Then he makes me a grilled cheese sandwich, because when you live with a baker there’s always bread. But I eat it without tasting it.
“Come on,” he says afterward. “You look beat. Let’s watch an episode.”
Numb, I follow him to the sofa for the first time in way too long. He sits at one end. And instead of sitting down beside him, I lie down with my head in his lap, shamelessly asking for affection that I don’t actually deserve.
Roddy doesn’t hesitate, though. He puts a hand on my head, sifting his fingers through my hair. It feels so good that my eyelids get heavy.
“Thank you,” I say sleepily.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Everything is really okay.”
“I love you,” I try. It isn’t nearly as hard to say as I thought it would be. “I love you so much.” Actually, it does hurt to say it. But it aches in a good way. Like sore muscles after a good workout. It aches like progress.
Roddy leans down and places a soft kiss on my temple. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too. Now just relax.”
I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m waking up on the sofa, my head on a pillow, and Roddy is opening the back door to someone.
“Is he here?” my mother’s voice asks without preamble.
“Yes, but he’s sleeping,” Roderick says.
“But I need to speak to him.”
Before I can tell them I’m awake, I hear Roddy let fly with a response. “Oh, so now you want to talk to him? Because it’s convenient for you, and you drove all the way into town to have a conversation that’s years overdue?”
“But—”
“You know what, lady? That’s the very definition of conditional love. On your terms, right? Well, I say come back later.”
“Roddy,” I bark, my voice hoarse from disuse. “I’m up.”
“He’s awake,” my mother growls. Even though I can’t see her, I know she just pushed past him into the house.
I sit up, and the room slowly rights itself. I feel sluggish, but surprisingly calm. Today’s disasters were inevitable. And even though all those eyes on me in the hospital waiting room gave me a case of emotional sunburn, I also feel relief.
Griffin was right when he said that it wasn’t my job to explain it. It shouldn’t be my burden. But it has been, for ten years.
My mother loses some of her bluster between the backdoor and the living room, though. Because her head appears at the doorframe before the rest of her. “Kieran, are you awake?”
“Yeah, Mom. Come in.”
“Your roommate doesn’t seem to like me very much,” she sniffs.
“Boyfriend,” I correct, standing up.
Her mouth hinges open. “What?”
“Boyfriend.” I yawn deeply. “Hang on a sec. Sit down.” I wave a hand at the couch and then leave the room to look for Roderick.
I find him standing in the kitchen with Zara, who has Nicole on her hip.
“Hey,” I greet them. “When did you sneak in?”
“Just a second ago, right after your mother. I brought you a lasagna, because Audrey told me about your dad’s accident.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you.” I guess I’m having that kind of day—with drama of such magnitude that the neighbor brings you a casserole.
“Seems like Roddy needs a piece, too, because he looks a little worked up.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at your mom,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have some, uh, parent issues I’m working through.”
“Hey, it was kind of hot.”
His surprised smile is so cute that I have to step closer and give him a quick kiss. “Thank you for being my chauffeur and bouncer today. And heat up that lasagna. We’re going to need it.”
When I step back, Zara is blinking at us. “Something tells me I missed a few other developments.”
“You have no idea,” Roddy says cheerfully.
“Cool, cool,” Zara says. “Just let me know if we need to shuffle the schedule tomorrow to let Kieran visit the hospital. You know where to find me.”
“Nazagna,” Nicole says. “Eat.”
“Ah, Mama’s girl,” Zara says. “Let’s get home and find you a snack.”
“Cookie?” she asks, hopefully. The sight of her two neighbors kissing does not faze her at all. It didn’t seem to faze Zara, either, now that I think about it.
“We’ll see.” My boss rolls her eyes. “Night, guys. Reheat it with the foil on top.”
“Thanks, boss!” Roddy says. “See you in the morning.”
She departs, leaving Roddy and me alone in the kitchen. I glance toward the living room, dropping my voice to a whisper. “I have to go back in there, don’t I?”
“I tried.” His eyes sparkle. “But I’ll bring you a glass of an adult beverage. For courage.”
“Would you?”
“Sure. And remember—you didn’t create this problem.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, only I’ve spent my whole life believing otherwise. I created the problem just by showing up twenty-five years ago.
He gives me a gentle shove, and I walk toward the living room where my mother waits.
I find her on the sofa, her head in her hands. “I’ve always dreaded this conversation,” she says.
“That must be why we never had it,” I point out.
She looks up. “I couldn’t ever figure out how. I was protecting you. And I was protecting your father. How did you figure out that you’re not biologically his son? Was it really in a biology class?”
I shake my head. “Nah. I overheard a conversation outside of church. One of my teachers was gossiping with a friend. I was in a tree above them so that none of the old ladies would pinch my cheeks or ask me about school.” I used to hate the coffee hour because I didn’t like making small talk with adults. Sue me. “They were talking about families who had ‘oops’ babies.” I make finger quotes. “And the other woman said, ‘Well you know, Bert Shipley had the ultimate oops baby. He wasn’t even the father.’”
As I watch, all the blood drains from my mother’s face. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, because I can still hear the sound of their laughter. “I still wasn’t ready to believe it was me. But then they mentioned Father Craig.”
Father Craig was a very popular priest who left Colebury right before I was born. Years later, I used to hear people wonder aloud why he’d left. I think I might be the reason why.
“Jeez.” My mother wipes her eyes. “How did they know?”
I shake my head. “You think I jumped out of the tree to ask?”
“No, of course not.” She sniffs. “So you heard it from a couple of church gossips that I had an affair with a priest.”
“Yeah. Basically.”
The women had said as much. I’d known immediately that it was true. Because whenever my parents had their very worst fights, my father used to end the conflict by yelling, “Just don’t seek solace with the priest.” I’d never understood why he’d say that. Until the day I finally did.