Page 84 of Insidious

By the time he stops for lunch, I have made a grocery list.

“Mum left lasagne,” I say, already putting it in the microwave.

He nods, a little distracted, before shaking it off.

I heat it while he moves around the kitchen, setting out plates and cutlery on our small dining table.

He takes my glass, fills it with water, and then pauses to add a slice of lemon, exactly the way I like it.

I pretend not to notice. We sit down across from each other and eat. Isaac fills the silence with news about work.

Every now and then, I feel his eyes on me. Quick glances, like he’s checking something.

I keep my focus on my plate. I am still a little bummed about Mum leaving.

When Isaac finishes, he stands, gathers his plate, and scrapes the leftovers into the bin.

He rinses his dish and slots it into the dishwasher.

I watch him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

He never used to do that. Isaac used to leave it in the sink with the food still on it, like it would magically disappear if he ignored it long enough.

It took me weeks to train him out of it.

There was that one time the sink blocked—completely clogged—and I stood over him while he wrestled with the plunger, muttering under my breath about idiot men while he shot me increasingly offended looks. The memory slips in so easily that it catches me off guard.

For a moment, I’m somewhere else entirely. I’m so caught up in it that I don’t notice him moving around again.

Something lands in front of me. A large box wrapped in brown paper.

He’s standing here, hands half in his pockets, a boyish grin tugging at his mouth, almost shy, but with that unmistakable flicker of excitement in his eyes.

“It’s not my birthday yet,” I say under my breath, already reaching for it.

I love gifts. Always have. And Isaac indulges me with little thoughtful ones all the time.

I tear into the paper without ceremony.

“Isaac—”

It’s a LEGO set. Not just any set—a Ferrari Daytona SP3.

I stare at it like it might disappear if I blink. I am obsessed with these. This one is expensive—more than £300.

“She’s going to be grabbing things soon,” he says a little too casually. “Figured we might as well … build it now before she tries to eat it.”

I feel like there is light shining inside my chest. Useless tears prick my eyes before I can stop them. Such a beautiful gift.

I blink rapidly, but he sees it immediately.

His grin falters.

“Hey, did I—”

“No,” I say quickly, my voice catching. “No. I love it.”

I press my hand over the box and hug it to my chest.