Families and Other Nonreturnable Gifts by Claire LaZebnik Read Free Book Online Page B

almost entirely bare, except for a bunch of Museum of Fine Arts mugs and a brand-new set of plain white dishes (four each of plates, bowls, teacups, and saucers) and several boxes of Swee-Touch-Nee tea, which my dad drinks all day long, brewed strong with lots of milk and sugar. He taught my mom to drink it like that. I give up on the third cabinet and turn back to Jacob. “Is there anything good here? I really need something sweet right now.”
    “Instant oatmeal?”
    “Get real, Jacob.”
    “You mean like cookies or something? I haven’t done a big grocery run yet. Sorry. But I can go out right now and get you whatever you want.”
    I hesitate, then say, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
    “It’s no problem. Coffee’s all set to go, and I can be back with a doughnut or cupcake or something before it’s even done brewing. Just tell me what you’d like.”
    “It’s okay.”
    “How about a glazed chocolate from Dunkin’ Donuts? You like those, right?”
    “Yeah, but you don’t have to get me one. I’ll live.”
    “Just give me five minutes.”
    I watch Jacob race out of the apartment, and I feel a little guilty. It’s so easy to take advantage of him.
    The coffeemaker is hissing gently but it has a while to go, so I head back to my father’s office.
    He’s typing at the computer again.
    “Hi.” I return to my perch on the sofa arm. “Am I interrupting?”
    “Never,” he says. “And always.” He smiles, and I see for a second a ghost of the handsome younger man he once was, the one who my mother claims every female grad student had a crush on. He swivels his chair around so he’s facing me and pats me awkwardly on the knee. “Tell me what’s up with you these days.” But before I can speak, he says, “Did your mother tell you she’s selling the house? You were born in that house, you know. All three of you grew up in that house.”
    “But it kind of makes sense for her to sell it now, don’t you think?”
    “How unusual,” he says. “Someone’s actually asking me what I think about all this.” He leans back in his desk chair. There’s a small tear in the shoulder seam of his blue dress shirt. “I have to admit that I feel a bit blindsided. My plan was to be carried out of that house in a coffin. Preferably dead, of course.”
    “Of course.” We’re politely jovial with each other—it’s what we do best.
    “But the decision has been made and here I am.” He glances around. “Where’s Jacob? I don’t hear the pitter-patter of little feet anywhere.”
    “I sent him out for dessert.”
    “You sent him out?” he repeats, one crazy eyebrow soaring. “Does he work for you now?”
    “Well,” I say, “he works for you and you’re my father, so by the transitive property, he works for me, right?”
    “That is a fallacy.”
    “Says you.”
    He looks mildly taken aback. “Excuse me?”
    “Nothing. I was just joking. Did you know that Hopkins may come home soon to pack up her stuff? We should try to have a family dinner if she does.”
    “Such a complicated term, family ,” he says with a grim chuckle, and it suddenly occurs to me—really occurs to me for the first time—that my dad’s heart might actually be broken. I don’t know what to say to that. We’re both silent for a moment, and then he says, “Do you know how long it had been since I’d last lived in an apartment? Over thirty-five years. I keep hearing people moving around me. Up above, down below, on all sides. I’m surrounded by strangers.”
    “You’ll get used to it.”
    “I don’t want to get used to it,” he says sulkily.
    “Have you tried a white noise machine?”
    “No. Maybe I should.”
    “I can pick one up for you if you like. I’m always running errands for work anyway.”
    “Ah, still being challenged on the job, I see. I’m so glad you graduated magna cum laude from one of the Seven Sisters for this.” His foggy hazel eyes peer at me from under those craggy eyebrows, like they’re