Jo
I’ve seen the photo collages Helen’s hung in the upstairs hallway, but Allan insists on getting out some of the old albums. He’s giving off pure golden retriever energy, but I’m still not sure if this is going to be okay. The albums aren’t really Jamie’s idea of a good time. I can sit between the two of them, sure, but you don’t have to know the Whittakers all that well—or all that long—to see that Allan’s the shining star. Maybe Jamie’s long since made his peace with it, with Allan always getting the girl and the trophy and the attention, but when it means Allan’s getting attention from Jamie’s girl …
Jamie sighs, but he leans in. It’s probably more to put his arm on the back of my chair and his chin on my shoulder, but he leans in.
I really doubt Helen would approve of us looking at her carefully-curated albums while we eat dinner, even though the photos are all behind protective plastic, but Allan sets it up above my plate so nothing’s crossing the danger zone, anyway. Maybe the collages upstairs are one per year, but at least the albums aren’t. There just aren’t enough photos. He even started with the one from when he was twelve, because that’s the first time Jamie shows up.
It can’t be possible that a two-year-old already has that frown line between his eyebrows, can it? We’ve talked more about his own story, and he’s told me he doesn’t remember his life before the Whittakers except maybe in dreams, but it takes little Jamie pages and pages to do more than look intently into the camera like he’s waiting for something to bite.
Allan doesn’t really linger on that, but he also doesn’t know that I can make too many connections: you have to know what a camera is, and that smiling’s expected. You also have to have people smile at you before you smile back. Allan, twelve or so and already a heartthrob among his peers, smiles plenty. In some shots he holds Jamie, and in others he presses their cheeks together, always grinning. Allan didn’t start back when he was an only child, so I can’t entirely tell how big the difference is, but this kid is thrilled to be a big brother. The progression is really Allan shows Jamie all the cool stuff from whiffle balls to the beach to a play set that must’ve stood in this backyard for years. Allan’s a golden retriever tween, eager to teach someone else all the things Elias and Helen already taught him.
When Shane appears, it seems different. It’s probably good Allan glommed on to Jamie, because Helen’s inseparable from her youngest, except it seems to be more because he’s a clingy child than her own mothering preference. Either Allan won’t take Shane or Shane won’t go to Allan, especially once we get to the stage where Allan’s definitely out of the house, and when Elias is in the photos instead of taking them, he has an arm around Helen. He doesn’t touch any of the boys as they grow into young men.
“Don’t,” Jamie orders Allan once we reach the end of one album.
“Have to,” Allan counters grandly, opening the next one directly into the dark roots, blonde tips, and shell necklace stage of Jamie’s life. “I was actually jealous,” he admits with his own lopsided grin, “but I’m already blonde.”
“You were not,” Jamie argues, reaching up to turn more than a single page, but Allan intercepts and pushes his hand away.
“If she loves you, she’s going to love every version of you,” he lectures, then gives me a wink. “So. Trial by fire.”
I shrug and warn Jamie, “You’re going to have to sit through something like this with Mom.” Except of course my confused, tired pictures don’t start until I’m maybe seven.
“Did you ever bleach your hair?” Allan wants to know, continuing to take us through one page at a time.
Absently I nod, scanning these shots that are more of Jamie and Shane. They’re closer in age, by half, but not physically. I don’t know if I want to call it weird that Jamie melded into the family better than Shane did despite the different ways they came to it, but it’s certainly noticeable. “I’ve done a home job a couple times when I really wanted to go wild with it.”
“Oh, God,” Jamie groans, but he makes me shiver because he does it directly into my ear. “Please tell me it was never hot pink.”
Uh. I’m not sure why hot pink’s worse than any other color until Allan informs me, as an aside, “Allan’s Achilles heel is cute girls with hot pink hair.”
“Yeah, it was, actually. Hang on.” I get out my phone and scroll way back through my photos. It’s from college, but it was a group shot and not just me and Tess, so I think I’ve kept it. Shit, Jake’s in there too, because of course he is, but I tap the photo and hold it out so the brothers can see the screen.
“God, you’re young,” Jamie murmurs, reaching out to zoom in on my face.
“Jo’s manic pixie dream girl stage,” Allan dubs it, and I do have the required bangs, but I don’t think my clothes really match that vibe. Plus aren’t all manic pixie dream girls skinny things with visible collar bones?
“I’m just going to …” Jamie slips my phone out of my hands.
“Hey, no!” I try to grab it back, but Allan catches my wrist.
“It’s only fair,” he points out, laughing as Jamie scoots his chair further away from me. “Come on, I’ll show you the ones he hates the most while he’s looking through those.”
It’s not like I’ve got nudes, or any old photos of Jake from days long gone to moon over in a fog of nostalgia, but I can’t actually remember everything that is on there. Screenshots of poems and Tumblr posts and other things that struck right to my heart, sure, and I guess at least it’s Jamie looking, but what about the random everyday stuff I stop to take pictures of? It’s rarely myself, because it’s not like I see myself all that often. It’s flowers, and trees, and the sky, and shoot, I might’ve snapped a couple of Jamie that he doesn’t know I have, so I guess all I can do is hope that he doesn’t delete them.
“Jo, focus,” Allan orders, looking for a specific page. “There was this one time we all went to Florida to take Shane to Disney World and Jamie got cornrows. With beads.”
“Okay, maybe I had some questionable hairstyles, but make sure she gets a good look at you in a crop top,” Jamie shoots back. Then he smiles at something on my phone and starts tapping the screen deliberately, not even trying to hide that yep, he’s texting it to himself. He catches my eye and drops me a wink. “Mesh crop top. In Disney World. Get an eyeful.”
“That’s what a photo’s there for,” Allan declares, entirely self-satisfied as he gestures to a two-page spread of some very dubious fashion choices.
Chapter Thirty-Two – coming November 1
