Dumb question. Despite the happy atmosphere in the house, it’s pretty obvious all of these girls are struggling.
“Having kind of a shitty week, actually,” she says, sinking into the vacant chair at the head of the table. She fills her plate with salad, the mood around the table a little grayer. Alex has given me a heads up about Fleur’s feelings toward me, so I’m not really sure what to say. “How did my mom seem?”
“She seemed quite cheerful, I think.”
She takes a mouthful, nude-colored nails tapping at her phone screen. Her skin is glowing, hair glossy, but the dark circles under her eyes are just as bad as Alex’s. “Because Alex has finally found someone willing to put up with his shit.”
Mia laughs. “I think we were worried you were a robot.”
Evie nods in agreement. “He’s always had a creative imagination.”
“But he builds thebestpillow forts.”
I grin down at Josie. Based on the way he kitted out the rental car on Boxing Day, I can believe that.
I always knew how much he’s done for his sisters, how hard he works to keep some semblance of normality in their lives, but seeing it here now, I have this sudden urge to reach beneath his skin and cradle his soft heart in both my hands.
But I can’t do that, so I settle for a quick text.
Ophelia
I love you.
Ophelia
So much.
The rest of the dinner passes in quiet conversation. Fleur doesn’t say another word, and she’s first to leave the table. Still, I feel like our first meeting could’ve gone a lot worse, considering the fact that a month ago, she wanted to remove my head from my shoulders.
The rest of us are all eating Mia’s homemade ice cream when my phone buzzes in my lap.
Alex
My love for you keeps my heart beating.
I feel my cheeks turning pink. I never know what to say back to these things, just like I don’t know how I got so lucky. I send him a thumbs-up emoji, only because I know it’ll make him laugh. He thinks I’m a bad texter.
I probably am a bad texter.
I SPEND THEfirst few hours of the night wide awake, staring at my terrible piece of artwork on the ceiling. A thick blanket of silence settles over the house, the hum of the outside world barely audible.
I pad down to the kitchen in my new—brown, of course—pajamas for a glass of water, whispering a quiet hello to the security guys in the foyer. I take a sip and turn to take in my surroundings.The dishwasher churns quietly, full to the brim from a busy evening of home-cooked food. More children’s drawings decorate the wall, and there’s a folder filled to the brim of handwritten recipes.
In the still darkness of the kitchen, I spot a shadowed form outside, sat on the garden bench with his forehead resting in his hand.
I fill up a second glass of water and slide open one of the double doors. The stone path is cold on my bare feet, my pajamas a thin barrier against the chill. The wind whispers through the bushes, tousling my hair as I walk toward the defeated form on the bench.
Alex exhales a long stream of smoke, eyes on the starless sky above us. “I’m bad company tonight, Twist.”
He’s trying to get me to leave, but it isn’t working. It won’t work. We’ve done that once, and it was a mistake.
“Not for me. Never for me.” I sit down on the bench beside him, watching the cigarette glow on his next inhale. “You came back early.”
“The next nurse on shift was a bit stricter with visiting hours.”
I run my hand over his back, feeling the heat of his skin even through his hoodie. His head drops again. I wish I could take some of the weight off his shoulders. “She’s okay, though?”
“Mentally, she’s surprisingly upbeat. Her heart and liver are just giving up.”
