Goodbye Earl(23)

“We forgive you,” Kasey said.

“Trying to find Caroppenheimer a date to prom who is worthy of her,” Rosemarie chimed in, knowing not to look directly at Caro, who was surely giving her the stink eye. Rosemarie kept looking at Beau. The sun was warm on the top of her head and it made her feel like a thirsty little flower, drinking up the light.

“Any guy who hasn’t asked you yet ain’t worth a shit,” Beau said seriously.



Beau sat with them for a little longer, making corny jokes and listening to the girls talk until his break was over.

“Okay, he’s gotten cuter, right?” Kasey said when the coast was clear.

“He’s a lot to deal with. Damn,” Rosemarie said.

“Yep. We are indeed agreed on this, ladies. Solidarity. Thanks for coming to see me,” Caro said, standing.

“Love you,” the girls said to her as they left for Leo’s.

*



Leo opened the door with a pencil between his teeth and another behind his ear, the eraser nub poking out from his black hair like an itty-bitty pink nose. He was holding a spiral notebook.

“You know what? I’m gonna go sit by your pool and give my mom a call. Is that okay, Leo?” Kasey asked, pulling her flip phone from her pocket. She’d told Rosemarie she would make herself scarce while Rosemarie asked Leo to prom, and Rosemarie had told her she didn’t need to. It wasn’t a big deal! Rosemarie only gave her one instruction: don’t be weird. So naturally, Kasey was being hilariously weird and stepped off the porch backward with her phone to her ear, giving them both a thumbs-up.

“Oh yeah. Go ahead,” Leo said with the pencil still in his mouth. He took it out and gave her a thumbs-up back. “Come in. My mom made cookies if you want some,” he said to Rosemarie, holding the door open for her. Leo was always doing things like that—opening doors for her and being the best. If she could like Leo and only Leo, she could free up the part of her brain focused on Sparrow.

“Please, no! I’m so full I could puke. All we’ve done today is eat! I brought this pie for you, though. A Caro special: raspberry and honey with cinnamon meringue. She said she dreamt the recipe,” Rosemarie said, stepping into the Bells’ cozy home, all soft furniture and plush rugs and photos of Leo and his two sisters. There was a glossy black piano in their dining room, an acoustic guitar in the living room corner. One of Leo’s little sisters played the harp, and Rosemarie spent so much time at the Bell house she even knew it had its own special closet downstairs next to the bookshelf.

“Well, I can’t turn down a dream pie,” Leo said, taking the box. He put everything else he was holding on the coffee table and opened the pie box to take a peek, telling her how delicious it looked. One of their three cats meowed into the living room, wanting attention; Rosemarie bent to pet it. Leo told her that his parents were at the church and his two sisters were downstairs watching The Fellowship of the Ring for the billionth time. “Like true nerds,” he added.

Leo was chatty by nature. In fifth grade, their teacher made him sit at a separate table by himself in an attempt to keep him quiet, but it didn’t matter. He’d psst Rosemarie to let her know he saw a squirrel on the window ledge or that a hot-air balloon was flying by or that a cloud looked like a doghouse with a dog in it or an ice cube on a pizza.

“Leopold,” Rosemarie said. Leo was Leonardo, not Leopold, but Rosemarie liked to call him that sometimes anyway. “I have no clue why I’m so nervous about this, so I’m just gonna come out and ask you. Will you go to prom with me? It’s why I brought you the dream pie.” Rosemarie curtseyed in front of him, pulling her baggy tie-dyed T-shirt out at the bottom.

“I figured you wanted to go by yourself. Figured you didn’t want me to ask you. I would’ve asked you first,” Leo grumbled.

“So, yes?” Rosemarie asked, half-annoyed.

“I mean, obviously it’s a yes, Ro,” Leo said, also half-annoyed.

“My dress is purple.”

“Noted. I’ll rent a tux and we’ll get the stuff,” he said, using his hands to shape what Rosemarie guessed were flowers or a boutonnière box. She laughed at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Not a thing.”

“Come here.” He reached for her, pulling her close. “We’ll have a good time.” He rubbed his nose against hers.

“I mean, duh. We’re us,” she said, leaning in to kiss his mouth.

*



When Rosemarie and Kasey crawled into her bed that night, she forced herself to think about Leo and only Leo, and upon seeing a sparrow at the birdfeeder first thing the next morning, she sighed dramatically and asked Kasey if she wanted coffee or tea.





2019


7





Ada Plum-Castelow


Ada didn’t have time to be hungover, but hungover she was. Grayson was standing next to her, holding a glass and two ibuprofens. Their four-year-old, the youngest, sat at the edge of their bed, earthquake-shaking it by kicking his feet.

“Thank you,” she said to her husband, chasing the pills down with the cold water. “Pacey, please stop kicking. Go see what your brothers are doing.” She sugared her voice because she felt guilty enough for waking up hungover, and Pacey was their most sensitive child. Their eight-year-old twins, Noah and Nash, were confident and stubborn, ace leaders for the brood. And the six-year-old middle child, Gabriel, was usually as angelic as his namesake, unless the twins got him riled up.