Don't Say You Love Me

Chapter THIRTY THREE

Teegan

My dad called and interrupted Cohen and I when we were about to having sex.

   Worse than that, I answered and he told me that he booked my flight back to Seattle. It's in approximately four weeks. A bit less, actually. I have to be in New York by the last week of August, for orientation. A month ago, I couldn't wait. I was dreading this summer with my mom. But everything is different now.

   I took Cohen back to my house because that's what couples do. They hang out at their house. I didn't know who would be there but honestly I didn't care. But then Cohen was in my bedroom and I just wanted to kiss him and - it ended poorly. He got spooked by Francis being there and took off.

   Since Francis said he can get the kids from daycare, which he is rarely around to do, I take the opportunity to take a shower and eat lunch and relax. Though I don't really relax, but I keep thinking about Cohen and how he left, just like that. I'm giving him space because I assume he needs it, and when Francis comes in with the kids, the house is too loud and too busy to think too much about it.

   "I made this today!" Josie yells, shoving a paper plate, painted sort of crazy, in my face.

   "That's so pretty," I tell her anyway.

   "I'm hungry!" Oscar shouts, looking at me.

   Francis is not home all that often when the kids are home, or awake. He works long shifts and lots of days in a row. I have been making a lot of meals for them, or at least eating meals with them that mom has made. So when Francis looks to me for suggestions, I am not surprised.

  "Spaghetti?" I offer, already standing up to head to the kitchen.

   It's not even really dinner time yet but it's not like I have anything else to do. Oscar follows me.

   "Yes, please. Can we have smoothies, too?"

   I mess up his hair a bit and smile at him. "Yes. Can you see what fruit we have?"

   Francis is in the doorway and just standing back, watching. Once I get the pasta boiling and Oscar has told me all the fruit in the fridge, he goes off to play and Francis and I are left alone.

   "You are so good with them," he tells me, still just in the doorway.

   "I've been spending a lot of time with them," I say, without thinking. "Also, I have a brother and a sister in Seattle, too."

   "Right, yeah. How are they? Must be getting big?" Francis asks, and I can tell he had forgotten about them. Probably about the fact that I have an entirely different family in Seattle, where I am the majority of the time.

   "They are," I say plainly, staring at the pot.

   I've been here a month already and this is my first real conversation with Francis, without anyone else around. He's tall and thick and handsome, and he has a kind face. I've known him a really long time and he's always been good to me, but this - all of this - is different now.

   "I sort of can't believe you're eighteen," he says, shaking his head. "So grown up. I remember the first day I met you."

   I smile at him and turn back to the stove. "I don't really remember that."

   "You came down here with your mom for a weekend. You were so little, like really small for your age, and you were so shy. That was before your dad got custody of you. Your mom was hoping you'd come live with us full time," he goes on, as if I knew this already.