Jamie notices on Thursday when I'm reorganizing the storage room for the second time this week. "You don't want to go home," she says simply.
I stop counting bottles of lemon verbena body wash. "I'm just trying to stay on top of things."
"We did inventory on Monday. You've stayed late four times this week." She leans against the doorframe. "You're avoiding."
I don't answer because she's right.
"Things are just tense right now," I finally say. "With Devon adjusting to being home all the time."
"Is Asher helping?"
"He's there all the time."
"That's not what I asked."
I pick up the clipboard again. "He's doing what he thinks is best for her."
"And who's supporting you?"
The question lands like a stone in my chest. I don't have an answer. Jamie doesn't push. She just leaves me alone in the storage room. I stay another hour, reorganizing things that don't need to be reorganized.
Ryan stops by the shop one afternoon. He's picking up a gift basket for his mom's birthday. I'm at the counter wrapping it when he leans against the display case and studies my face.
"You look tired," he says.
"Thanks. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear."
"I'm serious. Are you okay?"
I tie the ribbon around the basket with more force than necessary. "Things are just hard right now. At home. With Devon adjusting to online school."
"How's Asher handling it?"
"He's very focused on making sure she's okay."
Ryan's jaw tightens. "And what about you?"
I hand him the basket. "It's just an adjustment period. We'll figure it out."
He lingers for another moment, like he wants to say more. But then he just nods and leaves. I watch him go and feel the weight of everything I'm shoving down inside of me pressing down on my chest.
I’ve been pushing myself so hard that I’m not even a little bit surprised when I feel the start of a migraine. A sharp pain behind my right eye that spreads across my temple and down my neck. The fluorescent lights in the shop suddenly feel too bright. Every sound is too loud.
I try to tough it out, to keep it from being obvious. I know I’ve failed when my sister pulls me aside. "You need to go home."
"I'm fine."
"You're pale and you keep squinting. Go home and rest. That’s not even a request. It’s an order."
I grab my bag and keys and drive home, grateful for the quiet of the car. By the time I pull into the garage, my stomach is in a knot. It gets worse when I see Asher's car. I stare at it for a moment, confused. It's one in the afternoon. He should be at work. I walk into the house and hear voices upstairs. His voice. Devon's voice. Laughter.
I climb the stairs slowly, my head pounding with every step. When I reach the top, I see them in the living room. Asher is on the couch. Devon is sitting beside him, close, her laptop open on the coffee table. They're looking at something on the screen together.
"Hey," I say. They both look up. Asher's expression shifts from relaxed to guarded in an instant.
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
Here. Like it's some random building as opposed to my home. "I have a migraine. What are you doing home?"
