Dakota started to cry again, his big head drooping over his almost empty mug. She could see the scar on the bridge of his nose, the one he got from fighting with Nicholas Bowcamp when he was in the tenth grade. The fight was over a comment Nicholas had made about their recently deceased father. Dakota shoved Nick, and he rebounded with a right hook that broke Dakota’s nose. Winnie remembered watching the whole thing go down from the stairs in front of the school, her stomach in her throat as she watched her twin beat Nicholas Bowcamp into the pavement. If it happened today, there would be dozens of videos all over the internet, but the most people did that day was watch and cheer. The boys were technically off school property. Nicholas Bowcamp spent two days in the hospital with a concussion. “He’s just lost his father,” their mother told the police officer who had come by the house. “He’s not usually like this.” The Bowcamps, who were devout Catholics, conferred with their priest and decided against pressing charges so long as Dakota sought counseling. The counseling had seemed to work for a while, and Dakota had attended youth group at a nondenominational church and gone on a mission trip to Mexico. He spouted Bible verses all summer and volunteered at the local animal shelter. Winnie remembered him always smelling of wet dog during that time. It was all fine and dandy until his senior year when he seemed to change overnight, shrugging off his religion and replacing it with a deep melancholy. He started smoking cigarettes and was suspended twice in one quarter for fighting.
Winnie was about to comfort him when she heard the front door open. A few seconds later, Samuel came bounding into the kitchen, a soccer ball tucked under his arm. He had what Winnie called the “hungry lion” look on his face. He headed straight for the fridge with barely a glance at the table where his uncle and father sat.
“Samuel,” Nigel said. “Say hello to your uncle.”
Samuel turned around with a start, a Gatorade bottle at his lips. “Hello, Uncle,” he parroted. “Are you crying?”
Dakota launched into a fresh flurry of tears, sobbing into his hand. Samuel raised his eyebrows at his father and quietly exited the room without so much as acknowledging Winnie.
“Go to your room, Dakota,” Nigel said firmly. “And cry in the fucking shower.”
* * *
In an effort to redeem herself, she took Samuel to dinner that night, even though it was late, just the two of them. Nigel had opted to stay home and keep an eye on Dakota, but Winnie knew that what he really wanted was to find his bottle of Jack and coat his anger with it. The realization was there, right in front of her, and she still didn’t want to deal with it. They walked through the park, cutting across to the row of restaurants that all had Vegan Friendly signs in their windows.
Samuel had been quiet for most of their walk, kicking at stray rocks and sighing deeply whenever she said something.
“What are you hungry for?” she asked, her voice bright and falsely cheery. If Samuel hadn’t pointed to Quarter Deck at exactly that moment, she would have burst into tears. Okay, fine, that was something; at least he was giving opinions. She followed him to the host stand where he politely asked for a table for two. The thorny thoughts she’d been having washed away. He was a good boy; he did the right thing, even if he grumbled about it. And honestly, what teenager didn’t get a little growly? She felt better when they sat down at the table, water and menus in front of them. Winnie watched a woman and a boy a few years older than Samuel tuck into their food. They were talking animatedly to one another, the boy making gestures above his head while she watched him with her mouth ajar. The woman was one of those bohemian types. As Winnie watched, she lifted her burger to her mouth with fingers that were decorated in turquoise rings. They traded burgers after the first bite, nodding in approval as they swapped back again. She turned toward Samuel. “So, should we share a salad and a grilled cheese? You pick the salad.”
“I don’t want a salad.”
“Okay...then what about a quinoa bowl?”
Samuel was cracking his knuckles, watching the TV over the bar.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.” She saw him stiffen; he looked like a kid ready to bolt. Winnie saw a couple of heads turn their way; maybe that had come out wrong. She offered an apologetic smile. Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack...
“I’m hungry. I want to order!” she said in a more cheerful voice. She pushed his menu toward him, aware that the mother-son duo across the way were now watching them.
He looked at her through his lashes for a minute before seeming to accept the apology.
“I was thinking about getting a burger.” He didn’t look at her when he said it, but Winnie was glad. A little smile had crept onto her lips. He’d noticed the mother and son across the way, too; she’d seen him looking. A burger was a great idea.
“Good idea,” she said, glancing at the menu. “I will, too.” When the server came by, Winnie order two Impossible burgers with chips. She eyed the salads wistfully but shut her menu with a snap that blew her hair up around her face. That was what parenting was all about—the sacrifices. She would eat fake red meat if it meant bonding with her son.
The chips cut into the roof of her mouth. Winnie only flinched when Samuel wasn’t looking. She hated feeling judged by a thirteen-year-old. He ate them like they were as soft as cheese; she watched in amazement as their sharp little ridges folded like paper behind his teeth. She felt victimized, her mouth tender. She reached for her veggie burger instead. Samuel hadn’t touched his; he was too busy grinding up those vicious little chips. She was trying hard not to say anything; instead, she bit into her own with enthusiasm.
“Try your burger. It’s delicious.”
“I don’t think anything pretending to be something else can be delicious.”
Winnie set her sandwich down, frowning. She blotted at the ketchup in the corners of her mouth. “What are you talking about? I thought you wanted a burger.”
He looked up at her, his chin tilted in a challenging way. He reminded Winnie of a bull in that moment.
“I wanted a real burger.”
“Samuel!” she said, exasperated. “Come on. Now you’re just being ridiculous. You’ve had a hundred veggie burgers.”
“And I’ve never liked them.”
She replaced her sandwich on the plate and stared at him. “So you’re just not going to eat them anymore?”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m going to eat meat from now on because I’m not a vegetarian.”
The food she’d already ingested rolled in her belly. Winnie felt sick. She’d spent thirteen years raising this boy in what she thought was the best way, and now he was dismissing their way of life so casually, like it didn’t mean anything.
“We’ll talk about it later. If you’re not hungry that’s fine, but your dad—”