Page 48 of The Design of Goodbye
Liam was well into a boring tangent on rational functions when my dad came home, arms laden with grocery bags.
“Liam,” my dad greeted as he set the bags on the kitchen island. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too, sir,” said Liam, walking over to my dad.
“Joe,” said my dad as they shook hands. “Sir makes me feel old.”
“Dad, you are old,” I reminded him.
Liam looked horrified at what I’d said, but my dad chuckled.
“Do you need help unloading groceries?” asked Liam.
My dad grinned. “I’d appreciate that.”
As Liam and my dad carried in the groceries, I put the food away. Once we were done, I pointed to The Fresh Market totes and said to Liam, “Bet you thought you’d get a day off from seeing these, didn’t you?”
“Do you work at The Fresh Market, Liam?” My dad’s eyes filled with hope as he took off his jacket, revealing hisDon’t Make Me Use My Chef’s VoiceT-shirt.
Liam hovered by the kitchen island, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking unsure of himself now that he didn’t have groceries to carry. “Yeah.”
“Dad, no,” I said. “Don’t ask. I already did, and he can’t say.”
My dad playfully rolled his eyes at me, which caused a painful ache in my heart. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that, and now that he had, I’d forgotten how much I’d missed it.
I hated missing things.
“So, Liam,” started my dad, purposefully avoiding my gaze, “do you know the recipe for their banana bread?”
“Dad.”
“I do,” answered Liam.
My dad slammed his fist excitedly on the kitchen island. Liam flinched. My dad noticed and took his hand off the marble countertop. “What would I need to do to get that recipe from you?”
“It’s a secret. Sorry.”
My dad’s shoulders hunched, defeated. “Can I ask one question?”
Liam shrugged. “Sure.”
“Is there nutmeg in there?”
“Do you think there is?” prompted Liam.
My dad nodded, so sure of himself. “Can you confirm if I’m right on that one tiny—probably unimportant—ingredient?”
“What I think,” said Liam, “is you’re a really good cook and probably know what you’re doing.”
My dad fist pumped the air. “Excellent. Thirsty?” he asked, this new bit of intel making him giddy. “I made some homemade cranberry lemonade.”
After we got our lemonades, my dad asked Liam, “How’d you convince Madison to keep your bike in our garage?”
Liam took a sip of his drink. “What do you mean?”
“Madison’s had a strict ‘no bikes allowed on the property’ rule since she crashed her bike when she was ten.”
Why did my dad have to tell Liam that? It was so embarrassing. “It wasn’t a serious rule,” I muttered.
