He made a rough sound, so low that my toes inexplicably tingled, scrunching on the kitchen tile.
“I’m going to murder Cole Dubois.”
I laughed. “For texting?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “And for not mentioning it once in the 300 messages he’s sent me this week. Forget I asked about him staying. He’s clearly untrustworthy.”
“How long have you been friends?”
He sighed. “Fifteen years too long.”
“Shame to see it fall apart after so long,” I mused.
“Yeah, but it is what it is. Anyway, I guess I’ll just text him and let him know he can stay with us.”
Was he imagining the sudden, full toothed smile on my face? Because it was there.
“Or I could just text him and let him know,” I said around it.
Adair grunted. “Not funny, Indigo Girl. Not funny at all.”
He really did have to go then, and after a quick goodbye, I stood in the kitchen and ate my sandwich, grinning like a moron.
When I padded back to my bedroom, the quiet in the house felt almost… eerie. But then I heard the faint yips and barks of some of Miss Lenny’s dogs in the fenced backyard next door, and I relaxed.
I wasn’t alone.
After shucking off my pants and bra, I crawled under the covers, squirming in annoyance at the lack of weight.
I had a small storage unit of Dad’s and my things in our hometown, another financial stressor, and kicked myself every day for not packing my weighted blanket when we moved here.
But now, without a car, going back to get it was little more than a dream.
I bet that mountain quilt on Adair’s bed is just heavy enough.
My phone buzzed on the floor, still in the pocket of my shorts. Leaning over precariously, I grabbed it and opened a text from Adair.
It was a selfie of him, smiling wide, with Dad and Wilbur sitting on the couch in the background.
When I was done looking over every inch of Adair, I looked at Dad. For the first time since his diagnosis became our lives, I felt something more than sadness when I saw him.
Relief.
We weren’t plummeting anymore. I wasn’t sure I could call it thriving, but we were… coasting. Maybe even putting a little pressure on the gas, headed up a small incline.
Maybe.
Adair’s smile was close-lipped in the picture, unfortunately,and I had to wonder if it was because of the question on his latest note.
Did you see my blue teeth this morning?
My gaze moved over to Dad once more, and a slow realization blanketed my being.
He didn’t need me.
Not right now.
I saved the picture to my “happy” album, set it as Adair’s contact ID icon, and then deleted my early-afternoon alarm.
