7
Ava.
Jake was already in a mood before I knew we were having one.
I was chopping strawberries for pancakes, and he was tearing through cabinets like he was looking for treasure he didn’t actually want. His hand passed the cinnamon three times before he slammed the cabinet shut.
“You and my dad are getting… close,” he said, too casually.
I looked over my shoulder. “We live in the same house. It’s small. Close happens.”
He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like I’m crazy for noticing things.”
I set the knife down. “What things?”
“You stand like him now,” he said, pointing with the spatula like he was tallying up evidence. “You fold the towels his way. You look for him when you say something funny.”
“That’s not a crime, Jake.”
“It’s not just you,” he sa
