Page 24 of Deja New
THIRTEEN
Angela trudged into the house by the back kitchen door, to be met by Jack, who had just slid something wonderful (as was his wont) into the oven. He turned to face her and even after her exhausting afternoon, she had to grin at the black with white lettering on his apron:YOUR OPINION WASN’T IN THE RECIPE*.
He greeted her with, “I don’t even have to ask. It’s all over you. In particular, your face.”
“In particular, you’re right. Though I think you’re guessing.”
“Uncle Dennis was a wall.”
“Yes.”
“A scowling, stubborn wall.”
“Times ten. Yes.”
“But on the plus side, the weather was beautiful.”
She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it. “It’s raining, you goofus.”
Jack shrugged and pushed a hand through his fringe in the zillionth attempt to keep his (sun-streaked shaggy brown) hair out of his (dark blue) eyes. The top of his head came to the bridge of her nose, when ten months ago he was only up to her chin. Their mother, in a rare moment of levity (and connection to Planet Earth), swore she could actually hear Jack growing at night.
“Like I said: It was all over your face.”
She dumped her purse on the counter, took a whiff. “Such crap.”O heavenly air, redolent with the scent of brownies from Jack’s Pinterest board.“I’m the poster child for inscrutable. I take you at poker almost every month.”
“Yeah, when we’replaying poker, a game where a straight face is a necessity. We’re not playing now. You just trudged into the kitchen.”
“I didn’t trudge. I slunk. What’s that smell?” Because now she could smell something beneath the brownies. Something dark and disturbed, a scent that had no place in any kitchen.
“Well. Mitchell made brownies.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Right? So after I put the fire extinguisher away—we need another one, by the way—Imade brownies. They’ll be out in twenty. And I’m making that frosting you like.”
“With the honey?” She made no effort to keep the hope out of her tone. It wasn’t like they were playing poker, right? She loved Jack’s just-for-warm-brownies frosting and she would never apologize for that, dammit.
“Absolutely. Just as soon as I clean the eggs out of the toaster.”
“He tried thatagain? That’s our third toaster!”
“This season,” Jack added. “Target loves all our asses.”
“You’re all horrible and thoughtful,” she managed.
He blinked at her in his slow, sweet way, like an owl in an apron.Slowin this case was the opposite of an insult. Jack was always careful, even in the midst of plotting—and often masterminding—whatever Drake madness was on the agenda. “Yeah, well. You know. Family, right? It doesn’t have to suckallthe time.”
“No. It doesn’t.” She toed off her flats and thought about what that could really mean. “Maybe going to ICC today accomplished something after all.”
“Yeah?”
Let it go.
Give it up.
Live your own life.
Be happy.
