Page 47 of Home Sweet Home

“I already told you,” Robert said. “He doesn’t want to play anymore. Now get the hell off my property.”

The door was halfway shut when a voice cut through, a hand stopping it from shutting all the way.

“I want to keep playing,” Oliver said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

West grinned in triumph. All the color had drained out of Robert’s face, malice underpinning the fake smile he’d put on, and despite how proud she was of Oliver, Evie felt a pang of fear at what he had brought on himself by standing up to his dad.

“Well, I guess he’s had a change of heart,” Robert said, his stare hard on West’s, but West knew he’d won.

“Guess so,” West said. “Come on, Oliver. Grab your stuff, and let’s go.”

* * *

Flour sifted through the sieve,drifting into the bowl like snow, and the three blackened bananas on the counter begged Evie to put them out of their misery.

Banana bread was the first dessert her mom had taught her to bake. Evie had made it dozens of times. Maybe hundreds. Enough times that her hands worked without having to look at the recipe. That was a good thing because while her hands went through the motions, Evie’s mind was on practice earlier.

Oliver was a kid only in the most technical sense. He was seventeen, capable of making his own decisions, and there hadn’t been much Robert Martin could do to stop Oliver from playing. Back on the field, Oliver had loosened up the second he stepped onto the dirt. But West had seemed off the rest of practice, and when it was over, he’d given her a half-hearted wave and driven off in his Jeep.

She’d never seen that side of West, who moved through the world like life was easy, every day more magnificent than the one before. It had drawn her to him, how quick he was with a laugh, a joke, a smile, lifting her spirits even on days when all felt hopeless. So when it was gone, she noticed.

As Evie mashed bananas, Josh walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. He craned his neck, peering into the bowl. “Is that banana bread?”

“Yup,” Evie said with a smile. “Ready in, like, an hour.”

She tried to remember the last time Josh had asked her a question, one that wasn’t “When is dinner?” Recently, it seemed they only bumped into each other in the kitchen and only because Josh needed food.

Usually, once his question was answered, he would skulk back to his room, but this time, he stayed at the table, chewing on his lip absentmindedly. She kept mashing the bananas, worried she might spook him away if she did anything differently, but after a few moments, Josh said, “Oliver’s dad can be such a dick.”

In her mind, she saw Robert Martin’s thick, hairy fingers gripping the chain-link fence so tightly, his knuckles turned white, spit misting through his snarl, and just in front of him, Oliver’s legs shaking as he worked up the courage to look at the pitcher.

“It was dickish,” Evie said. “Is he always like that?”

Josh’s gaze was focused on his jeans. “Sometimes. He’s always saying stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Evie asked. Given her general dislike for Robert, especially after he’d hit on her, Evie avoided going to Oliver’s house, and Josh rarely went there. When they used to hang out, it was at Evie’s house. And her trip with West to see Robert during practice had only reinforced why she’d avoided him for so long.

Josh shrugged. “Like how Oliver eats too many Oreos. Or he won’t get a girlfriend playing video games all day. Shit like that.”

Evie balled her hands into fists as tightly as she could, a conduit for the anger that washed over her. She’d always had a soft spot for Oliver. Now that she’d seen his dad up close, she understood why Oliver was the way he was, so quiet and considerate and kind. He was going out of his way to make sure no one could say anything bad about him.

“What happened between you two?” Evie asked.

It was clear Josh still cared about Oliver, but he was avoiding him like he was a carrier of some infectious disease. Evie had seen it over and over. But it was the wrong question to ask, and she spotted the moment Josh put the wall back up, closing the tiny gap he’d opened. He got up from the table, and before he disappeared into his room, he said, “Let me know when there’s banana bread.”

A few minutes later, Evie wiggled the loaf out of the pan and set it on the wire rack to cool. Even with the oven turned off, the kitchen was stifling hot, so she went outside and sat down on the garden swing. It still refused to move, even when she used all her effort, digging her feet into the ground and pushing off like she was on a pogo stick.

“Stupid swing,” Evie muttered.

“Need a push?” West asked, moving across his own backyard toward her, his hair still damp from his after-practice shower.

“Please,” she said.

A few moments later, he was behind her, and despite the shower, he still smelled like the sun and grass.

“This used to be my thinking spot,” Evie said.

His hands pressed against the metal, and the swing creaked as it started to move. How easy it was for him infuriated her, and she hoped he hadn’t seen her trying too hard. “I know. Used to see you out here all the time, face all twisted up. Wondered what was going on in your head.”

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