Mom smiles at me. “I took the night off to celebrate. Come on, we’re watching movies.”
We spend the night on the couch, together as a family, popping in a DVD of Dad’s favorite film, Caddyshack, one of his arms wrapped around my shoulders and the other around Mom’s. Every so often I catch them making eyes at each other.
Sam. This is because of Sam. He put this look on my parents’ faces.
If he was here right now, I’d totally make out with him.
day thirty-one
I settle for giving him a huge hug the second I see him the next day in art class.
Of course, the sentimentality of the moment is all but ruined when I nearly knock over the open paint bottles in my exuberance. Sam laughs, catching me around the waist, and I don’t care if everyone in the room is looking, I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care, I could kiss him right in front of everyone. But I don’t.
“My stepdad told me last night,” he says. He keeps his hands on my hips, even after I’ve released him from my death-grip-monster-bear hug. I like that. “I’m really glad it worked out.”
We sit down on the floor, and I pull out a notebook and pen from my bag.
What’s your stepdad like?
Sam looks at the page. “What, afraid he’s gonna be a bad boss?”
Is curiosity a crime now?
“Sometimes,” he says, grinning. “Peeping Toms, for example.”
I punch him in the shoulder.
“Ow!” he laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Violence is so unnecessary.”
I write, I’m SERIOUS!! I know nothing about your family.
And, by extension, nothing about Sam’s personal life. Which, let’s be real, is really what I’m getting at.
“Mick’s okay.” Sam shrugs. “I mean, you always hear these horror stories about evil stepparents, but he’s not bad. He has two daughters—both older, one’s married and the other’s at Mount Holyoke—so he’s done this before. Doesn’t get on my ass too much.” He stops and unscrews a bottle of black paint. “And he makes my mom happy. That’s what matters, you know?”