Page 38 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“Next weekend is mine.”

I waited.

“I didn’t forget,” he added.

“Okay.”

“I’m picking him up Friday evening and bringing him back Sunday.”

“What time Friday?”

“Six.”

“And Sunday?”

“Before dinner.”

“What does that mean?”

He exhaled. “Around four, Frankie.”

“I need an actual time. Malik has medication, meals, and a routine.”

“I know.”

“You know because I remind you every three months.”

“I called to confirm, didn’t I?”

His voice wasn’t hostile, but defensiveness had entered it. I looked at Malik in the mirror and lowered my tone. “Yes, and I appreciate that. I’ll have everything packed with written instructions.”

“I’ve kept my son before.”

“I know.”

“You don’t sound like you know.”

“I sound like the person who manages his care every day.”

Silence passed between us.

He eventually sighed. “Send the therapy video when you get a chance.”

“I will.”

“And send me the updated medication list.”

“I’ll put it in his bag and text you a copy.”

“Okay. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Six o’clock.”

“Six o’clock,” he confirmed.

The call ended and I stared at the dark screen. One weekend every three months. Four weekends out of fifty-two. I believed he loved Malik, but Malik wasn't his priority; that much was clear. Still, next weekend belonged to him. Which meant Saturday night belonged to me. A slow warmth developed in my stomach.

Elijah.