Page 32 of Dallas

Not like it’s fancy. But I’ve always loved that about Kaylee and my dad’s cooking. Neither of them are world-class chefs or anything, but it just feels like family. Family in a way I never knew before I moved in with them.

I want so badly for her to feel the same thing. For her to have the same experience. Even though it’s late for her. She’s almost twenty-one.

Life really isn’t fair.

“What?”

“What?” I respond.

“You’re scowling.”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Come on. Let’s walk over.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” she says, following me out.

“I was just thinking about how life’s not fair,” I say.

“We both know that,” she says. “In fact, I would say that it’s the primary drumbeat of our existence, wouldn’t you?”

I look at her, she’s smirking, her expression impish. But I know that she’s also serious enough. She’s not wrong.

“Yeah. That is true. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be mad about it sometimes. Especially not when I look at you.”

“I don’t really want you to be angry when you look at me,” she says, hopping down the last step, her yellow dress floating up, exposing her thighs. And I look away as quickly as possible. “Doesn’t seem very nice.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” I say.

I keep pace with her, as she forges ahead. I’m trying to imagine her in the way she described herself. She claims that she was mean to people. Difficult. I don’t see anyof that.

“Sarah…” She looks back at me, but she doesn’t break her stride. “Sorry. I just can’t imagine you being mean to anyone. I’m not sure that you see yourself accurately.”

She laughs. “Dallas Dodge. Don’t you remember when you first met me? Don’t you remember how I bit people?”

I laugh. I didn’t remember her biting people, but now that she mentions it, I do recall there was a biting incident early on at the first house I moved into with her. But, if I also recall correctly, it’s because that kid was bothering her.

“I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“Generally speaking, when you’re the one who bit someone, the authorities don’t take your side in the dispute.”

“You didn’t bite without just cause.”

“I don’t think it matters why you bit, it’s frowned upon to sink your teeth into others.”

“You didn’t rend any flesh.”

“Ha! Well. I might have, actually.”

“Tell me you didn’t have a good reason.”

She shrugged. “Okay. I had a decent reason. Still, I overreacted. And it isn’t that I didn’t have a reason to. I don’t need you to validate me. Or my trauma. I know where it comes from, and I know why I have it. But I’m just saying, the only reason I quit being quite that feral was because of you. I felt safe when you were around, and I didn’t feel like I had to protect myself quite that intensely. All of that was undone when I had to go back to my mom. I was only ten. Everything that felt safe and okay with you, it just felt broken and awful when I was with her. I felt like I was right back where I started. Like I had to defend myself from every unseen danger, everything that might be lurking in the shadows. Everyone felt like a threat.”

“But you seem…”

“It’s you. It’s you. You make me feel safe. It’s amazing how things change when you feel safe.”

We don’t speak for the next few minutes, as my parents’ farmhouse comes into view. We walk up the steps to the porch together in silence, and I open the front door without knocking. The smell of garlic bread hits me right when we walk in, and my stomach growls.

Sarah is looking hungry too, and I suddenly want to learn how to cook. I’m on the road so much that there’s no occasion for me to do it all that often, and when I’m back home, I let my mom feed me. But I want to take care of her. That realization is deep, grabs me low in the gut. I want to do everything that I possibly can for her. I want to take the pain of our separation and fix it. Make it all go away. Turn it into something glorious and golden.

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