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“Oh. I haven’t made anything yet.”
“Are you hungry?”
I look down at our feet while I help her up the stairs. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see her wrinkle her nose. “I should be.”
“How about this? We’ll get you upstairs for a nap, and I’ll order something for us to eat. I’ll find something vegan.”
Sara gasps, and her free hand comes up to my chest. We pause at the top of the stairs. “Can we have something Asian? Like pad Thai or mapo?”
Her eyes are definitely brighter now, and it’s not the lighting. Of course, talking about food perks her up.
“I’ll find something, okay?”
Sara nods and then leans her head to rest on my shoulder, tired again.
I give myself a moment to enjoy the feeling of her body against mine. My fingers lightly press into her upper arm. Despite how muscular she is, Sara is still soft and smooth.
And tempting.
An hour and a half later,I’ve just returned from picking up our takeaway. I did manage to find a vegan tofu mapo, which I set on the counter and unpack before going upstairs to wake Sleeping Beauty.
Sara had crawled into bed and flopped down over the covers. That was the first time I’d been in her room since she moved in, and as I expected, it was meticulously tidy. There were only a few things out on the dresser and nightstand—including a small stack of papers that I recognized as the cartoons I’d drawn for her.
I had left the door slightly ajar, so now I knock and wait for Sara’s mumbled, “Come in.” A few moments later, the bedside light clicks on.
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
Sara sits up and blinks at me. Her jaw moves around, lips and cheeks bulging slightly while she runs her tongue over her teeth. “Thirsty.”
I point to her nightstand and the still-full glass of water I placed there. Sara sighs in relief and chugs the glass, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“I got you some mapo tofu.”
Sober Sara has less enthusiasm, but she comes downstairs and plunks herself down at the counter.
I open the containers and set hers in front of her. “Chopsticks or fork?”
“Chopsticks,” she says, and then halfheartedly uses them to poke a piece of tofu.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
She looks at me from under her brows. “Do you really want to hear me complain about my daughter?”
I shrug. “If it helps, sure.”
“I just . . .” She puts her head in her hands, and her fingers thread through her hair. Sara’s hair is dark brown, but a few grays here and there hint at her age. “Moving here was so overwhelming. It reminds me of when I took Zoe to college, except I’m going off to college too.”
“How old is your daughter?”
Sara sighs. “Twenty-one. We’ve always been so close, but I feel like moving here has made us drift apart. And I know it’s only been a couple of weeks. But still. There’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before. It’s been a hard day for me. I’ll get over it.” She eyes me as she picks up a bell pepper. “Do you have kids?”
I choke on my Kung Pao chicken. “Definitely not,” I say after clearing my airways.
“Ever been married?”
“Also, no.” We eat for a few moments before I ask the looming question. “How did your husband die?”
“He was very unlucky. He had a fast-growing brain tumor at the same time as having a fussy and irritable toddler. He was having symptoms that we thought were just lack of sleep and stress, and by the time we found the tumor, it was too late.” Sara crams a block of tofu into her mouth.
