When I arrive at Savannah’s place, I knock, but the sound of music coming through the walls must drown it out because nobody answers. I knock again, and when it goes unanswered, I turn the knob to see if it’s unlocked. My kid is in there after all. The door opens easily, and I walk in—I’ll have to mention to her later that even though our building is safe, she’s still in New York and needs to keep her door locked.
When I step over the threshold, I’m shocked by what I see—although, at this point, nothing Savannah does should surprise me. With the music at a deafening volume and their backs to me, Savannah and Brody are standing in the kitchen, flipping what looks like pizza dough into the air. Brody’s head is thrown back in laughter while Savannah shakes her ass to the beat of the music, singing the lyrics at the top of her lungs. The entire area looks like a flour bomb exploded. The white powder covers the counters, the floor, their faces and hands…
Flashbacks of my mom flipping out over messes in the house sneak up on me. Of her trying to bake cookies with us but getting upset when we got icing everywhere. Of Amalia begging for Play-doh and then getting spanked when it got stuck in the carpeting. Every memory, every holiday, every family moment was tainted. Eventually, we stopped trying to create new memories and did our best to avoid making Mom mad. But we were young and still did things to upset her until the day she had enough and ended her life.
Brody glances at Savannah, raising the pizza dough roller to his lips to join in the musical duet like they’re on stage. His smile is spread across his entire face, and his laughter is so loud, I can hear it over the music.
As I watch them sing and dance and laugh, something in me cracks. I don’t know what it is. I can’t explain it, but the sight of my son looking so fucking happy damn near brings me to my knees. Maybe it’s because in the fourteen years he’s been alive, I’ve never once heard him laugh so carefree. We’ve hung out, gone to dinner, spent holidays together. I’ve heard him laugh, seen him smile, but right now, at this moment, I realize I’ve never seen him like this.
And I know it’s my fault. I was scared to be a parent, to fuck my kid up the way my mom fucked up my sister and me, and because of that, I’ve kept my son at arm’s length over the years. I’ve been going through the motions, but I’ve never allowed myself to really be a part of his life. I told myself I was doing what was best for him, but I was lying to myself.
As if sensing my presence, they both turn around at the same time. Savannah grins, but Brody’s face falls slightly, and my heart shatters. I’ve done this to him. I’ve pushed him away, and now I need to fix it. He deserves better, and I’m going to give him that. I have a second chance, and I’m going to make the most of it.
Savannah grabs the remote and turns the volume down. “You’re home early.” Home… The four-letter word lands in my gut like lead. I don’t think I’ve been home in years—if ever.
“You guys making pizza?”
“Yeah,” Brody says. “Can I stay for dinner? Mine is going to blow Savy’s away.”
Savannah hip checks him playfully. “Mine is going to be delicious.”
“Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza ever,” he volleys, making Savannah roll her eyes.
“We’re about to put the toppings on and throw them into the oven. We have plenty if you want to stay.”
“Dad can’t. He makes calls until—”
“I’d love to,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m done with work for the weekend.”
Brody’s brows fly up in shock. “Oh… okay. Well, you can have some of my pizza. Trust me, you don’t want hers.”
Savannah laughs. “Pineapple is good, and you promised you would try it.”
Brody just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“I have beer and wine in the fridge,” she offers. “We’re almost ready to put the toppings on, and then it’ll take about thirty minutes to bake…”
“No rush.” I open the fridge and grab a beer, then walk over to where they’re rolling out their dough on blocks of wood. “Can I help?”
“You can slice the veggies if you want,” Savannah says with a soft smile.
We work in comfortable silence with the music playing in the background for a few minutes before I remember I need to tell Brody about his school situation. I’m hoping it’ll be the first step in defrosting the ice between us. “I spoke to your principal today.”
Brody groans.
“The one at Trinity.”
This gets his attention.
“He’s agreed to let you back in.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. But you’re on academic probation and will have to prove yourself. One slipup and it’s over, and you know they’ll be watching.”
“Hell, yeah! Thanks, Dad!” He stops chopping and looks at me. “I swear I’ll behave. No more fights, and I’ll get my grades up.”
My eyes lock with Savannah, and she nods once. I’m not sure why, but her nonverbal approval gives me hope that I can make things right between Brody and me.
“I can’t believe you got me back in! I need to call Ishmael and Sam…”
“You’re still grounded,” I remind him. “Through the weekend. Monday, we start fresh, and you can use your phone again.”
“Alright,” Brody agrees easily. “Thanks.”
Once we’ve piled the toppings on the pizzas, Savannah puts them in the oven. Brody goes out to the living room to mess with the TV and add some more songs to the queue while Savannah and I clean up the kitchen.
I’m washing the dishes when my phone rings. I dry off my hands and pull it out of my pocket, silently groaning when I see who it is.
“Paola.”
“I received an email from Trinity. Brody’s back in?”
“He is.”
“Wow, that must’ve cost a fortune.” When I stay silent, she says, “Thank you.”
“I did it for him.”
“Still, I appreciate it. How’s he doing?”
I glance over at him and Savannah debating country versus R&B. Brody must win because a few seconds later, a song that’s clearly not country starts to play.
“He’s doing good,” I tell her truthfully.
Paola sighs. “He hasn’t always been like this. It’s why I haven’t said anything to you. I don’t know when it happened or why, but suddenly everything was just spinning out of control.”
“It’s okay. That’s why he has two parents. I’m sorry I haven’t been here more, but that’s changing now.” It sounds like she’s sniffling on the other end, but I don’t ask her.
“I’m going to be back in town next week. I have an appointment I can’t reschedule. I was thinking he could come spend the night. I hate how we left things.”
“I’m sure we can figure something out. Do you want to talk to him?”
“I’ve called and texted him several times, but he hasn’t responded.”
“He’s been grounded from his phone,” I explain, even though I know he has it on him. “But he’s here with me now.”