Page 13 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“No. I want ice cream now.”

He shakes his head. “But dinner is going to bereallydelicious. I don’t want you to ruin your appetite.”

Food’s his “love language,” even before he decided to adopt Danny. I read about “love languages” in a magazine. Different people show affection in different ways. For him, it’s food. If he really wanted to razzle-dazzle me, he would just get me a damn bowl of ice cream.

“I just want ice cream, Peter.”

He frowns and shakes his head some more.Some more...S’mores... That would really hit the spot right now.

“Can you put marshmallows on top of the ice cream?” I ask.

“No, we don’t have marshmallows. Also, we don’t have ice cream. All we have is frozen yogurt.”

Ugh. It gets worse.

“Why did you buy that instead of real ice cream?”

“It’s better for you. Still not great, but better. You know how much sugar is in those little pints you like? It’s crazy. I was reading the nutrition facts in the store, and it absolutely blew my mind. I couldn’t—”

“I don’t care.”

“All right, I’ll bring you a bowl of frozen yogurt.”

He disappears back into the kitchen. I pick up my lighter and cigarettes. He must hear my lighter click, because he comes running into the living room.

“No! No more smoking in here! Don’t smoke in here!”

“Seriously? Why not? It’s cold outside.” I continue to click my lighter, watching the small flame live and die.

“The couch is starting to smell like smoke...and the carpet!”

“How often do you sniff the carpet, Peter?” I stop clicking.

“It sticks to the fibers and lingers in the air.”

“Holy crap.”

“Look, just— Just go on the balcony. Please? I’ve been smoking on the balcony.”

“I’ll just smoke later. Are you getting my ice cream?”

“I’ll get it now.”

I hear the door open. Danny’s back from school. He walks up the stairs and into the living room, unzipping his jacket.

“How was your day?” Peter asks him.

“It was good. I think I made a friend.” He throws his backpack on the floor by the dining room table.

“Please don’t put that there,” Peter says. “We eat there. Hang it on the hook by the door or put it in your room by your desk.”

“Hayley doesn’t eat there. She eats on the couch.” He points at me.

Why does he always start shit with me? I ignore him. Ignoring him is important for my sanity.

Peter looks my way. “She shouldn’t. That’s how you get bugs. Anyway,” he turns back to Danny, “you made a friend? Tell me about it.”

“We’re going to playRocket Leaguetonight at eight.”

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