Page 107 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“Graham?” Dani asks.
I jump out of bed and rush out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me.
I need air. I need to go outside. I need the sun and the cold.
I take the stairs on the back staircase two at a time, just so I can sneak out the kitchen door without my family noticing.
“Graham—” My mom starts. The spoon clatters to the floor.
We stand there, me on the top step, her with a bowl in front of her.
“Where’s your shirt?” she finally asks.
“What?” I stare at my reflection in the glass overlooking the snowy yard that leads down to the water. I’m too disoriented. How did I forget to get dressed?
“What time is it?”
“Nine thirty.”
“I think something’s wrong with me.” I blink.
“Well, don’t freak out on me.” Mom gives me a crooked smile. “I just bought this cream cheese, so you can relax.”
Mom grabs a new spoon and scoops the cream cheese into the bowl with the fruit for the stuffed French toast.
I walk around the island to pick up the one on the floor.
She scoots away from me.
It’s enough to snap me back to reality. I run my hand through my hair, trying to get my bearings.
“The bread is stale, though,” Mom continues, “because that’s what French toast is. So don’t get prissy.”
“Did we fall into a parallel universe?” My half brother comes into the kitchen. “Here’s Graham up late, and he’s not even dressed. Did Dani drug you last night?” Ryan laughs and tries to steal a swipe of the strawberry cream cheese.
He throws a sweater at me. “Courtesy of Nana. She’s outside with Dad.”
“Thanks, Ryan,” Mom tells him quietly.
“There’s the little bastard!”
My grandfather—well, Ryan’s grandfather—stomps into the kitchen, letting out a belly laugh.
My mom presses her lips together.
“Grandma, stop!” Bridget clatters down the stairs in her Birkenstocks, Hannah following her. “You’ll scare off Graham. We’ve seen him more in the last couple weeks than we have the last few months.”
Mom hugs my sisters, kissing the tops of their heads.
“Good morning, sleepyheads.”
“Graham, where are your shoes? It’s freezing.” Hannah scoots onto one of the island stools. “Can you turn on the heated floors?”
“They take too much electricity. That’s so wasteful,” Ryan’s grandfather says disapprovingly.
“Graham’s paying the electric bill,” Hannah reminds him, trying to steal the cream cheese mixture.
Frank’s sister helps their mother inside.
