Page 169 of True Blue

I wince, and it looks like the raccoon is smiling at me now—laughing at me.

Why am I still trying to keep this thing alive?

“I know,” I say, my face heating. “I just⁠—”

“Wanted to talk to me?” she gently cuts me off.

“Uh… yeah. I’m sorry⁠—”

“You don’t need an excuse to call me,” she says, and I smile when I can hear the smile in her voice. “You can just call. Or text. I’m okay with it.”

My hand clenches into a fist, and I pump it, pulling the phone away from my ear so that I can silently celebrate. The raccoon looks at me like I’m insane, and I flip it off. I am not letting this little attic invader ruin my good mood.

“You sure?”

“Yes. We’re friends. I said glacial, but… friends still talk to each other. Even at quarter to midnight.”

That’s when I pull back my phone to see the time, and I wince. Indie runs a strict sleep program, liking to be in bed by eight on the days she’s working.

“Shit, did I wake you? I’m sorry⁠—”

“You didn’t wake me, I…” she trails off, and I hear her sigh. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Concern shoots through me. “Are you okay?”

“I… don’t know. I think I’m just adjusting to the new apartment. New bed. New… everything. You know I usually like routine. It’s just taking me a little bit to fall into a new one here. I’m okay.”

But she’s not. Indie likes routine. Thrives under it, really. She goes to bed at the same time, eats the same food, and if she likes a certain item of clothing, she’ll buy it in every color. I can imagine that adjusting to a new time zone and place is hard. And I hate that I’m not there to rub her back or play with her hair until she falls asleep.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Are you watching Grey’s Anatomy?” I ask, knowing she is. Indie has a rotation of shows she’ll go through, but Grey’s Anatomy is her ultimate comfort show. It also solidified that she did not want to be a surgeon, fictional drama or not.

A brief hesitation before she answers, sounding amused. “…yes.”

“Which episode?”

“I restarted it, so I’m on episode six.”

“Pulling out the big guns,” I joke, and press a hand to my chest when I hear her giggle come down the line. “Tell me what’s happening. I haven’t seen it as much as you.”

“It’s the nails-in-the-head episode,” Indie says, her voice soft. “But it also has that scrub nurse who came to the hospital to die. It kind of… it reminds me of Ellie. She knew she was dying, but she didn’t want to make a fuss. She wanted to go on her own terms.”

“I remember that one,” I murmur, smiling now when I think of Nana.

The grief doesn’t strike me as hard anymore. I reach up to press my fingers to the ring still under my shirt, and I wonder if Indie is doing the same. I don’t need to question if she is still wearing my Pop’s ring. I know she is.

But then I think of how I abandoned Indie in her grief, focusing on my mother’s.

“She loved you so much, Indie,” I say quietly. “You were as much a grandchild to her as we were.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. She told me all the time.”

“I like playing her records,” Indie admits, her voice a little sleepy now. “It makes me feel connected to her.”