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I nodded. “I get that.”
“You know what makes me laugh? Stuff that’s not supposed to be funny, but just is—like the look on your face when you sat on that whoopee cushion, a split second of complete shock. Wish I could’ve snapped a photo of it.”
“I’m sort of glad you didn’t.”
“It’s the same thing when someone is laughing and accidentally farts. Not funny for them—at all—but really funny for me.”
I was glad I’d taken one for the team if it meant brightening this kid’s spirits.
“How about when someone trips?” I said. “Somehow that’s funny, even though it’s not supposed to be.”
“Falling down a flight of stairs? Even better.”
“You’re a little sadistic, you know that?” I chuckled. “What’s your name?”
“Jack.”
I lifted the flattened whoopee cushion off the seat and sat back down. “Nice to meet you…I think.”
“What are you really doing here?”
“My mother used to be at this hospital. And I’d sometimes come down and hang out here. Old habit.”
“Where is your mom now?”
I hesitated, not wanting to upset him. “She passed away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“So you come back here and visit because you feel sorry for us?”
“Well, this is the first time I’ve been back, but no, just the opposite. I come here because I’ve met some really cool people. Being here also reminds me a little of my mom. But I came tonight because I wanted company.”
We spent the next hour playing a video game where Jack got to take out his sadistic side—on fake people this time.
When I looked over at the clock and saw it was 3AM, I stopped the game. “I better let you get some sleep.”
He sat up. “Will you come back sometime?”
“You’re not gonna play any more tricks on me, are you?”
Jack smiled. “I can’t promise that.”
Making him feel better made me feel better. Maybe this was how I’d be able to take my mind off losing Mom—by continuing to spend time here with the kids.
“How does tomorrow sound?”Chapter 22* * *ElodieBenito was funny.
I’d forced myself back to one of the online dating sites I’d used before, and he’d been the first guy to message me. Seeing his picture pop up on my phone, my immediate thought had been Ugh, I’m done with pretty boys. So I’d told him that. Which led to him sending me photos of his toes and an entire conversation about how ugly his feet were. Honestly, they really were pretty damn fugly.
But he’d made me laugh with his self-deprecating humor, and over the last few days, he’d sent me photos of his other flaws—a jagged scar on his abdomen from a mountain biking accident (though I really only noticed how defined his abs were), a birthmark shaped like Australia on the top of his ass (that was pretty damn defined, too), and a section of his arm that oddly didn’t grow hair.
But the overall package was an attractive one, small flaws and all. Not to mention that I’d stalked his Instagram and watched a video of him dancing some Latin dance—those hips don’t lie.
My phone buzzed with an incoming message.Benito: I sliced my finger using a table saw this morning. Needed a few stitches. It looks pretty gnarly. Do I need to send photos to continue pleading my case?I smiled and had started to text back when Hailey came out of her room. She stretched her arms over her head, and her eyes dropped to my phone for a moment. “Who are you texting so early?”
“First of all, it’s ten o’clock, sleepyhead. And second of all, it’s personal, so none of your beeswax.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a boy.”
“Well, if it were a member of the opposite sex I was talking to, it would be a man, not a boy.”
She shrugged. “From what I can tell, most men just grow taller and wider. They’re still little boys.”
I shook my head and chuckled. Wise beyond her years.
It felt sort of awkward to admit I was talking to a man. But if I expected her to share things about boys with me, I couldn’t be that closed off.
I set down my phone and picked up my coffee mug. “His name is Benito.”
She frowned.
“What? You don’t like the name?”
“No. It’s not that.” She avoided making eye contact and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she spent a few minutes hanging on the door and staring into it.
I walked over. “Are you waiting for something to magically appear in there? Want me to make you banana nut pancakes?”
Her stomach growled loudly, and I laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go sit. You can peel the bananas and mash them for me.”
I grabbed two bowls from the cabinet and took out the flour, sugar, baking soda, eggs, and cinnamon. Setting one of the bowls in front of Hailey, I handed her three bananas and a spoon to use to mash.
