Bright Lights, Dark Nights Read Online Free PDF Page A

asked. “You still go home every night and make a mess of your bedsheets and stuff. You just need to do it to a real live human being. What kind of girls do you like? Come out with me. I’ll even do the heavy lifting. You like heavy girls?”
    â€œMaybe this is a song,” I said, changing the subject. “Giving girl advice or something.”
    â€œAdvice to lames,” Jason said, studying me like an injured animal brought in off the street. Do we fix it up or put it out of its misery? “It’s cool, though. It’s like you’re cool with being a lame, so it’s kind of your thing.”
    â€œIt’s not my thing,” I countered, although he was starting to convince me.
    Jason’s dad appeared in the doorway. The hall was bright and well-lit, dim in the bedroom. “Don’t let this boy talk to you like that, Walter. You know he can’t even pee in a toilet without messing up the seat?”
    â€œPop! What the hell?” Jason said, moving back to his bed.
    â€œHi, Mr. Mills,” I said.
    â€œMr. Mills,” his dad repeated, leaning on the doorframe and putting his hands in his pockets. “I want to say call me Kenny, but I kinda like the ring of that Mr. Mills. Are you staying over for dinner? It’s raining cats and dogs and I don’t know what else out there. You walked?”
    I nodded.
    â€œOkay, you’re staying for dinner, then. What do you want, burger and fries? We’re placing orders.”

    *   *   *
    The first thing I noted about dinner with the Mills family was that there were no burgers or fries or fast food of any kind. The table was loaded with home-cooked food Jason’s mom had made. I had smelled it cooking before, and Mr. Mills had answered the intercom at the door with “Welcome to Burger King. May I take your order?” so I had been pretty sure he was kidding. But this kind of setup was reserved for maybe Thanksgiving in my family and really not even that.
    In my current situation, dinner was an afterthought. It was something my dad and I pieced together when we noticed we were hungry at some eventual point during the night. But even before, we all ate at different times, sometimes a couple of us at the table, sometimes in front of the TV.
    The second noteworthy, and more important, observation was that seated at the corner of the table was Naomi Mills. She was a complete knockout. She had short dark hair, pulled back and tied together. Pronounced cheekbones that made her eyes squint a little. She always looked like she was at least partially smiling. She had the cutest smile I’d ever seen. I suddenly felt a lot more nervous.
    â€œWalter, I’m Denise. Pleased to meet you,” Jason’s mom said as we got to the table. She looked nice, dressed up. I felt like a slob, but Jason was in a T-shirt and sweatpants, so I guess I had him beat, at least. I wondered how his mom stayed so thin with this kind of food around, and the ability to just make it, whenever she felt like it. What incredible power to have.
    â€œThanks,” I said. “Denise? Is that okay?”
    â€œDenise is fine, Walter,” she said.

    The small room was full. Jason’s mom introduced Kenny again (“Mr. Mills,” I said to a smile and a nod—I’d probably always think of him as Mr. Mills), then to Naomi, and to the latest addition to the family, baby Kelly. Naomi was too busy feeding Kelly, who sat in a high chair to the right of her, to acknowledge me. I pulled a chair out at the end of the table. A family that eats together, at the same table, at the same time.
    â€œSit down, man,” Jason said, and I realized I’d been standing there, staring. “Grab some food if you’re staying.”
    A pot roast was the centerpiece, so I started there. I wondered if this was a typical Wednesday when Jason left the library and came home. “Sorry, it feels weird to have so many