Pops starts using my fantastic scheduling skills against me. “Look here. Class. Class. Work. Club meeting. Doctor appointment. Study. Class.” He ticks each off like they’re offensive. “Right there. Saturday. You should be doing something fun, but you just made it a whole day of studying and work. Come on, Holly. I want to see you give yourself a break.” His Southern accent is starting to get thicker, which means he’s actually getting agitated.

Pops moved from Atlanta to Philly to live with his uncle when he was fifteen after his parents died. He tried really hard to get the twang out of his voice, so he could fit in, but it’s never gone away completely.

“I do.”

“When? Write it in this fancy schedule. I want to see it here or else.”

He scowls at me, but I give it right back.

“Or else what?” I don’t live under his roof anymore. I’m my own woman, and I can live my days however I please.

“Or else I’ll tell your brother.”

Crap.

“You wouldn’t.”

Pops raises his thick eyebrows, daring me to test him. He’ll do it. I know he will. And he knows one of the things I hate most in this world is worrying my brother. Marcus should be focusing on his own health, not whether or not I’m overextending myself.

Grumbling under my breath, I pull the calendars back to my side of the table. I guess Saturday doesn’t have to be all studying. It pains me to write over the neatly drawn boxes. I use colored pens once I have everything mapped out, and now, it’s like a toddler scribbling on a Monet.

After adding Break to all my Saturdays, I go to set my pen down, but Pops’s voice stops me.

“And?”

“And what?”

He taps the calendar. “Sometime during the week, too.” When I just glare, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Wonder if Marcus would agree with me.”

“Fine!” I throw my hands up and then scan the week. Thursday is the only other day with a huge chunk set aside for studying. Going with Ben to his treatment the other week didn’t throw off my schedule, even with my meeting oversight, so I take a chunk out of that day, too. “Happy?”

My adoptive father looks over the calendar, and I swear, I’m ready to scream when he goes to point at something else. It’s the Monday evening box labeled Make Pops dinner/Study.

“Change that. Now, it’s Takeout with Pops and gin rummy.”

He grins at me, and I melt. How can I stay mad when all his meddling comes from love?

“Okay, you win.” I make the change.

He stands up and pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket. “Not yet, but I will.”

BEN

Holly only came with me once, over a week ago, but walking into my parents’ house without her depresses me. The idea of sitting in that chair for hours with only a TV to distract me is torture.