Page 82 of Here & There

“The Sears—” I nearly choke on my caramelized parsnip. “Do they even make those catalogs anymore?”

“They did when I was a teenager.” Mac’s lips twitch, like the Sears catalog was something salacious.

I have to stifle my laughter.

Just then, an alarm blares from Nate’s room. “Crap,” he says. “Forgot to save my game.” He dashes up the stairs.

With Nate temporarily gone, I lower my voice and say, “You know, I heard this comedian once who talked about how he used to spend…special timewith the Sears catalog since he lived in a small town. He said the store that sold the dirty magazines knew his parents, so he couldn’t go in and?—”

I cut myself off, because Mac’s chewing his food with a knowing smirk.

“Oh my God.” I laugh. “Really? The Sears catalog was your porn?”

“Absolutely.”

I crack up then, laughing so hard I have to take a swig of my wine to get my food down.

“What’s a Sears catalog, anyway?” Nate asks.

Mac does choke then. Neither of us noticed him come back downstairs.

I slide Mac’s glass of water toward him, praying Nate didn’t hear the part I said a moment before. “Uh, well, before the internet,” I say, “people used to?—”

Mac’s eyes go wide.

“People used to order clothes from a book that came in the mail.”

“Oh God,” Nate says with a look of horror on his face. As he bends down to shovel food into his mouth, Mac gently shoves my foot under the table.

Pinching my lips to keep from laughing, I shove him back. Then he hooks his leg around mine, his big socked foot warm against my ankle.

This time he doesn’t let go.

Heat rises in my cheeks. If I try to get away, I’ll bang my leg on the table and Nate will see we’re foot wrestling.

So I stay like that, even though my nerves are suddenly popping like firecrackers at being so close to Mac. We’re literally entangled.

“So,” Nate says as he pushes his empty plate away from him. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

The mood around the table immediately sobers. The question’s for me. We told Nate my stay had been extended a couple of days earlier in the week. He’d been happy about it.

I remember when Nate asked me something similar not so long ago, like he wanted me to leave.

Now both father and son look at me, waiting for my answer.

I swallow like there are rocks in my throat.

“Actually,” Mac says, his eyes on his food as he spears another bite. “I think Ben said something about those guys doing something to the plumbing. It’s going to take him a few more days to get it fixed. Possibly a couple of weeks.” He glances at me. “You could stay there, but…I think it’s going to be loud. Workers all over the place. They’ll probably have to cut open some walls.”

“Can you stay a little longer?” Nate asks, his eyes full of hope.

My chest squeezes. This boy. He’s going to break my heart before his father does.

I’m shocked at my own thoughts.

Mac meets my eyes again. “Can you? Or are you sick of us?”

Sick of them? I can’t think of any place I’ve ever felt more at home. Even as a kid.

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