“I didn’t,” he said. “She left my door open when she pulled them out of the shopping bag. I saw her hiding them.”
“You little snake.”
“Are you gonna get those cookies, or what?” he asked, grinning.
How could I say no? “One cookie.” I got up.
“Bring the box, and could you get me a soda while you’re in there?”
I pulled the cookies down and pulled two sodas out of the fridge. I walked back into the living room. “You know, Mom’s coming home soon. If she catches you with those, she’s going to be mad.”
“I’m a sick old man,” he said. “I can eat cookies if I want some damn cookies.”
I shook my head and handed him the box. Despite my protests, I was more than happy to let him have some cookies. Most days, his appetite was nonexistent because of the chemo. Getting any food into him at all was a blessing. He needed his strength if he was going to fight this disease. I didn’t care where that strength came from.
“I can’t take this wolf crap,” I said. “I’ll tell you what. I won’t tell Mom about the cookies if you let me watch something else.”
I grabbed the remote from him and changed the channel to a cooking show.
“Don’t do this to me.” He took the remote back and turned it to a pawn show.
“Oh, no. That’s not going to happen.” I reached for the remote, and he pulled it away and set it on the arm of the couch.
“You don’t get to choose,” he said.
“That’s not fair.” The doorbell rang, and he stuck his tongue out at me like he’d won.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Go check, sweetie. I’m the one with the cane.”
“All right,” I said and stood up. “There better be more than crumbs left in that box when I get back.”
“No promises,” he said with his mouth already full.
I answered the door. It was Jake. He was leaning against the frame, right next to the spot on the stucco where my mom used to put out her cigarettes. A weed curled over the top of his shoe, and I could see the yellow grass behind him.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said.
“Nonsense,” my father said, appearing behind me. I had no idea how he’d moved so fast. He shot a wide grin at Jake. “Who’s this?”
I turned bright red. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Jake held his hand out for my dad to shake. “My name’s Jake, sir.”
Dad shook his hand. “Well, come on in, Jake. Can I offer you a cookie?” He stepped aside to let Jake in.
“Dad, please go back to the living room,” I asked, my voice strained.
Dad shrugged. “I just figured I should meet the guy my daughter’s dating.”
“Dad, we’re not dating,” I said.
“Well, if he’s not here to see you, does that mean Jake’s here to see me?” he asked with a grin.
My face burned a deeper shade of crimson. “Dad, please.” I felt like a teenager all over again.
“Fine,” Dad said. “Nice to meet you, Jake.”