Page 28 of The Fall Back Plan
I hide yet another smile, but she catches me this time.
“You thought I took it black.” It’s not a question.
“I did,” I agree.
She shrugs and settles in for her first sip. I give her a minute. After a couple more swallows, she sighs and stretches. It’s fascinating. It’s like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon in a time lapse as she wakes up before my eyes.
“This is good,” she says.
“Not as good as Cataloochee, but it’s okay.”
“Thank you for bringing it.”
“Not sure it was a good way to say thank you, seeing as it seems like I woke you up.”
She shakes her head. “I was awake. Just wasn’t up.”
“Then I’m sorry to drag you out of bed sooner than you meant to leave it.”
She waves her hand like she’s dismissing the concern and takes another drink of her coffee. When she sets it down, she gives me a much more alert look than I got at her front door. “You are completely different from high school.”
I flex a bicep. “Thanks. I work out.”
She snorts. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. High school you would never have said thank you or sorry or brought me coffee for any reason.”
I knew what she’d meant. “High school me was broken and angry all the time. And high school me took a lot of that out on you. Have I said I’m sorry for that yet?”
“Yes.”
“Not enough.”
This time she makes a sweeping motion with her arm, as if to say the stage is mine, and eyes me over the rim of her cup as she drinks more of her coffee.
“It surprises me that you’re going to let me apologize.” It’s not a challenge, just curiosity. “Most people would say it’s fine and wave it off.”
One of her shoulders rises and falls. “I can do that if you want me to.”
I shake my head. “No. I really do want to apologize, but you tend to zag where other people zig.”
“Zigazig ah.” Her face is deadpan.
“Did you just quote the Spice Girls?”
“Felt appropriate.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I’m learning that Jolie’s sense of humor is so dry you’ll miss it if you aren’t paying attention. “You’re right. Zig a zig ah.”
She holds up her coffee cup in a silent toast. “Can I get you anything? I don’t have dishes yet, but I keep packaged stuff in the fridge.”
“I’m good,” I tell her.
“Then please, don’t let me keep you from your apology.”
I smile again, something she makes me do more times in a minute than anyone else has in a long while. But I also draw a quiet breath before I start. “So I was broken and angry in high school.”
“Same,” she says, nodding for me to continue.
“My dad wasn’t great. Short tempered. Hard time holding down a job. Knocked my older brother around sometimes. Didn’t set many limits, and I wasn’t a naturally disciplined kid. Didn’t sleep enough. Ran around with my brother because he could get stuff. Mostly showed up at school because my dad got mad if the truant officer came. Didn’t care if I went. He just didn’t want to be bothered about it. I still missed too much. Too much to fill in the gaps. It started catching up to me in tenth grade, mainly in math and science.” I stare down at my hands, remembering the feeling of defeat I’d feel the second I would turn down the hall leading to all the math classrooms.
