Bobby would never sell Alma Boots, especially not to a foreign conglomerate. Alma Boots has been in his family for nearly one hundred years. Still, Gina feels a fresh ripple of apprehension. Bobby’s voice had been tense, more so than usual. What if she’s wrong? What if he ran over the numbers and realized that a sale is inevitable? Selling Alma Boots would break Bobby’s heart. Not to mention the entire town’s—the factory is what keeps it alive, thriving. It’s a true company town.
“Would you prefer to have dinner in your room?” Gina asks. This is unprecedented. Family dinners aren’t optional in their house. Gina does not approve of isolationist eating, but Bobby’s voice had sounded unusually strained…
Calan grins. “I’m pretty sure you can guess my answer, Mom.”
“Oh, very funny. I thought you liked our dinners.”
Their Wednesday-night dinners are low-key affairs. They’ve been doing it for years now, ever since Bobby began holding staff meetings on Wednesdays, in the late afternoon. Every week, Gina tries a new recipe—she’s gone through six different cookbooks. She and Calan eat in the kitchen, not bothering to use proper placemats and drinking 7 Ups straight from the cans. A few weeks ago, Calan had confessed that he much preferred their casual meals to the chic Friday-night dinners at his grandmother’s house. It had made Gina’s day.
“With Dad here it won’t be one of our dinners.”
“No, you’re right.” Gina sighs. “All right, dinner in your room it is. But just for tonight.”
Calan stuffs his hands inside the pockets of his oversized gray hoodie. Lately, it’s all he seems to wear: jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie, usually black or gray or beige. Almost like he wants to disappear inside a sense of self-imposed blandness. Although lately isn’t entirely accurate. It’s been years. Ever since the bullying began. Gina hadn’t been prepared for this part of having a teenager. And Calan isn’t even fifteen yet—his birthday is in December.
“Sweet, I’ll try out my new game. The graphics are supposed to be sick.”
“Remember you have school in the morning.” A pointless reminder. Calan is a nocturnal creature, Gina has long given up on getting him to go to bed early. His video games reek of unhealthy escapism, but they bring him joy, and he has very little joy in school.
Gina returns to the stove to finish the sauce. The homemade pasta is already cooked, set aside in a pot. When dinner is ready—freshly made pappardelle with arrabbiata sauce—Gina fixes Calan a plate.
A timer goes off. The cookies.
“Yum,” Calan says, eyeing the cookie sheet. “Chocolate chip.”
“I wanted to add macadamias, but I’m bringing them over to the new neighbors in the morning and you never know these days. Allergies.”
“Everyone likes chocolate chip.”
“Apparently, they’re just a couple, no kids.”
“How do you know?”
“Tish.”
“My grandmother, the knower of all things.” He gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Save me a couple?”
“I always do.”
Calan disappears up the stairs with his dinner, no doubt to lose himself in his video games and graphic novels. Gina worries. It’s a lot of screen time. Although, in all fairness, it’s not all passive viewing. Calan writes and illustrates his own stories, too. That’s something. An artistic endeavor. Gina is impressed at her son’s creativity (he’s very intelligent, he takes after his dad), but she wishes his interests weren’t quite so… antisocial.
Still, she can’t complain. Calan buys his games and gear with his hard-earned babysitting money. Video games are a surprisingly expensive hobby—Calan wouldn’t be able to afford it on his allowance alone. Bobby makes a very nice living (not to mention the exorbitant sum sitting in his trust fund), but Gina doesn’t believe in spoiling their son. She is determined to raise an ethical child. Calan will learn the value of money. A lesson mimicked from her own upbringing. Probably the only one.
Bobby arrives home thirty-five minutes later, looking flushed. He slips off his shoes by the front door, sighing heavily. Gina watches as he removes his frameless spectacles, wiping the lenses with his monogrammed handkerchief.
“Hey, honey.” She moves in to give him a kiss. His lips are cold, too cold for September, but she feels his warmth when he pulls her into a hug. “Did something happen?”
Bobby’s forehead creases. He nods, downcast and serious.
“Is it Souliers?” There is apprehension building in her chest.
“No, nothing with them.” His gaze sweeps across the dining room to the right: green area rug, an oversized family portrait taken when Bitsy, their black Lab, had still been alive, an antique cherry wood table that had belonged to Richard Dewar. “Is Calan upstairs?”
Gina nods. “He already ate. Are you hungry?”
“Let’s talk first.”
Together, they turn left, heading to the living room. This is intentional on Gina’s part—it’s the room furthest from Calan’s. If this isn’t about Souliers, then it can only be about their son, and she doesn’t want him overhearing their conversation. Gina and Bobby agree on many things, but the one thing they disagree on—the big thing, anyway—is how to handle Calan’s bullying at school. Bobby’s approach is all no-nonsense and tough love. An ineffective policy. All it’s done is create a rift between him and Calan, leaving Gina stuck in the middle. Last week, Bobby had floated the idea of sending Calan to boarding school, possibly even military school. A preposterous plan. Gina is already struggling with the notion of Calan leaving for college in three years.
They sit beside each other on the L-shaped couch, the one Gina had spent an entire weekend assembling because Bobby had been sick with the flu. She
