Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

Trying to talk to her is like pulling teeth, so I turn my attention on my parents. “I'm thinking of having a playhouse built for Izzie and Clay in the yard.”

“You are?” My mom's eyes light up. “They'd love that.”

“I'm not sure about Clay, but Izzie wi

ll. Although he has seemed a lot chattier lately since he started going to an art class.”

“That's fantastic to hear. Any other news to tell us oldies?”

Dad scoffs. “Hey, speak for yourself. I'm in my prime.”

“You're fifty-nine, dear. It's time to face the music.” Dad creates circles with his fingers by his head, laughing when she swats at him. “Fifty-nine yet you still act like a child sometimes.”

I chuckle before telling them about mine and Charlotte’s disastrous cookout fail. “I think we're getting back on good terms though, well…” I think back to earlier today and setting up Tris and Harmony. “Maybe not.”

“What do you mean?” Dad asks, leaning forward on the sofa.

“I, erm… I set him and Harmony up on a lunch date today.”

Mom’s eyes widen as big as saucers and Dad scoffs. “You did what?”

I shrug. “It's no big deal. Harmony is Izzie and Clay’s art teacher.”

“But it's Harmony, Nate. You seriously must've lost your mind.”

They met Harmony when I was in college and we were all friends with each other. I never keep anything from my parents and since my dad’s sister is Natalia’s mom, they knew all about how things went down all those years ago.

“We'll see,” I say dismissively.

I want to know how today went, but if I'm honest with myself, I don't want to message either of them in case my mom is right. I think I’ll be a chicken shit for a little while longer and leave them to contact me.

Taking a look at my watch, I decide it's time to head home. I want to say it's because I'm tired, but it's not. I can't stop thinking about my pending date with Amelia and where I want to take her.

I'm not taking her out to dinner: that's too common. She deserves somewhere better.

Sitting up from the rug I'm lying down on and stretching out my arms, I say, “I'm going to head out now, but thanks for dinner, Mom. It was delicious as always.”

I stand and they follow suit, my gaze skirting over to Maya and shaking my head. She's still in the same position she was in when I last looked at her: writing in her notebook while simultaneously staring at her cell.

“Maya, your brother’s leaving,” Mom says.

She lifts her hand in a wave and does a half-grunt so I walk over to her, taking her cell and holding it up in the air. That catches her attention and she's off the loveseat in the corner of the room and standing on her tiptoes in a flash. “Give me my phone!”

“Only if you say goodbye properly.”

“Goodbye.” She stops jumping up and down and holds her hand out. “Now can I have my phone?”

“Nope.”

“Mooommm!” she moans, stomping her foot.

Mom chuckles. “It won't hurt you to be away from your cellphone for more than a minute. Say goodbye.”

She scoffs and stomps ahead of me to the front door. “Fine.”

When there she crosses her arms over her chest and I kiss her cheek. “Bye, Maybug.”

She smiles and throws her arms around my middle. “Bye, life ruiner.”