Page 92 of Sleepover

Chapter 45

Sawyer

The doorbell rings and my heart leaps into my throat, falls out of my mouth, and bounces down the hall. No. Not really. It just feels like it.

The doorbell has rung only a handful of times since Elle and I broke up three weeks ago, and every single time I’m shanghaied by my physical response. Madden no longer rings, he just barges in, but a huge assortment of people, ranging from Mrs. Wheeling next door to the mail carrier to the Girl Scouts, have rung my doorbell and nearly killed me.

This time it’s Brooks with an armful of cardboard boxes, and I can’t help myself—I give him a dirty look.

“What?! I’m here to be useful. I brought boxes from the store. For your packing.”

“I thought you might be someone else.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You thought I was Elle.”

I sigh, heavily.

Jonah patters down the stairs. “Hi, Uncle Brooks! What’s those?”

I see disaster coming a moment too late, try desperately to signal to Brooks, and fail.

“Boxes. For packing,” Brooks says cheerfully, unwittingly.

Jonah may be only nine years old, but he’s no dummy. His gaze swings to me, his eyes already full of confusion and anger. “We’re moving?”

I’ve been meaning to tell him. In fact, I was planning to take him and Madden out for ice cream this afternoon and break it to both of them together.

I suck in a deep breath and manage to wedge my words in ahead of his next burst of outrage. “We’re not moving far, Jonah. Just across town. You’ll still go to the same school. And Madden can come over anytime.”

“But he can’t walk over. We can’t walk to each other’s houses all the time. We won’t take the bus to school together.” A ragged edge is creeping into his anger; another couple of sentences and he’ll be in tears.

I wince. “That’s true, but—” I’m about to launch into my semi-prepared speech, about how I’ll drive him to Madden’s house whenever he wants, pick up Madden at his house, how they can take the bus home together. It’ll be just the same as it is now, I was planning to tell him.

A lie. A convenient parental lie. But what else can I do?

He stomps his foot. Hard. “I’m not moving. I like it here. This is where we’re supposed to live. Madden is here. And Elle. And if you would just stop having your dumb fight with her, everything would be fine. You’re acting like a kid.” His face is red with anger. “No, that’s insulting to kids. Kids are better at fixing problems than you are.”

He storms out and runs hell-bent for leather toward Madden’s house, disappearing inside without knocking.

Given how well he and Madden handled the situation at school, he may have a point.

Thinking about that, about the friendship that grew up between the two boys without any effort at all, wrenches me back to reality. Of course it won’t be the same if we move across town. Who did I think I was fooling?

Jesus, what an asshole I’ve been, to put off telling him for so long. Suddenly I’m furious with myself, and not just for that.

“Nice job, Dad,” Brooks says.

I round on him. “Thanks. Thanks a fuck-ton. That’s just what I need right now.” I leave him standing on the stoop, still clutching his armful of boxes.

He follows me into the house, kicking the door shut behind him and dropping the boxes. “The boy has a point, Sawyer.”

“Shut up.” I put my hands on the kitchen counter, bracing myself. I’m going to fly apart, pieces of me sailing off into space.

“No, seriously, dude, what’s the big rush? Why do you have to bail out of this house? I thought you loved this neighborhood. You’ve done all this work—” He gestures at the recently refinished living room floor, visible through the kitchen doorway, and the new kitchen countertops and cabinet doors, which I’ve been working round the clock to finish. “Jonah’s obviously happy here. It’s not like she’s going to come over here and suck you back in.” He snorts. “No matter how much you wish she would.”

My chest feels like an overinflated tire; I’m too young for a heart attack, right? “Is there a reason you’re still in my house?” I inquire, as politely as I can.

“Is that any way to treat a guy who just brought you cardboard boxes? And I’ll help you pack up the kitchen, too, if you’re nice to me.”

---