The blanket is twisted around my waist and legs, and I swear I can still smell the lingering hint of cedar from Jack’s cologne.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting off that dangerous thought. Riley’s name lights up the screen.
“How much do you love me?” she says instead of hello.
My neck aches thanks to the lumpy bow pillow I embroidered and definitely overstuffed. I should have gone to bed like a real adult instead of passing out on the couch for the night.
“Hello?” Riley’s voice echoes over the phone.
“I can’t believe you called me. You’re terrified of phones.”
“It’s an emergency. Wait, were you sleeping?”
“I was.” Barely know what day it is, I was sleeping so hard. “Back to your original question, Ri—yes. But I’m going to be real with you, I’m a little afraid of what’s coming next.”
“I need your help.”
“For you? Always.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You do love me!”
I chuckle, then switch to speakerphone and mosey into the kitchen, frowning at the two plates left in the sink and the empty soda can on the counter.
Strategy session? Don’t think those usually end up with snuggles on the couch, watchingSleepless in Seattle.
“I’m almost at your place. I need to practice for my driver’s test next week.”
“Almost here? How?”
“Um, Uber,” Riley says with the perfect embodiment of teenage sass.
“First, I’ll pay for that. Second, where’s Mom? She can’t help?”
“Sleeping, I think. I don’t know.”
Right. I purposely took this morning off to try to catch up on the million other things that are piling up in my life. Zoe was more than ready to fill in for me, almost giddy at the chance. But if the past few days are any indication, I know this afternoon is going to be busy.
Thankfully.
Things always work out for me, I repeat in my head, shutting the fridge on the sad proof that I haven’t grocery shopped in a week.
“Come on over. We can take Mildred for a spin.”
Mildred, my teal Saab, is a relic of the twentieth century with almost three hundred thousand miles on it. She’s testy on a good day, but she does the job. There’s a reason I walk for my errands most days. She’s good for a grocery haul or to run over to visit Mom’s place in Gloucester.
I quickly dress, throw my hair into a ponytail, and am in the middle of making coffee when I pick my phone up off the counter. I should probably say something about last night. Thank Jack for the pizza? Clarify boundaries?
My thumb hovers over his name when my sister bursts through the front door.
Riley has her long brunette hair in two French braids, an oversized crewneck on, and leggings with the most aggressively Dad-looking sneakers I’ve seen since the nineties.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She rushes into my kitchen for a hug.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
