Page 135 of The Last Guy On Earth
“Bartending pays better, but coffee-shop hours work better with Toby’s schedule,” she’d told me.
I roll my suitcase out of the room as she says, “You take care of yourself, too, doofus.”
“That’s easy,” I insist. “I’ll get plenty of sleep and eat a lot of Clay’s cooking.”
My dad is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, car keys in hand. “Ready?”
“Absolutely,” I say, trying not to look like I’m straining to carry this monster of a bag down the stairs. “Toby!”
“Yeah?” he calls from his spot in front of the TV, where he’s wringing the last few days out of summer vacation by watching a superhero movie in his PJs.
“Come say goodbye.”
The sound of the movie pauses, and he joins us in front of the door.
But my sister hugs me first. “Have a safe flight. Text us when you get home.”
“I will,” I promise. “Walk me out, Toby.”
He does, barefoot. I roll my suitcase down the walkway and then heft it into the trunk of the car where my father waits behind the wheel. As Dad starts up the car, I turn to Toby. “Look, I got something to say to you.”
“What?” He gazes at me, suddenly serious.
“You know how I call you ‘my kid,’ and not ‘my nephew,’ and sometimes people get confused?”
His forehead wrinkles. “Yeah, it’s weird.”
“Not to me,” I say with a shake of my head. “I know you got your mother back, but you’ll always be my kid. It’s going to be weird not seeing you all the time. I’m really going to miss you.”
“Oh.” His eyes get soft, and then his gaze darts away.
“Maybe we don’t say it enough, but I love you,” I tell him. “And you can call me at any time, for any reason.”
He sniffs. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. I’m keeping your room the way it is, because I know you’re going to want to visit. You and your mom.”
“Yeah,” he says. And then surreptitiously wipes his eyes on his sleeve.
“Come here.” I hold out my arms, and he steps into the hug. “I know you like it here better, but there will always be a place for you in my home. That never changes.”
He takes a sniffly breath. “Bye, Jethro.”
“Bye, kid.” I give him one more squeeze, and then let go. My eyes are burning, like they used to when Clay chopped onions in our tiny apartment.
My dad beeps the horn, but I take another minute to wave to Toby one more time before he walks back into the house.
It’s a quiet drive to the airport, and my dad has a Tigers game on the radio. After he pulls up at the Delta departures area, I open my door.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my wrist.
I pause and turn to him.
“Just want to say thanks,” he says. “It’s been a tricky couple’a years around here. But you stepped up for Toby and your sister. And you put up with me to do it.” He clears his throat. “I hope you and your guy are happy together. You deserve that.”
For a long beat I’m literally speechless. “Thanks, Dad,” I choke out eventually. “I appreciate that.”
I’m so surprised that I almost walk off without my suitcase, and my dad has to honk the horn before I remember to turn back and fetch it out of the trunk.
