24

WE—MOM, XANDER, AND I—BEAT Phil to the Cantina. The host seats us at a booth by the front window even though we’re missing someone in our party.

Party of four, not three. Is that where this is all going? Does Mom want us to be a party of four again?

Xander plays with the hot sauces, making them dance and having them argue over which one is the hottest. Mom can’t stop fiddling with the paper covering the top of her straw, finally taking it off and sipping. She checks her phone again. “Sorry, guys. He should be here any minute.”

Me, I’m staring out the window. Phil wouldn’t just leave town, would he? Although it does seem like the kind of thing you do on a motorcycle. Make a clean getaway.

Maybe that’s what he thinks he needs to do. Maybe in his head it seemed easy to come back into town and finally tell me the truth, but maybe he chickened out. Maybe he’s heading back to Colorado, never to see any of us again. I wonder what Mom would do then. Would she start with the online dating all over again?

The bell rings by the door and Phil makes his way over to us, his hand reaching up to wave at Xan. Xan waves back, a hot sauce bottle still in his hand. I can’t stop a smile from spreading over my face, knowing that he didn’t leave. He’s here. Right here. With us.

Phil slides in next to Mom, across from my brother and me.

“Sorry for keeping you guys waiting.” He takes a sip from his water. “Who’s hungry for some burrrrritos?”

“Me!” Xan enthusiastically bangs the hot sauce bottles on the table. Mom snatches them away and puts them back in the little metal holder.

Phil scratches at his neck, and that’s when I notice. Something’s changed with him too. His beardy scruff—he’s shaved it off. He looks cleaner now. Less like a guy who drives around on a motorcycle and more like … more like Dad, actually.

The server stops by to take our drink orders, and Phil asks for guacamole and chips and salsa for the table, but the whole time I’m not even thinking about how much I want a Dr Pepper. Instead I’m watching Phil. Phil and Mom. Mom’s fingers, tapping on the table, that sparkly diamond catching the light. Wait a sec—when did she put the rings back on? After the shower? Phil fidgets with his napkin.

The server leaves us for the kitchen. Party of four again.

Phil clears his throat. “So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past couple days. That’s the thing about being on the bike, right? All that time alone with your thoughts.”

I take a sip from my ice water, but it goes down the wrong way, causing me to cough.

“You okay there, buddy?” Phil asks.

“Yeah,” I reply in between coughs, though of course the truth is no. Time alone with your thoughts? He’s not going to tell me the truth now, is he? At a Mexican restaurant, with my brother and everything?

“Anyway, one of the things I’ve been thinking about is how much I’ve enjoyed my time in New England. Especially out by the ocean. Coastal Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island. It’s quite a contrast to the mountains I’m used to back in Colorado. For almost a whole year now, I’ve been on the road. I’ve seen it all, so to speak. My sabbatical from teaching only lasts the year, so I’ve got to go back, but I’ve been thinking about coming out this way next summer.”

For a second there, I thought he was going to say he wanted to move here. To stay.

Mom leans back in her seat. “Really?” She’s got this smile on her face, bigger than I’ve seen in—actually, I can’t remember the last time I saw her smile like that.

“Now, I don’t want to put you all out again. I’m sure there are plenty of great Airbnbs. Just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about it. And that I appreciate the hospitality … and the company.”

The server returns with our drinks and takes our orders. The Dr Pepper hits me fast and the cold makes my teeth ache, for a second distracting me from what Phil just said. He’s still leaving—he’s a grown-up with a job, after all—but … he might come back. Next summer. I can’t wait a whole year to know.

Xander blurts out, “You’re going to come back?”

He’s always a few steps behind.

“Next summer,” Phil says. “If you’ll have me.” He and Mom catch each other’s eyes.

“Well, that would be—” Mom takes a sip of her horchata. Her eyes start to water, even though the server hasn’t brought out the salsas yet. She stands up from the table. “I’ll be right back, guys.” She nearly walks into a server carrying dirty dishes. “Sorry! So sorry about that.”

“Is Mom okay?” Xander asks me.

“She’s fine,” I tell him. Though the truth is, I don’t know. It’s almost like the second Phil mentioned coming back, she cycled through every emotion possible. From excited and maybe a little bit in love to overwhelmed and possibly sad to—well, honestly, by the end she mostly looked panicked.

I meet Phil’s gaze, wondering if he’s thinking what I’m thinking—that one of us should go check on Mom. But before either of us does anything, the server returns.

“And here’s your guacamole and chips. Now, as for the salsas, the green one’s mild, but that red one, now watch out, because that one has some kick.” Our server lays it out in the center of the table, the kind of spread I could easily devour in five minutes.

All three of us just sit there and stare at it.

Xander jabs me in the ribs and whispers, “Do we have to wait for Mom?”

I shake my head. “She’ll be back soon. Go on, have a chip.”

Xan picks out a small one and digs it through the guacamole, nabbing a huge chunk of avocado. Sure enough, it’s not even halfway to his mouth when the guac splatters onto the table.

Xan stares at me.

I stare back at Xan.

“Five-second rule?” Xan asks.

“Sure.” With another chip to assist, I get that guac back on his chip. Way more than five seconds have passed, but it’s not like anyone’s got a timer going.

Xan munches happily. Phil still hasn’t grabbed even one chip. He’s staring off into the back of the restaurant, probably searching for Mom.

If I were her daughter, I probably would have gone after her by now. But I’m way too old to wander into a women’s room on purpose.

Phil finally reaches out for a chip, dipping it in the spiciest salsa. “Ooh,” he says, waving in front of his mouth. “You’re going to like that one, Drew.”

I glance up at him, searching in those brown eyes. You can see them better than you could Dad’s. No glasses in the way.

No glasses.

When do people get glasses, anyway? Is eyesight … Is it hereditary?

I stare out the window, focusing on the leaves, reading the sign across the street, the smallest letters. Twenty-twenty. Perfect vision, like always. Not like Dad.

But Mom doesn’t have glasses, not even after reading tons of books and staring at a computer screen all day at the library. So maybe—maybe I just inherited her good eyesight.

Mom slides back into her seat like nothing ever happened. “Oh, chips and salsa!” She rubs her hands together. “Doesn’t this hit the spot?”

“Sorry about that,” she says to Phil, shifting in her chair. “We’d love to have you come out for a week or so next summer. There’s so much you didn’t see. With more time, we can make sure to show you our favorite spots, right, boys?”

“Like the zoo?” Xander says. “And a baseball game. They give you ice cream in a hat!”

“In a real hat?” Phil asks.

“No!” Xander giggles. “It’s a small one.”

“A plastic hat,” I clarify.

“I figured,” Phil says. “They serve those at Rockies games too.”

“When are you going back?” I ask. “To Colorado, I mean.”

Phil doesn’t look right at me when he answers; he looks at Mom. “I was thinking Tuesday morning, assuming the weather’s good. That all right with you?”

It only leaves one day for the yearbook to get here. It’s cutting it awfully close.

“We’ll be sad to see you go, but I guess it had to happen eventually, right?” I’m surprised when Mom glances at me as she says it, not Phil. Does she think he wouldn’t leave if I knew he was my dad? That then he would stay? Or what?

Phil doesn’t say anything back.

The server stops by to tell us our burritos should be out soon, and tops off our tortilla chips. They’re warm and oily. I snag a big, curly chip—perfect for dipping—and pop the whole thing in my mouth. The habaneros in the salsa light my tongue on fire and my eyes smart. The best kind of tears come from food.

“Good, right?” Phil offers up a closed-mouthed smile.

I let the fire shift to my esophagus. “It’s great.”