“Where’s Emerson?” he asks.
“She’s with her aunt.”
Josh nods and takes a bite of his food. Then: “How long have you and my brother been together?”
I shrug. “That depends. I’ve known him since I was fifteen, but we started dating about a month and a half ago.”
There’s a flash of surprise on Josh’s face. “Really? Were you, like, friends back then or something?”
“Or something.” I take a sip of my coffee, and then set it down carefully. “Your brother didn’t have anywhere to live when I met him, so I helped him for a while.”
Josh leans back in his chair. “Really? I thought he lived with our mom.”
“When she and your dad would allow it,” I say. “But he spent a lot of time trying to survive without their help.” I hope I’m not saying too much, but I feel like Josh needs a better understanding of Atlas. “Go easy on your brother, okay? He cares a lot about you.”
Josh stares at me for a beat, then nods. He leans over his plate again, taking a bite of bacon. He drops the bacon backonto the plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “His cooking is normally better than this.”
I laugh. “That’s because I made it.”
“Oh, shit,” Josh says. “Sorry.”
I don’t take offense at all because I’m sure he’s getting used to Atlas’s cooking. “Do you think you want to be a chef like him? He told me you like helping out at the restaurants.”
Josh shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s fun. Maybe. But I feel like I’ll get tired of it. He works a lot of nights. I feel like I’ll get tired ofanycareer after a few years, though, so I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Sometimes I feel like I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”
“I thought you owned a flower shop or something. That’s what Atlas told me.”
“I do. Before that, I used to work at a marketing firm.” I push my plate aside and fold my arms on the table. “I still feel like you do, though. Worried about boredom. Why are we expected to pick one thing to try and be successful at? What if I want to do something completely different every five years?”
Josh nods like he’s in complete agreement. “The teachers at school talk like we have to decide on one thing we love and stick with it, but I want to do a hundred things.”
I love how animated he is right now. He reminds me so much of a younger Atlas. “Like what?”
“I want to be a professional fisherman. I don’t know how to fish, but it sounds fun. And I want to be a chef. And sometimes I think it would be fun to make a movie.”
“Sometimes I dream of selling my flower shop and opening a clothing boutique.”
“I want to make pottery and sell it at fairs.”
“I’d like to write a book someday.”
“I want to be the captain of a ship,” he says.
“I think it would be fun to be an art teacher.”
“I think it would be fun to be a bouncer at a strip club.”
I sputter laughter at that, but I’m not the only one laughing. Josh and I glance up at Atlas, who is leaning in the doorway, laughing at our conversation.
I’m relieved to see him in a better mood than the one his mother left him in. Atlas smiles at me warmly.
“Lily made us breakfast,” Josh says to him.
“I see that.” Atlas walks over and kisses me on the cheek, then picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite.
“Kind of sucks,” Josh mutters in warning.