“It dumped another eight inches, easy,” Zack agrees and grins knowingly at me as I stretch my lower back. We ended up falling asleep on the couch before the movie ended. At some point in the night, Zack turned off the TV, covered Seth with a blanket, and just tucked me against him on the couch, and we had our own version of a slumber party in my living room.
We woke to Seth and Thor both peering at us with wide smiles, demanding to be fed.
“My lower back is a little sore,” I murmur.
“You’re too old to sleep on the couch,” Seth remarks matter-of-factly and stuffs more bacon in his mouth.
“How old do you think I am, Seth?” I grin and watch while he narrows his eyes, giving his answer a lot of thought.
“Maybe twenty-six? You know, old.”
“Well, I’m twenty-nine,” I inform him with a sniff and then tickle his ribs. “And I’m not old!”
“Old lady!” He giggles. “What are we doing today?”
“We have to frost those cookies we baked last night.”
“I’m going to take Thor outside with me and shovel.” Zack walks around the table to me and kisses me softly. “Have fun with your cookies.”
“Have fun in the snow,” I reply. “And thanks.”
“Be good, brat.” Zack ruffles Seth’s hair, then whistles for Thor to follow him outside.
“Are you about finished?” I ask Seth. He nods and immediately helps me clear the table and load the dishwasher. “You’re good at cleaning up.”
“Dad and I share the cleanup, since it’s just us guys now.” He takes a plate out of my hands, rinses it under the faucet, and sets it in the dishwasher. “It’s kind of fun to talk to Dad while we do KP duty.”
“Kind of catch up on your day?” I ask and hand him a glass.
“Yeah.” He shrugs and places the glass in the dishwasher.
“Your dad loves you very much.”
He nods, fills the soap compartment, and starts the washer. I gather the frosting, knives, and the trays of cookies and carry them to the table.
“Red or green?”
“Green, please.” Seth dives for the green frosting and begins coloring his cookies. He sticks his tongue out as he concentrates on outlining a gingerbread man with the frosting, doing a pretty good job of it.
He looks so much like his dad it’s startling. The only difference really is that Seth’s eyes are a light hazel rather than chocolate brown. He has the same dark hair, dimple in his left cheek, and square jaw. He’s going to be a knockout someday.
I reach over to ruffle his hair, but he flinches out of my reach, his eyes suddenly wide and wary.
“Sorry, buddy. I was just gonna touch your hair.”
His shoulder jerks up in a shrug, and then he pins his eyes back on his cookie, avoiding my gaze. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“You didn’t seem to mind being touched last night,” I comment casually and frost an ornament in red.
“Yeah.”
Geez, what do I say? The playful, carefree boy from just a few moments ago is gone and has been replaced with a pensive, wary kid, and my heart breaks for him.
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask and set the finished cookie aside, then reach for another. My voice is calm and casual, as if I asked him what he thought about the movie we watched last night.
“You just surprised me,” he whispers. I glance over to see his lower lip wobbling, but I don’t offer him comfort, sensing that it wouldn’t be welcomed.
“You know,” I begin, “when I was a kid, my dad beat on my mom.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Seth’s head whip up, his eyes wide.
“He did?”
“Yeah.” I nod and continue to frost. “He was a really mean man. Sometimes he’d pound on Ty too.”
“Did he hit you too?”
“Not really. He mostly just ignored me. My mom and dad both just sort of ignored me. I hid in the closet a lot.” The pain that I grew up with has long since healed, and in its place is a numbness that I find equally sad. I feel nothing at all when I think of my parents.
“My mom ignored me too.”
I nod and work to keep my hands steady as anger washes through me. Who in their right mind could ever mistreat this gorgeous boy?
“For a long time after Dad went away, she would leave me with babysitters and just go have fun,” he tells me, his voice low.
“Were the babysitters nice?” I bite my lip, not sure that I really want to know the answer.
“Some were.” He shrugs again. “Most of the time, they made me watch a lot of TV. Then she started bringing men home with her.”
He swallows hard and lowers his frosting to the table. His eyes are fixed on his cookie, but that’s not what he’s seeing. Instead the horror of the last few years with his mother is playing through his mind. I want desperately to pull him into my arms but I wait, sensing his need to talk.
“Most of the time, they just liked to yell a lot. I was in the way.” The last few words are said with a whisper. “Then one day, this one guy slapped me.”
A tear slips down his cheek and without thinking, I reach over and cover his hand in mine. “What did your mom do?”
“Nothing.” He raises his head and meets my eyes with his bright hazel ones. “She didn’t tell him he couldn’t do that. She just . . . laughed.”
I swipe at my own tears and clench his hand in mine even more tightly.