“Thank you.” I offered her another smile, and this time she didn’t frown. Baby steps. Like Jasper said. Maybe I only needed to be patient. Carrying dirty dishes, I followed Jasper to the kitchen.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“It wasn’t terrible,” I allowed in a low whisper as we tackled the dish mountain. Same as in middle school, we fell into an easy rhythm where he washed and I dried and put away. “But the lasagna noodles were easier to slice into than that tension.”

That got a deep laugh from Jasper. “Could have been worse. And I could sense Mom coming around. People want to give you a chance, Milo. You only have to keep giving them reasons.”

“Wish I had your faith.” I wanted to kiss him so badly, but Jasper’s parents were still at the table and we weren’t nearly hidden well enough for that. I was debating whether I could at least get away with touching his arm when my pocket buzzed.

Reflexively, I pulled out my phone. And immediately regretted it as I read the message, my back tightening. “It’s my mom. She’s talked to Bruno. He should be back stateside and able to visit in two weeks.”

“That’s great, right?” Jasper glanced up from loading the dishwasher, leaving the pots for the handwashing.

“It’s not the worst.” Anytime Bruno was out of danger or at least in less danger was good news. “But two weeks…it’s not enough time. We’ve still got two cards to go.”

“Have you thought about coming clean to him?” Jasper handed me a pot to dry.

“No.” My tone was a bit harsh, and I wasn’t surprised when Jasper’s face drooped. Clearly, he’d wanted a different answer, but I wasn’t sure I had one to offer him. “I mean, I want him to see all the things I’m trying to change—staying sober, looking into art classes, ditching my loser roommates, getting you back as a friend—and I want him to be proud of me for once. Not hate me.”

“I don’t think he’d hate you.” Jasper met my gaze, eyes warming me through as much as if he’d been able to touch me. The way he cared for me and wasn’t afraid to show it was perhaps the most inspiring thing I’d ever seen. And I wished I had even half his optimism. Instead, all I had was a roiling gut and a lot of old memories that said otherwise.

“Don’t be so sure. He’s a good guy, but he holds grudges. He wrote down for me exactly how much he had to spend on me so that I could repay him over time. And don’t you remember that time I crashed his bike in fifth grade? He didn’t speak to me for almost a month. And that was a bike!”