Page 51 of Revive Me

I roll my eyes and lean down to pick up the books I need to re-shelve. “Very funny. Come be useful and help me.”

He must bereallyshocked because he follows directions without a single argument. He simply walks over and picks up a handful of books.

“So what promptedthisfreakish occurrence?” he asks. Suddenly, he frowns and looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “Are you on drugs?”

I toss a balled-up paper towel at his face. “You’re an idiot.”

He swats it away. “Hey, that’s no crazier than walking in to see youdusting. What’s going on?”

I shrug. “Had some time to kill. Felt like being productive.”

His eyes widen. “Oh shit, it’s your day with your mom. Fuck, I totally forgot. I’ll leave.”

“Don’t even think about leaving, Michael,” comes my mom’s voice as she walks through the door. “I’m pretty sure I bought enough food to feed a dozen seventeen-and-going-through-his-first-growth-spurt Romans, so we’re going to need you.”

Mikey claps his hands together. “Don’t have to ask me twice, Mama Dubs. How can I help?”

She lifts two gigantic fistfuls of grocery bags onto the counter. “Can you mix the pancake batter? I want to start on the stuffed French Toast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, already walking into the kitchen.

I hear him rustling through the bags as I turn back to my bookshelves, and I already know what his next question is going to be. Sure enough, after a moment, he asks, “So...what’s the occasion? Between the all-you-can-eat buffet that this is about to be and Roman’s inexplicable cleaning, I’m assuming something happened.”

I glance over my shoulder to meet Mom’s eyes for a beat. She reads me easily.

“Roman had a good day at therapy, that’s all,” she says, giving in to my silent request to not make a big deal out of things. I send her a grateful smile. “Plus, you know me, I’ll take any excuse to make a big brunch.”

I think Mikey might sense that there’s something more, but it’s possible he also caught the look we just shared and realizes I’d prefer to move on to a different topic. So he does.

“Well, whatever the reason, my mouth is already watering. Damn, Mama Dubs, where did you find cinnamon rolls on a Saturday night?”

As I push myself into the kitchen, I catch my mom’s proud smile. “I have my secrets.” But then her smile straightens when Mikey tries to quickly swipe some icing off one of the rolls with his finger. Slapping his hand away, she says, “GoodLord, at least wait until I take it out of the box.”

Properly scolded, Mikey hangs his head as she sends him into the cabinet for a plate. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

I can’t help shaking my head with a chuckle at their antics. Being my best friend in middle school, Mikey obviously knew my mom when we were kids, but it never ceases to amaze me that they’ve somehow managed to keep the same relationship as adults.

“What do you want me to do, Mom?” I peek into one of the bags. “Damn, you really did buy a whole buffet. How many courses are we having?”

“Four,” she says cheerfully. And with the way she says it, I don’t even think she’s kidding.

When she pulls orange juice and a bottle and champagne out of the bags, I quirk an eyebrow at her. “What?” she asks innocently.We’re celebrating, she mouths at me, which just makes me smile.

“Want me to make you one?” she asks.

I only consider it for a second before I shake my head. “No, thank you. Just orange juice is fine.”

That only seems to make hermoreexcited. Smacking a kiss on my cheek, she says, “You can get started on the eggs and bacon then. Growing boys need their protein.”

At that, Mikey flexes his arm and makes a muscle. “Yes, we do. It’s bulking season, baby.”

I quirk an eyebrow at my best friend as I take the bowl offered by my mom. “Since when? You’ve never had an interest in lifting.”

He shrugs as he starts to mix the pancake batter. “I don’t know. Ever since I stopped playing in those basketball leagues, I’ve been thinking about picking something else up. I thought maybe it was time to choose something that didn’t necessarily lead to having to compete.”

I think carefully about my next words. This is the closest that Mikey and I have ever gotten to talking about sports or physical activities since my accident. But I also know him well enough that if he’s talking about it, he’s been thinking about it a lot.

“So then what’s stopping you?” I finally ask. “If you want to do it…”

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