We both start to laugh. Somehow.

Chapter Thirty-Three Atlas

I called Sutton after I dropped Josh off at my house and asked her to meet me at Bib’s. I got here an hour before we agreed to meet. I’ve never cooked for her, so I’m hoping my making her a meal does something to her. Pleases her, puts her in a decent mood. Anything to make her less combative.

My phone pings, so I step away from the stove and look at the screen. I told her to text me when she arrived so I could let her in. She’s five minutes early.

I walk through the dark restaurant and flip on some lights on my way through. She’s standing near the front, smoking a cigarette. When she sees the door open, she flicks the cigarette into the street and then follows me inside.

“Is Josh here?” she asks.

“No. It’s just me and you.” I gesture toward a table. “Have a seat. What do you want to drink?”

She regards me silently for a moment, then says, “Red wine. Whatever you have open.” She takes a seat in a booth, and I head back to plate our food. I made coconut shrimp because I know it’s her favorite. I saw her fall in love with it when I was nine years old.

It was on the one and only road trip she took me on. We went to Cape Cod, which isn’t all that far from Boston, but it’s the only time I remember my mother ever doing something with me on a day off. She usually slept or drank her way through her days off, so the day trip to Cape Cod where we tried coconut shrimp for the first time is not something that went unappreciated by me.

I place our plates and drinks on a tray and walk it out to the table she’s seated at. I set the food and wine in front of her, then take a seat across from her. I slide silverware to her side of the table.

She stares at her plate for a beat. “You cooked this?”

“I did. It’s coconut shrimp.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, opening her napkin. “Is this an apology for assuming you could actually parent a kid like him?” She laughs like she told a joke, but the lack of noise in the restaurant makes her laugh fall flat. She shakes her head and picks up her glass of wine, sipping from it.

I know she has twelve years on me with Josh, but I’m willing to bet I already know him better than she does. Josh probably knows me better than she knows me, and I lived with her for seventeen years. “What was my favorite food growing up?” I ask her.

She stares back at me blankly.

Maybe that was a tough one. “Okay. What about my favorite movie?” Nothing. “Color? Music?” I give her a few more, hoping she can answer at least one of them.