Page 69 of Thin Ice

"The point is, it's money. Real money that you earned. It's not a trust fund and it's not a plan for the spring, but it's cash in your pocket and something to do other than lie here worrying. "

He looked out the window.

"I don't know, man. How is me working at a marina going to—"

"I don't know either." I was already standing, pulling a shirt off the back of the chair. "I'm not pretending this fixes everything. I'm trying my best here, Alex."

He looked at me. The frustration on his face softened into something else.

"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. You're right."

"It's the first step."

"First step.." He nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah. It's a start."

I leaned over and kissed his temple. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

"Get dressed," I said. "We're making lunch."

The kitchen was cold at the edges and warm at the stove. My mom was at the hospital. We had the house to ourselves, and I had twenty minutes before we needed to be out the door.

"Have you ever made a sandwich?" I said, pulling the bread out of the cabinet.

"I've eaten sandwiches."

"That's not what I asked."

He stood at the counter in my sweatpants and the crew-neck and his hair was still a mess from bed, and he looked at the bread and the peanut butter and the jar of grape jelly like they were components of something he'd need instructions for.

"You've really never made a PB&J," I said.

"We had a housekeeper."

"You had a housekeeper who made your sandwiches."

"She didn't make sandwiches."

"That's the second saddest thing you've ever said to me, after the snowball fight thing." I put two plates on the counter, grabbed a roll of plastic wrap from the drawer, and handed him a butter knife. "Okay. Here's what we're doing. Two sandwiches each. Bread on the plate. Two slices."

He put two slices on his plate, carefully, aligned.

"Now. Peanut butter." I opened the jar. Crunchy. Always crunchy. "This is where it gets personal."

"Personal."

"There are two schools of thought." I scooped a knife-load and spread it across one slice. "School one: peanut butter on one slice, jelly on the other. You press them together and the jelly stays on top, sits on top of the peanut butter. Clean layers."

"That sounds correct."

"School two." I scooped peanut butter onto the second slice. "Peanut butter on both slices. Jelly in the middle. The peanut butter acts as a seal. The jelly doesn't soak through the bread. It stays in the center."

"Why would the jelly soaking through the bread be a problem?"

"Soggy bread is nasty, Alex."

"I don't mind soggy bread."

I put the knife down and looked at him.