"Mom," Gordie called, walking cautiously into the kitchen where the smell of pot roast was drifting. "Is it okay that I invited a friend over for supper? Will there be enough?"

"Of course, sweetie," she replied.

As he slipped back down the hall to where he'd left Brooke hiding in his room, he felt pretty confident. His mom seemed to be in a good mood. Of course, his father was a different story, but he was never in a good mood, so Gordie didn't care and he wouldn't let him get to him.

Brooke looked scared, almost. She was fiddling with the hem of her skirt and trying her best to smile.

"Come on," he said softly. "Time to face the firing squad."

"What if they don't like my clothes?" she hissed, following him.

"You dress like my mother." Odd, Gordie thought to himself. That sounded better in my mind then when I said it out loud.

"What if they don't like blondes?"

"Oh, don't worry. They'll be able to tell that you're not a natural blonde," he teased.

Giggling, she slapped his shoulder. "Thank you, Gordie."

"Just reassuring you, Brooke." He grinned.

"Hey, Mom, I want you to meet my friend," Gordie said quietly. "Mama, this is Brooke."

Mrs. Lachance turned around slowly, a dull, dead look in her large brown eyes. Her voice shook as she said hello politely. She eyed Brooke with a repressed fear and then she told them, "You…Gordie, you can sit in Denny's place tonight and…Brooke, is it?"

"Yes ma'am," Brooke murmured.

Gordie looked at her. He'd never seen her without her shield of composure before then. And he'd never seen her as a beautiful until then.

It was too quiet at the table. The lack of conversation was worse than usual to Gordie. He was about to tell his parents that Brooke's teachers were already sending out letters of recommendation to Ivy League schools because he thought that might impress them and start a conversation. But when he looked up, his father wasn't eating and his mother had tears in her eyes.

"Mom," he said quietly and helplessly.

"Is--is the meat cooked through well enough?" she whispered, always trying to be the good hostess.

"It's great, Ma, what's wrong?" he pleaded.

"Nothing, honey."

"Is it because of Brooke?"

Brooke clutched her napkin in a death grip on her lap. "Please, Gordie--"

"Shut up, Brooke," he told her harshly but not meanly. "Tell her to go home then if she's bothering you that badly, Mom."

"Gordon, that's enough," Mr. Lachance growled. It was the first time he'd spoken since he'd laid eyes on Brooke.

"Maybe you can explain to her why her very presence causes you to shut down," Gordie said. "Because of her last name, you see her, and the only thing you can feel is hate. Explain to her why you hate her so much, because I can't, and she doesn't understand!"

"If only your brother Denny were still around," Mr. Lachance said, shooting a glare at Brooke. "You would have a role model and you wouldn't be going around with such little respect for your parents--who, believe me, only stick around for you."

"Stuck around? I didn't need a presence, I needed parents!"

"You're upsetting your mother, Gordon," he said.

"It's not my fault that she can't get a life!"

"She just misses Denny! But I wouldn't expect you to understand, you selfish little shit. Denny never would have--"

"Denny's dead!" Brooke cried.

"Because of your father!" he roared.

"I've never been able to forgive him, because he didn't even try to change. So I could never dream that you'd be able to either." Brooke's poise was back, but for once, her confidence was both real and brave. "But you have to forgive Gordie. It's not his fault that Denny died. Do not blame him for being the other son. He's tried so hard to please you, but you don't care and you've been breaking his heart ever since he was a little boy!"

"How dare you pass judgement on my family?" Mr. Lachance demanded.

"He's all you have! Have you ever listened to him or tried to know him? Just love him! It's not hard to do!"

"Get out of my house," he said, standing up.

Gordie and Brooke stood up at the same time. She was ready to retreat and he was bristling with defense. "Just because you don't want to hear the truth, it doesn't give you the right to talk to her like this! You don't know her, you don't want to know her, just like you've never given a shit about me and you never will!"

"It disgusts me that you can claim to respect your brother when you invite her into his home and--"

"Fuck you!" Gordie yelled. He felt a twinge of pain when his mother burst into tears, but for once he didn't hate himself.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he shouted, taking a step around the table so he was in Gordie's face.

"Hit me," Gordie said quietly. "Do a little more damage, Dad--just hit me, dammit!"

The father and son stood, staring heatedly at each other. Neither of them would ever be able to say all they were thinking, but they both knew that.

Gordie brushed by him, leaving Brooke standing alone. Through the whirlwind he was feeling, he managed to see the panic on her face and grabbed her arm, dragging her to his room.

"Gordie, oh my God," she cried, shaking visibly. Gordie slammed the door behind them. "I'm sorry! My God, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay." He grabbed his backpack. "That went surprisingly well, actually."

"No…" She wanted to cry, and she couldn't even look at him.

"Brooke." He looked at her, holding her by the elbow. "Don't worry about it. I've needed to do that for years. Thanks for sticking up for me."

She nodded, the focussed on his bag. "May I ask what the fuck you're doing?"

"I told him. I warned him. If he ever accused me of not respecting Denny again, I'd be gone. I'm done with his shit, Brooke."

The look on Brooke's face softened.

Gordie shoved a bunch of random clothes into his backpack. "Will you grab Cat for me, Brooke?"

Wordlessly, she picked the tabby up, cradling her. Cat seemed to understand how upset she was, because she snuggled into her arms.

"You leave first, okay?" he said. "I'll be right behind you, but you have to go first."

Brooke walked ahead of him, never looking back until she reached the front door. Then she looked at him for direction.

"It's okay. Go," he told her quietly.

When she slipped out the door, he slung his bag over one shoulder, put his hand on the door and called, "I gotta go. I love you, Mama."