Page 30 of Retrofit Analysis

I snap at him. “Because my degree is in marketing.” I take a breath. “This isn’t useful. Can I see the assignments?” Jake kicks his backpack across the floor and starts pacing. I rummage through until I find his physics folder.

I have no idea what I’m looking at among the mess of shapes and equations, but one of the word problems catches my eye. Something about calculating the talus slope of a dirt retaining wall. “Kellen,” I mutter. “Kellen works with this stuff all the time.”

Jake’s eyes light up. “I’m going over there,” he says, reaching for his bag. He yanks the folder from my hands. “He said I can knock on his door any time. This is any time, Mom. Right now.”

By the time I gather my wits, Jake is across the street and tearing up the steps to Kellen’s front door. He’s not home from work yet and I watch as Jake realizes this and plunks down, seated on Kellen’s steps.

I pull out my phone, thinking to text Kellen at work, but I decide I want to hear his voice and call. He answers almost right away. “Hey, there,” he says in that deep voice I love to hear close against my ear.

“Hey,” I start. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, Beth. Shoot.”

I sigh. “Well, Jake is upset about something from his physics class. I don’t even know where to begin and⁠—“

“I’d love to help him!” He sounds like he means it, too. I love this about Kellen Brady. He’s not nice to us because he wants to get in my pants. He’s just nice to us. He’s nice. And that makes me want to let him in my pants. Focus on your kid, I remind myself. Kellen shuffles some things around in the background. “I’m packing up for the day,” he says. “I was in early this morning and, well, I run this joint. I’ll be home in a half hour.”

“Please don’t feel like this is a priority. You don’t need to rush or cancel things,” I start into familiar patterns. If, in the direst of emergency, I ever called Todd, he made sure to emphasize repeatedly how many opportunities he was missing to get ahead at work. How much face time with a client or superior.

“Beth,” he says, his voice firm. “You and Jake are a priority to me.”

I sink into the wall. Yep, Kellen Brady makes me dizzy. “Ok, then,” I whisper. “I’ll let Jake know.”

Jake decides to wait on the steps for Kellen, who pulls into the driveway 21 minutes after we hang up. I see the smile on his face as he gets out of his car and watch as he extends a hand to ruffle Jake’s hair. I’m stunned when my son squeezes Kellen in a hug.

It’s not that Jake is not affectionate. It’s that his affection is very hard earned. Where Kellen seems to use affection as a means of communication for the people in his life, Jake reserves his hugs for moments of deep importance. Kellen glances over at my house and sees me watching from the window. He beams and when Jake pulls back, Kellen gives me a thumbs up as they walk inside.

I decide to make dinner for three, wanting to both demonstrate my appreciation and to do something kind and nurturing for Kellen in return for this amazing thing he acts so cavalier about. I’m no wizard in the kitchen, but I can whip up a pretty mean chicken parm with a homemade bright sauce.

I’ll set aside a plain chicken breast and some of the noodles to butter for Jake. Kellen and I can eat the flavorful stuff.

Every brush of the lemon across the zester, every sprinkle of basil into the skillet, I think about my gratitude. I’m thankful for the tingle between my legs, for the knowledge that my body still functions in that way. And most of all I’m thankful that my son has at last found a man he admires who he can turn to when he has a challenge.

An hour later, I’m plating the breaded, cheesy chicken from the broiler and lugging the sauce and noodles across the street in my biggest tote bag, slowly with my boot so I don’t spill anything. I let myself in the front door and freeze in my tracks at the sight of my son, bent over the dining room table with his head almost touching Kellen’s.

This is the image I’ve longed for. Affection, shared respect. My son calmly working on his homework with a man who is happy to help him with it.

Jake mutters to himself, working on a problem and Kellen smiles, patiently. Calm radiates from him along with…is that pride? Jake beams, slamming his pencil down on the table. “I’m certain it’s perfect,” he says. If my arms weren’t full of food, I’d clutch my heart, because he’s right.

Twenty-Four

Kellen

I forgot how exciting it is to watch a teenager grasp a new concept. Jake had mixed up his formulas for friction and gravity, but as soon as I got him on the right track, he was racing through his homework problems like they were rudimentary, rather than advanced physics.

“You’re a freshman in high school?” Elizabeth had failed to mention that her son was a damned genius. “I didn’t even take physics until my senior year.” The year I met your mother. I shake that thought right off.

A sound from the front room pulls my attention, and I look up to see Elizabeth struggling with a bag and a huge pan. “I made dinner,” she says. I hurry over to help her and notice that Jake is still sitting at the table.

“Come on and help,” I tell him. He looks startled at the suggestion, but rises and stands in the living room.

“Jake, can you put this pan on top of the stove?” Elizabeth gently prods him and I realize he must not be processing what to do in this, an unusual situation for him. I recall how important it was for him to eat in the back yard and realize he and Elizabeth must not carry food to other people’s houses very often.

There’s a lot I have to learn about how Jake experiences the world. There’s a lot I have to admire about how Elizabeth works to guide him.

“This smells amazing,” I say, clearing off the table and ushering her into a seat as I fetch plates and silverware.

“Chicken parm,” she says. I halt in my tracks. I hear Elizabeth chattering, talking about how it’s her go-to meal when she wants to impress someone. “Big flavor, low effort,” she continues. “Jake, can you grab me a glass of water? Thanks, honey.”