Christy squeezed his arm. “I get it. I’ll walk her up.”
Jason’s cell buzzed in his pocket, his childhood phone number appearing on the screen, instantly recognizable. “Thanks, Christy. I have to…”
She waved him off, and he took the stairs two at a time back to his apartment. Inside, he wanted nothing more than to close the curtains, go back to bed, and not have to think about anything at all.
The phone buzzed again in his hand, and he almost dropped it. His mother had always done that—called twice before leaving a message. He could let this one go unanswered as well. Could pretend that nothing had changed and go years again without acknowledging his family, could stay in control and make everything normal.
Taking a deep breath, Jason swiped the screen, jumping off the ledge. “Hello?”
He pulled up to a red light, asking himself for the hundredth time if he was nuts for agreeing to dinner at his parents’ house. But his mom had been so eager on the phone, and considering they were paying for Maggie to see a therapist, dinner was a reasonable request.
The radio played a noisy pop hit, and he turned down the volume, glancing at Maggie in the back seat. “How do you feel about tonight?”
In the rearview, Maggie shrugged. “Fine.”
She’d avoided him most of the day and he’d let her, but it was time to deal with it. “Come on, that’s not a real answer.”
She rolled her eyes, but after a few moments, said, “Why do they even want us to come? I thought they hated us.”
“Maggie. We talked about this. They don’t hate us at all. I thought you understood what happened when you were a baby? They just thought you’d be better off if they raised you.”
“Because they’re stupid.”
“Hey! No name-calling. They thought they knew best, and they were stubborn.”
“They were wrong.”
“Yes. They were, and they realize that now.” He wanted to believe them—wanted so badly to trust them, but he wasn’t sure he could. Not completely. Not after they got lawyers and a judge involved to try and take his baby away.
But he’d try.
For the first time since he was a teenager, he drove the streets of his old neighborhood. Some houses looked the same, and he made the turns from memory, barely glancing at the signs. The tennis court that had been weirdly squeezed in the front of Carson Whitmer’s house was gone, replaced by a stretch of lush lawn and sculpted flowerbeds.
The man-made bump of a hill in the park had seemed huge when he was a kid. He and Tim had tobogganed on it, and now it looked ridiculously tiny. Had it always been so small?
Jason’s stomach tightened as he turned onto his old street, twilight descending. He turned left into the driveway and parked behind a gleaming black SUV that was a massive vehicle for people who rarely left the city. At least they hadn’t driven many back roads while he was growing up.
“Is this it?” Maggie asked, ducking her head to peer up. “It’s a mansion.”
Jason killed the engine and took in the house. Two long stories in a Tudor design—beige brick, brown wooden slats on white walls—with a double car garage. Perfectly designed flowerbeds curved along the flagstone walkway, and the lawn stretched out quite a ways before the next house.
“Yeah. I guess it is. I never thought of it like that.”
“You really lived here?”
He realized all over again how much he’d taken for granted. “I did. It was just my house. It was normal.”
The door had been painted red at some point, a pop of color amid the earth tones. Then that door opened, and a young man stepped out.
“Who’s that?” Maggie asked.
It took Jason a few frozen heartbeats to realize it was his brother. He spoke hoarsely. “That’s your Uncle Tim.”
“Seriously? I thought he was way younger than you.”
“He is. Seven years. He’s eighteen now.” Jason had seen Tim’s pictures on Instagram, so it shouldn’t have been such a surprise, but somehow it was as Tim filled the doorway, his jeans and button-up shirt tight on a toned, lanky body. His sandy hair was curlier than Jason’s, and it was cropped short aside from a couple inches on top.
“Are we going in?”
For a moment, Jason wanted to turn the key, throw the rusty old Chevy in reverse, and not look back. But he took a deep breath, and the panic eased. “We are.”
Maggie clung to his hand as they walked to the door. Tim waited, an unreadable expression on his face. He nodded to Jason. “Hey.”
“Hey. Um, this is Maggie.”
“Yeah, I figured.” His face softened as he offered her his hand. “Hi, Maggie. Nice to meet you again.”
She glanced at Jason before shaking Tim’s hand. “You too.” She fidgeted with the collar of her favorite purple sundress.