After juggling the hot container with my food, I carried the plate to the sitting room and picked up my phone.
A quick call to Ross would make sleep come swifter. Knowing he was okay and simply hearing his voice had become our nightly routine, unless I didn’t get home till way past civilised o’clock. On those nights, I flicked Ross a text. Communication he asked for and contact I was more than happy to make.
It wasn’t long past nine, so I hit his number on my phone. Two rings later, he answered, “Hey, everything okay?”
“Yeah. Managed to squash it. Everyone’s safe. Knackered.”
A soft exhale travelled down the line. My heart flipped at the sound. “Thank Christ. More and more reports are coming on the news about fires breaking out, some way out of control.”
Tilting back my head, I sighed, tired and scared. “It’s a shitshow.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Concern softened his voice, and I could imagine the tilt of his head, the tightness of his brows as he spoke.
“Yeah,” I said, not quite sure if I was, not with so much happening in Australia. “I just need rest.”
“You go eat. Actually, did you get your food?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a smile, hoping he could hear my appreciation. “Thank you. Just about to eat it now. That doesn’t mean you have to go.” Ross’s voice was soothing, a comfort I could happily embrace every day.
A yawn tore free, though, making him chuckle.
“And that’s my cue. Don’t forget to let me know you’re safe tomorrow, okay?”
“Absolutely.” Whether he expected the same from his brother and dad or not, I didn’t know. All I knew was that he cared about me and wanted to make sure I got home safely every evening.
That knowledge was enough to ease some of the stress of the day.
“Night, Ross.”
“Night, Dan.”
We ended the call, and I went back to finishing the food he’d made me.
Once all of this craziness had calmed, perhaps it was time to let Ross know it was his quiet, steady reassurance that made me feel like I was home.
