“Fair enough.”
I settle on the right side of the couch, putting the popcornbowl on the middle cushion. When Milo walks over, he picks up the bowl and plops down right beside me, the popcorn now in his lap.
“So, what’s this one about?” I cross my arms, leaning against the couch arm.
Milo takes a handful of popcorn. “Well, I think it’s about paranormal activity.”
I frown at him. “What?”
“Demonic things and some kind of investigators. It’s at an old farmhouse or something,” he tries to explain.
“Demonic?” I feel my forehead wrinkle.
“It’s like really ramped-up haunted house stuff.”
The movie starts up, and it’s not long before I’m using Milo as an arm rest instead of the couch. Milo places the popcorn on the other cushion and his arms around me, pulling me into his scent of memories and musk. I want to dissolve into it, wearing his warmth.
“We can turn it off,” he says.
I shake my head with my face buried into his chest, focusing on matching my breath with his. “No, I have to complete the movie to mark it off the list.”
“But the list says to watch an R-rated movie, not listen to it,” he teases gently, his chin resting against the top of my head.
“Can you watch it for me? I’m good down here,” I mutter, my words hot against his shirt.
“My eyes are yours,” he replies softly.
I let my body and mind fall heavy into Milo, letting him simply hold me. It’s been too long since I’ve let myself relax into someone like this—actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever let anyone hold me like this except for him.
Milo’s fingers soon thread through my hair as he gently massages my scalp and then carefully untangles any knots he created. Every weary and worn atom within me seems to exhale, and I melt into this comfort.
The movement of his chest slows, and mine mimics it. Soon, everything feels cozy and turns black.
The next thing I remember is Milo tucking me into my bed, placing a whisper of a kiss onto my forehead and saying, “Night, Sadie,” before he leaves.
24
SADIE
My body achesand my eyes blur from sitting in my office chair staring at numbers all morning. Numbers reflecting what others prioritize while I contemplate my own.
I glance down at my calendar.
Thursday.
Go for a walk.
Water petunias for the city.
DRINK WATER
I grab for my Stanley cup and let the cool water slide down my throat.
I hear my dad roll out of his office before I see him. He wheels into my small space. “Hey, kiddo. I’m taking lunch.”
“Okay,” I say, leaning back and stretching my hands high toward the ceiling, tilting my head from side to side, wishing the tension would crack.
My dad doesn’t leave immediately. Instead, his eyes float around. I follow their trail over my walls and floors. “We should update your office,”he muses.
