I open my mouth, but before the words even form, I stop myself.
I'm not letting this clown separate Tessa and me for even one more second.
I huff out a laugh, shake my head, then ruffle his hair as I would my kid's. "Later, man," I say, pushing off of the chair.
I don't wait to see his reaction as I bound toward the door. I'm halfway there when I twist back around. "Hey, Gabby," I toss over my shoulder.
She perks up, her cheeks pinker than they were before—with anger I hope. "In case you needed to hear it," I say. "You can do better."
She nods, and it's all I need.
To walk out the door.
And go get my girl.
43
Tessa
We left the hospital not long after Lenora with the agreement that I would take Jo home, get her settled, then drop her off at Margot's on my way back to Golden City. Our little sister was more enthusiastic than we expected to have a new roommate for a while. Apparently the corporate world isn't as exciting as she thought it would be. I, personally, thought the pencil skirt versus pantsuit debate would have given that one away. But who am I to judge? Not everyone understands why I love taking care of tiny people with snot and attitude, and yet… Here I am.
The ride home was great—an ebb and flow of storytelling and reflection. I told Jo about the soccer mom I was way less sorry to see plop into the mud than I should have been, and she told me about the segment she wants to do on people who are mean to their pets. That, of course, led me into telling her about Sammy—that first ice cream cone we shared, the way I confided in him about kissing Liam before anyone else. How much I love that tongue of his that always seems to flop out of his mouth.
It was nice to catch up like we used to—not over a phone or because there was some sort of family drama. So now, pulling into her apartment complex, I'm almost sad for the ride to be coming to an end. In a lot of ways, Jo not quite making it through that waffle station did us all a little good.
She knows now how serious this can be, and she has a plan to find new coverage first thing after her birthday to start the process of getting her insulin pump. And I learned things too. Like how taking everything on alone isn't a strength—it's crippling. And how asking for help or being vulnerable isn't irritating to someone who loves you. It's a gift.
Putting the car in park in front of Jo's building, my pulse races knowing my next step is to call Liam. I stare straight ahead at the pattern of the worn red brick, reminding myself of why I feel the way I do—Liam is the most dependable and laid-back person I know. He'll understand, and we'll work through it together.
"Tess?" Jo says, just as I finally calm my nerves.
I turn to her, killing the engine. "Yeah?"
She chips away at what's left of her black nail polish, avoiding my gaze at first. "I just wanted to say thank you for coming. I know I said you're always saving us like it's a bad thing…" She finally looks up at me, and for a second, she looks like she did when she really was mylittlesister. "But I hope you know that we're the luckiest people to have you as our big sister."
Tears prick the back of my eyes. I complain that my siblings are always running to me to help work through their issues, but that's the gift I'm talking about. Thinking about that, I realize how lucky I am that the four people closest to me trust me with some of their most fragile—and some not so fragile—pieces of their lives.
"I'm the lucky one," I say, unhooking my seat belt. I scoot closer to the center console and throw my arms around her shoulders. "And I'll always leave the light on for you."
Jo wraps around my waist and squeezes tight. "Always?" she asks.
"Always."
"Promise?"
"Jo…" I laugh. "I promise.
She pulls back abruptly, flopping back against her seat. "Good," she says firmly. Her face pales slightly. "Because I called Liam."
My eyes grow wide, and she paints an awkward smile.
"To be fair, I just wanted to tell him not to let you bail whenyoucalled him, but dammit, you're right. That man isgoodand uh… he's sort of coming here."
"What?" I yell. "Jo!"
"Yeah…" she drags out. "And I thought maybe he'd tell you himself when you called once we got inside…" Her voice fades as she looks past me through the driver's side window. "But unless my eighty-three year old neighbor, Ralph, gave his Civic an upgrade…" She points and I follow her finger to the pearly white truck sitting just a few spots down. "I think he's already here."
I spin back toward her, my eyes doubled in size. "Jo!"
