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I didn’t want to do this by Post-it Note.
You’ve been mostly really nice, but
I’m moving in with Brent—this weekend.
Shit. I crumple them, tossing them into the garbage. Chantal and her damn sage are a risk to my deposit, but I need her share of the rent to afford this place and save money. I’ll need to find another roommate, and for all her woo-woo shit, Chantal at least didn’t eat my food or steal my stuff.
I can’t deal with this tonight, not after the emotional wringer of today. I fall across my bed fully clothed, passing out hard.
I wake in a puddle of sunlight. Late morning sunlight.
SHIT.
I scramble up.
The cracked screen on my phone doesn’t like my pin.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no no, please, don’t be…
There are half a dozen text messages and four voice mails when I finally unlock my phone. Celia’s text says Timothy is awake and has been asking about me. I don’t read the others. The voice mails are all from work. Mariko, informing me I’m thirty minutes late and Cruella is pissed, especially after I left work early and didn’t tidy my workspace. Another message when I’m an hour late.
The final one Cruella leaves herself—don’t come in.
Chapter nine
Timothy
“TimothyAlexanderFoley.”
My eyes are already closed against a raging headache and if I don’t open them or move, maybe my mother will think I’m sleeping and go away.
She’s not a T. rex. It doesn’t work.
Through mostly closed eyelids, I watch as she pulls the chair up to my bed and sits. Her feathers are ruffled. She’s not going anywhere. Worse, she knows I’m faking it.
“I got what you asked for from your house,” she says, sounding annoyed, “and I packed you a bag, and for fuck’s sake, Timothy, how many different kinds of lube does one man need?”
That makes me smile. She loves me. I’m her favorite child—not counting Nic, who shouldn’t count because he isn’t hers.
Opening my eyes all the way sucks. The curtains are drawn against the bright morning sun, but my headache doubles down anyway. “I should’ve warned you about the lube.”
“You should’ve warned me about the lube,” she agrees, irritation thick in her voice. “And the wife.”
Mina. I miss her. She slipped out last night without saying goodbye. Without saying anything.
“We aren’t married,” I say as a nurse walks in with yet another flower arrangement—bright yellow daisies this time. Since I woke up, my hospital room has bloomed into an enchanted garden. Low-pollen flowers in bright colors, shiny Mylar balloons, and teddy bears crowd every surface allowed. I make a promise to every singleGet Well Soonthat I’ll be back to full strength in no time, better than ever.
My mother stares at me. She looks exhausted. Can’t blame her, since she spent most of the night watching me sleep. “Why, Timothy?” she asks, sighing.
I close my eyes and explain as best I can with a throbbing head. If something bad happened to me, I wanted Mina by my side, taking care of me. If somethingreally badhappened, I wanted to leave her everything, so she’d be taken care of.
“You never told us about her.” There’s pain in my mother’s voice and no real way to erase it.
I kept her a secret from my family because I was afraid they’d be able to tell from the moment I said her name that I was hopelessly in love with her. I was terrified they’d see she didn’t feel the same, and they’d pressure me to let her go so I could find someone ready to give me their whole heart.
But I don’t want someone else’s whole heart. I want the tiny pieces of Mina’s that slip through her fingers when she isn’t looking.
I’ve wasted too many days, thrown away years of happiness we could’ve had. She’s a cautious person and I’ve approached her carefully. It hasn’t worked.
