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“Noooo …” Astrid giggles. “Not Legos.”
“Well, there you have it. Legos. What does Penelope want for Christmas?”
Scottie chuckles. “Nothing. That’s just a sign of good parenting—raising kids who want for nothing. I don’t know what you’re doing wrong, Milloy, but you should try a little harder.”
Both Astrid and Amelia giggle.
I want to crawl through the phone and hug my friend. I want to tell her how happy I am for her. Everyone deserves that level of happiness, especially my friend, who encompasses so much positivity and hope.
“I think this year I will put a big bow on my head and hope my family gets the significance of it.” I laugh.
Scottie smiles, but it’s a sad one.
Astrid ignores me.
And Amelia’s eyes fill with tears.
Shit.
I’ve lost my touch with the ladies.
“I don’t want to keep you from that bundle of joy. Merry Christmas, friends. I’m incredibly happy for you,” I say.
“Merry Christmas,” they chime together.
And I hate that Scottie knows my life isn’t perfect at the moment, but I’m alive, and that’s all that matters today.
After setting my phone on the table, I pick up my fork.
“I’m done,” Astrid says. “Can I play on my iPad?”
I nod.
When she skips out of the dining room, I reach for Amelia’s hand. She stills, staring at her plate of half-eaten food.
“I’m sorry. It was a joke. A bad joke.”
She doesn’t respond. The hum of the furnace seems to get louder the longer we sit here without speaking. Silence magnifies everything. When I left home a year ago, silence wasn’t my friend.
Now, I crave it.
“Are you still feeling bad?” she whispers.
“Does it matter?” I’m too tired to lie to her. She knows that answer.
Her gaze stretches to mine. “Don’t say that. Of course, it matters.”
I release her hand. “I feel like …” Shaking my head, I weigh my words. “I feel like I worked really hard to remove the weeds from an overgrown garden. And there was this moment, a sigh of relief that I did it—a hard-earned accomplishment. But if I blink and I’m not vigilant, the weeds will get out of control again.”
“But how are you feel?—”
“Tired,” I cut her off because I know she needs the simple truth, even if she doesn’t know what to do with it. And she doesn’t. She’s so lost in her emotions that she can’t feel me. Maybe I’m so lost in mine that I can’t feel hers. “I’m tired, and sometimes my back hurts. This morning, I felt nauseous.”
Her eyes redden. “And youarethinner.”
Planting my elbows on the table, I rest my face in my hands, rubbing away the tension and building exhaustion.
“You shouldn’t have skipped your follow-up visit.”
