“Milo,” Grant says, extending his hand.
Milo shakes it heartily. “Grant. Happy Sunday.”
“Happy Sunday,” Grant replies before his focus turns to me. “Do you like pepperoni?”
It’s such a small question.What do I like?
It feels good to be asked.
I bite my lower lip. “Like . . . in general?”
“For pizza,” he clarifies. “I was going to bring pizza over for lunch before we get started.”
My eyes flit up to Milo’s face. Milo, who is standing between us. Milo, who seems to wince before he blinks and grins. “I love pepperoni pizza,” he volunteers. “And what are we starting?”
Grant looks at Milo. “Sadie and Iare painting some walls.”
My lungs forget which one is exhale.
Both men look at me. I crumple the paper more tightly against my chest, suddenly aware of how visible I am. “Yeah. Grant is going to help me paint a few rooms in my house.”
Milo rocks back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “That’s a big project.”
“It is,” Grant says. “Which is why we need pizza. So, pepperoni?”
“Yeah, pepperoni is—” I’m about to sayfine, but I hate pepperoni. I always eat it because everyone else seems to like it, but Grant asked me ifI likepepperoni. “Actually, I really hate pepperoni.”
Grant grins. “Okay, so what do you like?”
“You won’t like it,” I say, smiling back.
“Try me,” Grant says.
“Mushroom and pineapple.”
Grant’s brows rise. “Interesting combo.”
“Extra mushrooms,” Milo murmurs, almost to himself. “Right?”
Something in my chest tightens before I can stop it. I nod, looking down. “Yeah, extra mushrooms.”
“I’m willing to give it a shot,” Grant says. “I’ll bring it over. See you around one?”
I look up at Grant. “I’ll be there.”
“Good to see you, Milo,” Grant says as he leaves.
“Yeah, same,” Milo replies.
I start to step around Milo when he gently wraps his hand around my arm, causing friction between my cardigan and skin. “Hey,” he says softly.
I freeze, and he lets go of my arm. “Are you happy, Sadie?” he asks.
I swallow. I used to think I was, at least, a little happy. Lately, I’m not so sure. Choices, made by me and others, have created a life that I don’t feel like myself in.
I look up at him and decide to choose honesty. “I don’t know, Milo.”
“How long have you been visiting Joe?” he asks.
