Page 75 of Facing the Line

Chapter

Thirty-Two

HADLEY

Hadley: Jonas and I arrived in Chicago! Can’t wait to see you!

Natalie: Yay!

Natalie: Wait, what about Evan? Did he drive separately?

Hadley: No, he changed his mind at the last minute.

Natalie: Aw, that’s too bad. I’ll have to text him and see what’s up.

Jonas’s family is overwhelming, and I’m here for it. I’ve lost track of how many nieces I met. Eight? Would they wear name tags if I asked? I need a diagram or a family tree.

There are three older sisters. They each trooped into the backyard with a husband and a handful of girls in tow. All girls. Some families look alike, but not the Kaminskis. Sure, I can tell they are related, but Mary is a red-head and so are two of the sisters. Jonas has dark hair like his dad, and the little girls are a mix of everything.

So many siblings. I’ve got Hunter, but that was only for the summer when I was at my dad’s. Most of the time it was me and my mom and whatever boyfriend she had acquired. I didn’t bother to keep track. And she was gone a lot when I was in high school. She has a thing for athletes, so she’d often travel around with the team.

All that to say, I’ve never been at a family gathering this large in my life. It should be too much, but it’s amazing. All the girls run around in a pack, alternating between whispering and yelling. The oldest is Leighton. I remember that, because we chatted about Taylor Swift. She’s twelve and showed me her bracelets she traded with her friends at school.

Upon arrival, Mary scooped her youngest granddaughter straight out of her mother’s arms and smothered her with kisses. The baby’s green eyes and the dusting of red hair on top of her head match her grandmother’s. I’m not sure how old she is, but not big enough to walk yet. Jonas’s brothers-in-law gather at the grill with his dad, cracking open long-necked bottles. His sisters group together, too, chatting and sending curious glances my way. I should feel out of place, but I don’t.

I’m about to ask Mary the baby’s name when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I spin, and Jonas stands in front of me, his arm around what must be another sister. At least eight inches shorter than him, she has the same dark hair and eyes, plus a wide, angelic smile.

“Hadley, this is my younger sister, Emma.”

“Jonas says you're his friend. Are you in college?”

The moment she speaks, I realize Emma is a person with a disability. She stares at me, her eyes bright, and Jonas gazes between the two of us.

“I am in college,” I tell her with a smile. “I go to the same school as Jonas.”

“Harrison. So you’re a Griffin.” She beams at Jonas. “My brother plays hockey.”

“So does mine.”

“I like to go to his games and cheer as loud as I can. He bought me a sweatshirt for Christmas, and I wear it. It says Harrison Hockey on the front and has my last name on the back. Which is Jonas’s last name, too.”

“I bet it keeps you warm. Hockey arenas are cold.” Jonas, his posture stiff, watches me like this conversation is a test, and I desperately want to pass it. But I talk to Emma like I would anyone else. Is that the right call?

“I hate being cold,” she says, leaning closer like she’s confessing a secret. “I don’t know why Jonas likes hockey.”

We both look at him, and he shrugs. “It’s fun, I guess.”

“Emma,” his mom calls. “Do you want bread and butter or dill pickles tonight?”

“Bread and butter! You know I hate dill!” She makes a face and moves towards their mom, walking with a slight limp. It’s then I notice the bright, rainbow-colored brace on her left leg.

“It’s an inside joke.” Jonas speaks out of the side of his mouth. “Mom mixed the pickles up one time, and Emma has never let her forget it.”

Leaning against the deck railing, we both watch while Emma animatedly teases his mom about pickles. Mary throws her head back and laughs, bouncing the baby on her hip.

So different from my mom, Botoxed to the hilt and too worried about wrinkles to laugh.

“She suffered a traumatic brain injury when she was little.” Jonas stares at his sister, not me, as he speaks. His voice is low but conversational. “We were climbing a tree in the front yard. She fell. It was… bad.” Such a small word to clearly encompass so much. But he shrugs. “Thankfully, we’re all okay now.”

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