to Veronica, “I eat at my kitchen table whenever I want.”
Her eyes shone with tears.
“Of course.”
“No crying your way out of agreeing,” Mom warned, and Veronica laughed unexpectedly. Mom joined in. The mood eased, though nothing was resolved. My parents reclaimed their bedroom. I carried Dad’s books while Derek removed the narrow beds from storage, almost bumping into me in the doorway.
“Remember when you broke my nose with the basketball?”
he asked suddenly.
“You walked into my elbow.”
“You threw the elbow backward.”
“I was demonstrating defensive positioning.”
“You were twelve.”
“You were annoying.”
He nearly smiled before turning serious.
“Gabriel.”
“What?”
“I really am sorry.”
I studied his expression.
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
“That’s too easy.”
“I know.”
He propped the bedframe against the wall.
“So tell me the hard version.”
I considered what to say.
“The hard version is you don’t get
