate. The adults hang back a bit, jumping in only when it’s clear there’s plenty of pie left for everyone.

Lucy’s mom, Diane, eats only one slice, then comes up beside me, at my elbow. She touches my arm. Her hair, which held only streaks of white before Lucy’s death, is almost all white now, but her eyes are Lucy-blue. She’s a beautiful older woman, elegant-featured and dignified. I curse the disease that decided that Lucy wouldn’t get a chance to grow old. She would have done it so well.

“I couldn’t find the birthday candles,” Diane says. “Patrick and I ran out and got some.”

“Oh, shit,” I say, smacking myself in the forehead. Lucy wouldn’t have forgotten the candles, either. “Thank you.”

We arrange the candles on the cake and set it in front of Jonah on the dining room table. His friends gather around, and we sing to him. In the flickering light of ten candles (one to grow on), his face glows, and he beams up at us. “I gotta think of a really, really good wish,” he says.

“It doesn’t have to be that good,” Griggs protests, impatient for cake.

“Let him think,” Madden chides.

My eyes find Elle’s, thanking her for having such a great kid. She smiles back at me, and warmth spreads in my chest.

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