Grinning, I started my car. “See, this would be an excellent time to nickname someone Clyde. Not when they’re puking inyour bathroom.” I looked at Oreo seriously. “Don’t puke in my bathroom, okay?”
I got Oreo set up at home, keeping her mostly out of the bedrooms. I was scared I’d lose her under a bed or something. Plus, I thought it would be easier for her to get used to my house if she wasn’t overwhelmed at first.
Not that she needed to get used to anything. This was a one-time thing.
Probably.
I watched as she hopped and sniffed.
Then I dragged a hand across my mouth, fighting hysteria. I’d stolen a rabbit from a second-grade classroom. Good lord, wasthisrock bottom?
Oreo and I watched three episodes of a 2000s sitcom on my laptop in the living room. She sat with me and let me stroke her ears, and she made me laugh when she started nibbling my socks.
It was nice to have some company, especially tonight when my thoughts were mournful and tinged with heartache.
That night, as I lay in bed, I wondered what it would have been like to get the news of Diane’s prognosis if Danny and I were still married. I could have been a source of comfort for the Jensens. I would have made meals and stocked their fridge. Visited and called, taken Diane to her appointments.
I would have wrapped Danny in my love, and we could have faced the heartbreak of loss together. That was what you did with a partner. Except now, he didn’t have anyone to lean on, to help carry the weight or bear the burden.
But neither did I. And I didn’t even have the right to mourn Diane as my family anymore. That had been taken from me, too.
Shame had me roughly scrubbing the tears from my cheeks. I was being incredibly selfish.
So I was relieved by the distraction when my phone lit up on my nightstand just after midnight. And then I was shocked because right there on my screen was a text message from Jack Ellis.
Jack: You up?
Jack: Okay, I realize how that sounded. I meant, are you awake, having trouble sleeping?
I laughed, the tearstained skin tight around my eyes as it crinkled in sudden amusement. For one wistful moment, I thought about what it would be like to get a booty-call text from Jack.
I braced for panic, for the sinking sensation of betrayal, to feel like I was cheating on my husband. But it never came. All I felt was the lightness of possibility, the flip in my belly that was attraction and giddy disbelief. A warmth settling low in my middle.
My mind went to places covered in tattoos. The dark scruff on his jaw. Little round glasses perched on a masculine face. I tried to imagine him in this bed. Knocking quietly on my door and sliding under the covers. His face was a solemn, stoic mask. Calm and cool and unaffected. I wondered what it would take to get that mask to slip.
Then I shook off the daydream with a regretful laugh and started typing, begging myself not to make it weird.
Me: I’m up.
Favorite movie theater snacks, he texted immediately, like he’d been waiting all day to ask.
I smiled, allowing myself the little fantasy. What was one more in the secret quiet of my bedroom?
Me: Popcorn with an obscene amount of butter, Cookie Dough Bites, and a fountain Coke. I will not be entertaining any other offers or taking questions at this time.
A pause before the bouncing dots appeared. I let myself have another little daydream, one where I imagined that little pause meant he was laughing on the other end of our conversation. Jack did that sometimes—waited for a beat or two before he started typing. Just for tonight, I’d believe it was because Jack found me amusing. He was, of course, too cool to use an emoji to convey his delight over my obvious charm. Obviously. And a GIF? Unheard of.
But Jack, leaning against his headboard, glasses on and smiling down at the screen of his phone. That, I could believe.
At least for tonight.
Jack: Another acceptable answer could be ... Dr Pepper and popcorn with butter and Reese’s Pieces mixed in.
Me: I will consider it.
Another pause. I rolled onto my side, grinning.
Jack: Three favorite alcoholic beverages.
