Page 6
It’s one of the only places where my brain knows how to shut the fuck up.
* * *
We set off to start our days, beginning with dropping Aspen at school. She talks the entire drive about all the places Beachy is going to visit in the classroom, while I make the appropriate noises whenever she pauses long enough to let me.
When I pull up outside the school, I spot my parents waiting by the front gate. Mom is holding two to-go coffeess, and Dad already has a visitor sticker stuck crookedly to his jacket.
Shit.
Grandparents Day.
“Nan and Gramps!” Aspen squeals from the back seat, already fighting with her seat belt.
“Easy, tiger. Let me park first,” I chuckle.
The second the car stops, she launches herself out.
“Penny, baby!” Mom calls, opening her arms.
Aspen runs straight into them, nearly knocking the coffee from her hand. Dad crouches beside her and gives Beachy a solemn nod.
“Good morning, Beachy,” he says seriously.
“He’s nervous,” Aspen whispers, hugging the stuffed crab against her chest.
“Understandable,” Dad replies. “School can be intimidating for a crab.”
Aspen giggles before taking his hand.
“Hey, guys.” I climb out of the car, rubbing the back of my neck. “I completely forgot about today.”
“We figured as much, bud,” Dad chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder.
Mom hands me the second coffee and a paper bag. “Coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Try consuming both before lunchtime.”
“I eat,” I argue.
“Beer nuts don’t count as dinner,” Mom replies, raising an eyebrow.
“That was one time.”
“It was Tuesday,” she says flatly.
Dad laughs beside her. “She’s got you there.”
I take the bag before Mom can continue listing my failures as a functioning adult. “Thanks, Mom.”
My parents have been doing this since Courtney left. Showing up before I realize I need them. Remembering school events, covering last-minute pickups and keeping Aspen whenever work runs late. Somehow, they manage to do all of it without ever making me feel like I’m failing.
Most of the time, anyway.
“Do you have your lunch?” Mom asks Aspen.
Aspen freezes, her eyes growing wide.
“I’ve got it.” I hold up the lunch box she left on the kitchen counter.
“I knew that,” Aspen insists.
