It was all more than sad.
“Thanks for watching them for us. Beau really freaked me out. I was sure Dad’s guitar was gone forever,” I said casually while I opened a box near the couch. Peering inside, I saw what looked like a bunch of hockey memorabilia. I pulled out a trophy that said, ‘AAA Bantam Champs’ on it.
“Did he get it fixed up for you?” Trey asked as he opened the refrigerator door.
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, it sounds way better now.”
He shut the door and said, “I bet it does. I forgot that he’d mentioned having it restrung and cleaned.”
My head snapped toward Trey. “He talks about things like that with you?” I asked, curious about what his answer would be.
Trey laughed and opened a lid on what looked like a margarine container. “More like when doesn’t he talk about everything to do with you, G?”
I smirked at him but didn’t respond. Instead, I kept digging in the box. Next, I found discolored newspaper clippings from a long time ago. Each one of them announcing some kind of win or award he’d been given. “He said your trip home went well.”
“It did. His family’s really great.”
“He said they loved you.”
I let out a small laugh. “I had a fun time. They were all very welcoming.” I pulled out a bunch of medals next from the box. “Why haven’t you unpacked yet?”
Trey sighed and said, “I hate unpacking. What’s the use when you just have to box it all back up again?”
I gazed up at him. “Because you have to live here for months. You can’t just walk around this obstacle course the whole time.”
“I’m hardly here, G. And when I am, I’m outside or sleeping. Or sleeping outside.”
“Yeah, you still need a home to come back to.”
“Not real picky about where I lay my head at night, kid. Come wash up and eat with me.” He held up plates that sagged in the middle. The look on his face still held more than a trace of unease and it tugged on my heart something awful.
He’d acted like an ass, and he knew it.
I think he also regretted it immensely.
So, I washed up and joined him on the couch where he had a cop show on the TV. I picked up the saggy, now soggy, plate and took a slice of the fresh peach he’d cut up. “Oh my gosh,” I said, wiping my mouth, “This is so good.” The juice exploded on my tongue and I closed my eyes as I chewed.
“They’re perfectly ripe. I’ve been waiting for them to turn.”
He’d added a couple slices of my banana bread to the plate with a generous slathering of margarine. “Looks like you put healthy shit in this bread? Just like you do with your pancakes.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“It tastes delicious, thank you for bringing it over.”
We ate in companionable silence until a few, low, barks sounded from down the hall. “I forgot about them. I’m such a bad dog mom,” I said, shaking my head as I dropped my empty paper plate on the coffee table.
“No, you’re not. They were sleeping when you knocked.” He flung his plate beside mine, then stood up. “Come on.” I grabbed onto his extended hand and he pulled me up.
But instead of walking, he looked down at me. “I’ve missed you so much. I know I’ve apologized, but—G, I’m so, so, so, sorry for showing up in the middle of the night like—that.” Then he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “I keep seeing your angry face and hearing what you said to me. Over and over.” His hand squeezed mine. “I promise I’ll never do that to you again.”
Those handsome, sad—watery—eyes of his stared into mine. The big dufus had apologized. And if he wasn’t being genuine right now, I’d eat my hat. Before I knew what I was doing, my arms circled his middle and I hugged him.
Hard.
“I’ve missed you, too. And I’m sorry,” I said, holding him tight.
Trey’s arms wound around me. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Trey sighed deeply, his hands rubbing my back as he leaned down and kissed my head.