Page 35 of Take Me Home

Hazel awoke to the smell of bacon and a bright, midmorning beam of light spilling across her face. Voices drifted down the long hall. She burrowed deeper into the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in and allowed herself another five minutes before she got up.

Her father was scooping scrambled eggs onto everyone’s plates at the table. A fifth plate already waited for her. “She’s alive,” he said. The old familiar greeting stopped her short at the threshold of the kitchen.

She took the seat that she guessed was hers for the week. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

“It’s a great bed, right?” Val said. “Our room had one in Italy, and I’d never slept so well in my whole life. I had to order them for all our bedrooms.”

Next to Hazel, Lucy, immersed in her cell phone, let out a groan. “Children present. No talk of beds.”

“Luce is right. It’s two things on the list,” Raf said around a mouthful of eggs.

Hazel looked to her father. “List?” She would not ask the bigger question:When did you go to Italy?

Lucy leaned in. “All the topics they’re not allowed to talk about. Sleeping. Kissing. Italy. Any description of food that’s remotely sexual.”

Hazel’s cheeks warmed. “Oh.”

On his way back to his seat, her father bent and pressed a kiss to Val’s cheek. “We shouldn’t traumatize the children.”

Hazel searched her memory for a scene like this from her childhood and came up empty. For one thing, her dad had missed a lot of meals. His schedule was all over the place, different from one week to the next. But he and her mom weren’t a kiss-hello-and-goodbye couple, not even in Hazel’s earliest memories. She’d always assumed that was just their preference. But maybe this was what her father looked like in a happy relationship. Hazel had no other points of comparison because he’d never dated after her mom left, at least not while she still lived at home.

“Hazel?” her father said like she’d missed a question.

“Huh?”

“Did you want to go with Val today?”

“After the nursing home, we could do something fun. Manicures?” Val suggested. Hazel thought she kept her face neutral at this, but when she looked from Val to Lucy, their matching hair dye jobs, Val quickly amended, “Or grab coffee, browse a bookstore?”

“I’m at the station late,” her father said, “but y’all should go out to eat, too, after Lucy’s rehearsal.”

It was one thing to have to act like she was part of this family when he was around, but it was a whole different situation to have to do it when her dad wasn’t even there. What would they talk about? What would be the point? “I, um, might have plans today, actually.”

“Oh.” Her father set his fork down. “All day?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’m waiting to hear from some friends.” She couldn’t look at him, just scraped butter across every last bit of the craggy surface of her toast.

“Who?”

She could feel red splotches blooming in her neck and cheeks. “Well, there’s Franny, obviously. And…Justin.”

“Justin, huh? You two are still close?”

“We’re…friendly.”Another lie. “He’s working for his dad now,” she added, grateful Ash had given her one tidbit.

She risked a glance. Her father was watching her intently. He didn’t seem outright suspicious, but he clearly had an expectation of how this visit should go, despite them never discussing it, and that expectation wasn’t her having her own plans, her own priorities.

“Sorry.” Her voice came out harsh, verging on sarcastic. Instantly, she wanted to take it back. She wasn’t even angry. Anger required feelings, and hers were not that easily tapped, let alone hurt.

Although, if she really did have plans with old friends, could he honestly hold that against her? He’d asked her to come and assumed she’d be able—wouldwant—to slip into the rhythms of his new family. Buthehadn’t been like this before, either. For them, he was sohere. He took holidays. He cooked and joked and let them have pets. He didn’t, for example, come home from work late, struggle to come up with a few questions about their days, and shut himself in a bedroom full of unpacked boxes.

“I figured you’d be working,” she said carefully. “You didn’t say I would be needed for anything right away.”

Her father smiled tightly. “I suppose we have the whole week. Maybe you can keep a few windows open? Lucy’s concert, for one. On Thursday at Winter Fest. And the station holiday party on Friday.”

Thestation party, like she should know about it.

“The wedding on Saturday,” he added, “and Christmas on Sunday, obviously.”

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