Kissing Max Holden by Katy Upperman

Author:Katy Upperman [Upperman, Katy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends
Published: 2017-07-31T18:30:00+00:00

18

MY DAD WANTS ME TO BE HAPPY, so he buys me a brand-new KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer. It’s beautiful—metallic silver, with all sorts of attachments, like a gourmet pasta press and an ice cream maker. He gives it to me the day following the disaster that was Movie Night, and I’ve got it out of the box and running in a matter of minutes. I’m thankful, so thankful, but even as I’m measuring flour and spooning yeast, I’m recalling the expression my dad wore as I accepted the mixer: reminiscent and proud, a little regretful.

I read his gift for all the things it says: I’m sorry I’m not around more, and For the love of God behave, and I’m trying to be a cool dad again.

I make homemade pizza crust, and even though savory foods aren’t really my thing, I add some marinara and mozzarella and zesty pepperoni.

“I’ll set the table,” Dad says fifteen minutes later, as I’m pulling dinner out of the oven.

Meredith fills glasses with water and ice and I divide the pizza into slices, pondering this shift in the paradigm; other than holidays, the three of us haven’t sat down to dinner together in months.

We’re quiet at first, a lot of chewing and swallowing because we’re tragically out of practice when it comes to this sort of togetherness, until my dad asks, “How was your day, Jill?”

“With the exception of my new mixer, pretty eh. I worked and caught up on homework.”

“You should’ve come shopping with Marcy and me,” Meredith says. “We got a swing for the baby, battery powered, pink-and-brown plaid. Darling.”

I nod blandly, and Dad does, too. He and I are in agreement about the overwhelming lameness of baby stuff.

“Maybe next time,” Meredith adds.

Dad frowns and I know what he’s thinking: How many more shopping trips will need to be made before the baby’s stocked up? He refocuses on me. “How’s the new semester going?”

“Okay,” I say, looking down at my plate. He’s trying, but his questions make me jittery. The last few weeks have been chaotic—I’ve barely had a minute to breathe—and the next few months won’t be much better, what with the baby coming. And then there’s my yo-yo relationship with Max. I wonder, for the billionth time, what he’s doing—how he’s doing. I think of the often-quoted definition of insanity: carrying out the same behavior over and over while expecting different results.

Is that me?

Have I completely lost it where Max Holden is concerned?

I pick at my crust, feeling like a can of soda, all shaken up. I wish I could unload the stress that’s peaked in mountains around me, but Meredith’s never really been a confidante, and Dad’ll lose his shit if he finds out my funk stems, in large part, from my non-romance with the bad-influence neighbor kid.

I set my half-eaten pizza slice on my plate. “I think I’m going to head to my room,” I say, pushing my chair back.

Meredith looks at me, worried. “Not feeling well?”

“I’m fine. Just not in the mood for pizza after all.

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