"Good." Memories of the day flood my mind—our breakfast,mybreakfast… the banana bread, the movie, this moment right now—and I smile. "So did I, Hastings. So did I."
35
Tessa
"Three, four, five… dammit."
I swipe out of my Calendar app, set my phone beside my laptop in front of me, and drop my head into my hands.
In the last few days, Jo's SweetCheck app has notified me of too many low readings. It got me wondering if maybe it's time to revisit the idea of her having an insulin pump instead of relying on her to dose herself based on her CGM readings. But then I calculated the weeks until her birthday—five.
There are only five weeks until Jo turns twenty-six, which means just five weeks until she loses coverage under my dad's insurance. The research I've done all night says that approval alone for the pump can take up to six weeks—and that's only if I get her to agree to it…now.
There's no way we'll make it in time while she's still insured. And knowing Jo, she has no plans to find benefits elsewhere afterward. I knew when she was diagnosed a few months back that she should have gotten one immediately. I was right, of course, and if she had listened, maybe Jo's lack of responsibility over her diabetes wouldn't eat up my only time alone. But she didn't, and it does. Because Jo's my sister, and taking care of her—of all my siblings—comes as naturally as breathing.
My ears perk up as the garage door rattles to life. Liam was gone for a short series in Chicago the past few days, but insisted he take Ruthie to soccer practice the second he landed. I was glad, of course, for thetime they'd have together and for the time off I'd get after a few days working 24/7. But the brief glance I caught of him when he pulled into the driveway wasn't nearly enough to ease my ache for him. Especially after his words on the last night we shared.
The laundry room door bursts open, and I slam my laptop shut. I stand from the stool, spinning around and leaning my palms against the counter, waiting for Ruthie and her chipper greeting.
And for him.
"Hey," I sing as Ruthie stomps through the living room. "How was—"
"Soccer's the worst," she pouts as she flops onto the sofa. "I'm quitting."
"What?" I take a step forward as Liam walks through the doorway. My breath hitches, and I pause in my tracks, torn between my excitement to see him and the worry knotting in my chest for Ruthie. "Quitting?" I ask, my gaze set on him.
Liam shakes his head, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Okay," Ruthie says, flicking her eyes toward the ceiling. She burrows deeper into the cushion, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not quitting… but I'm also not going to that stupid game this weekend."
Once again, I look at Liam, but his only response—as he defers to Ruthie—is a slow, heavy breath.
Ruthie stays silent, the crease in her brows deepening as she kicks her feet up on the coffee table.
My eyes dance back and forth between the two of them, widening as if to sayWill someone fill me in?
"The parent-player game," Liam eventually explains, stepping further into the space.
I stare at him, waiting for literally any other details. He walks past Ruthie, pulls out the stool beside me, and drops down onto it. I ignore—or at leasttryto ignore—the smell of him that wafts toward me. I've been waiting for it for days—only casually inhaling deeply as I walked past his bedroom.
"Sets of players and one of their parents play against other players and their parents," he continues. I wait for the pieces to click together, but my face must flash my confusion.
"I'm away this weekend," he reminds me.
My heart drops for Ruthie as she throws her arms open. "So, once again, I'm the outcast with no mom to fill in."
I exhale, losing what little air I had left from being this close to Liam.
"What about your uncle?" I offer, searching for a solution. "Or your Aunt Alex? I'm sure either of them would love to play."
Ruthie simply groans, so I turn to Liam.
"Levi's away this weekend too," he says. "And Alex and Cooper are traveling with him."
I whip back toward Ruthie, watching her pick at the tiny holes in the mesh of her shorts like she wishes she were small enough to crawl into one of them. "Brooke, maybe?" I suggest. "Or…"
Ruthie throws her hands over her face as her head falls back onto the cushion behind her. I peer over at Liam, his eyes set on me, and my pulse spikes as my brain scrambles for options.
