Page 97 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

Cal gently pries my bag from my grip and leads my family to the kitchen counter, where they extricate my laptop and hunch over my work. My words. My panels. My lingering pain. I don’t watch the screen as they scroll. Mom’s gasp tells me when they’ve reached Delilah’s accident, as does Jake’s fuck. Lennon glances at me with so much emotion not even his beard can cover his trembling chin. Cal presses his fist to his mouth as he reads, rubbing at his eyes periodically.

I pace. I yank at my hair. I chew my cuticles raw until they get to the new ending I wrote. The image of Delilah and me, our wings wrapped around each other, with yet-to-be-colored sunbeams hitting our faces as we kiss. A simple panel. A close-up of just the two of us, because that’s my nucleus. The pit at the center of it all, and I seriously don’t know what I’ll do if she still pushes me away.

Mom’s happy sigh signals they’re done.

Cal murmurs, “Goddamn.”

While they don’t look upset any longer, they’re not saying much. I can’t tell if they’re still as gung ho on me publishing my story. Then they move as a unit, coordinated, as though they share the same beating heart, crowding me and embracing me in the family hug of hugs.

“So talented, man.” One of Jake’s hands finds my upper arm and squeezes. No way will he let us all steal his arm-gripping thunder.

“He gets it from me.” This from Mom, who still draws people with four straight lines for limbs.

“It was okay-ish,” Lennon says, being Lennon-ish.

The pressure in my chest feels good for once. “So . . . you’re all cool if I publish it?”

They disperse, my brothers crossing their arms as though we weren’t just hugging it out like a group of preteen girls.

Lennon slits his eyes. “Only if you change my character.”

That’s not happening. “The Dong Tao chicken is highly prized in Vietnam for its delicate meat and was once only bred by royalty.”

“It has lumpy old-lady legs and needs to change.”

His irritation is almost as fun as it was drawing those gnarly limbs. “Those legs give your character strength and power. Plus, those chickens are incredibly rare. It’ll impress your hipster friends.”

He curls his lip. “For the millionth time, drinking craft beer doesn’t make me a hipster.”

He’ll never win that battle. “If you want, we can play truth or dare, and the winner decides if your character changes.”

He mouths, Fuck you.

“I’m fine being the eagle,” Jake says, head tipped up. Proud.

“Love the barn owl version of me.” Cal puffs out his chest like it’s full of feathers.

Mom, who embodies the small but resilient wren, glances around at our messed-up family, this group of boys who inburst and outburst and needle one another to cover our discomfort, and she smiles. “If you and Delilah want your story out there, it’s your choice. I’ll be the first in line to buy fifty copies.”

Best mother in the world.

No one discusses how Dad will feel about being a bullying grackle who gets shredded in the end by a troop of vultures he deceived. Spoiler alert: we’d all pay to watch that movie. We don’t debate how this will affect Desmond. I’ve purposely kept the details about him limited. There’s no mention of Sadie’s reappearance or of Max—those aren’t my secrets to share—and I didn’t feel right about harping on how far he’s fallen. He’ll have to find his own emotion valve to purge his demons.

With the publishing issue settled, Mom walks me to the door and gives me another warm hug. “Tell Sadie I’m here if she needs help or money or a babysitter—anything at all. Tell her I’ll hop in a car and drive across the country if she needs me.”

I resent Des for causing all this turmoil. All this searching and waiting. I’m also just sad for him. “You’ll meet Max soon, Ma. Des will resurface. He always does. And if any of you hear from him, make sure he calls me.”

They nod and grunt. Lennon salutes me but still looks pissed about the Dong Tao situation. He had his chance to play truth or dare. He passed.

I don’t love leaving them with this limbo hanging over our heads—the uncertainty of when they’ll meet Max, a kid who will be smothered by uncles and a grandmother he’s never met, along with the stress of how the news will clobber Des—but I need to get back to Windfall. I may have held my family together during this latest crisis, and I can now grip shoulders like nobody’s business, but don’t let my profound maturity fool you.

I can’t handle losing Delilah again.

I’m almost out the door, when Mom says, “Make sure you go straight home to Windfall.”

Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about the comment, but there’s electricity in her voice. Excitement, when nothing about our situation warrants excitement. I turn toward her. “Is there a specific reason I should go straight home to Windfall?”

“Nope. Nothing. Just call me when you’re close. So I know you’re safe.”