“Can I help?” the store clerk asks with a smile that is genuine.
“Yes. I need a washer for a bathroom faucet.” Tristan isn’t here anymore, but I’m still going through with the lie. He seems like the kind of man who’d come in later and ask the clerk about what I bought, just to confirm what he thought about me was right.
“Did you bring the old washer?” I shake my head. “Can you just give me a standard size?”
The clerk charges me a dollar and hands me a small paper bag containing the confirmation of my cover story.
Outside, the wind whips my hair and my skirt, the warm sun kissing my skin as gently as Donovan’s lips, or Dwayne’s or Daryl’s, or Hunter’s or Harley’s. Five brothers who’ve lit up my life, who’ve brought affection and hope to my place of darkness and uncertainty.
But more uncertainty lingers.
Should I tell them about Tristan’s real intentions or wait to find out if they’re going to be honest with me?
19
I'm expecting the house to be empty when I get back, but when I head to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a snack, I find John at the table looking tired and stressed, hand gripping the roots of his hair as he stares at typed pages in front of him.
"Hey," I say. "Everything okay?"
He looks up at me, eyes taking time to register. "I've got an assignment due. I skipped practice. Told Coach I wasn't feeling good."
"What's the assignment on?"
He slides the paper across the table, and I scan over the text. It seems straightforward, which I tell him, but all my reassurance does is make his face fall. "Have you thought about approaching it this way?" I sit and go through my idea, and he starts to take notes, nodding as his facial features relax.
"How did you do that? I've been wracking my brains for the last two days."
Shrugging, I rise to open the fridge, finding a drawer filled with apples, which is just what I wanted.
"I don't know, really. I just… I guess I just saw the way."
As I bite into the apple, the sweet juice coats my tongue, and my stomach growls in anticipation. "That's a talent," John says. "What are your plans for after college?"
Leaning against the counter, I shrug. "I wanted to finish. I had all these plans and dreams for what I'd do with my life, but other things are a priority now."
"You can still finish, you know?"
"How, with a baby strapped to my front? I don't think that will go down well with anyone."
"People do it," he says, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
"People with support."
"You'll have support."
"My mom works," I say. "She's already exhausted from raising me singlehandedly. I can't ask her to do anymore."
"Your mom lives miles away from here," John says. "If you stay here, we'll help."
"That's…" I pause, not wanting to hurt his feelings or speak out of turn. "That's a kind offer, but my college is miles away."
"You could transfer…"
"And you'd help when? In between practice and work and assignments? Or when you've all graduated and have jobs? You guys are already so busy, and… well, this is my responsibility."
"It's not something you have to shoulder on your own," he says. "We've told you that."
"And I'm grateful, but…"
"But…" John says, nodding. I don't need to tell him the buts. He knows.
"I can help you… with the paper. And after, we can do more of Dad's room?"
John inhales deeply, trouble glancing over his face like a ripple across a midnight pool. "I should do it myself."
"Why is it okay for you to offer to help me, but not okay for me to help you?"
"Because that's who I am," he says. "It's what makes me feel whole."
"I need your help with Dad's things, and you won't be able to help me with that if you haven't done your assignment. I'm selfish really, not selfless."
John's smiles fleetingly at my efforts to placate him. "Okay then."
It takes us until lunchtime to finish the paper, and when it's done, John slumps back against his chair. There's color high on his cheeks from relief.
"I'll fix us a sandwich, and then we can head upstairs."
We eat and talk. John tells me about the team coach and how hard he is on the boys. He suspects it's because he's worried that they might start to slack off now they don't have Dad to keep them in line. "He doesn't understand that Dad showed us the benefits of having a good work ethic. Now, we're all there because it's what we want."
"So tell him that." I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "He'll listen."
"You haven't met our coach."
"But I have met you. There's no way he could listen to you explain and not see your sincerity."
"Maybe." John takes my plate and his to the counter, washing his hands and drying them on a towel. Everything he does is methodical and precise. "Let's see how far we can get with this room."