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She mumbles, “Am I a princess now?”
“A princess?” I echo.
But she doesn’t answer. She just starts snoring.
I try not to laugh because I don’t want to wake her up. “A princess,” I muse.
Landon chuckles again from up front. “Yeah, remember onHerculesthe other night when Meg called herself a damsel in distress? And then she ended up with Herc? Rae probably thinks Meg became a princess.”
“Ohhhh,” I say, remembering the movie we all watched after our alfredo dinner. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I don’t think Hercules was a prince, but….”
“Yeah, he wasn’t, but I get it: he’s the guy, she’s the girl, they have a happily-ever-after ending. Same thing as a fairytale to a kid.”
“Yep.”
I gaze down at Rae and stroke her hair again.
“Well, you don’t have a prince,” I tell her quietly, “but you are definitely a princess.”
In kind, I hear Landon agree, “She sure is.”
*
At home, I have to wake Rae a little bit to change her out of her dirty clothes. She fusses, but the pain meds are still working, so I don’t have too much trouble fixing her up and getting her comfy in bed. She’s conked out again a second after her head hits the pillow.
I had told Landon to help himself to some water or tea, and I find him in the kitchen putting away his empty glass. When he faces me, I can see the full mess of his light gray shirt, which has dark splotches and smears on it.
But it doesn’t stop me from walking right over and throwing my arms around him.
He sucks in a breath and wobbles a bit, surprised, his arms pinned to his sides as I squeeze him with my cheek against his chest.
Ihaveto hug him. I’m over the hesitation I’ve been battling since our spaghetti night; I have no reason not to do this, and every reason to.
His arms close low and tight around my back. It’s pretty much all he can muster—I didn’t catch him up in the smoothest of hugs—but it works.
Neither of us says anything.
We don’t even move for what has to be a minute.
When I do let go and step back, I look up at him. At his super-mussed hair. At those green, green eyes, which are somehow both tired and full of life as they look at me, too.
I tell him, “I don’t know how to thank you. You were so good and helpful and sweet.”
He shakes his head and says whisper-quietly, “You don’t have to thank me.” He clears his throat for a more normal tone. “It was no trouble. You’re never any trouble. Neither is Rae. I…” he gestures along me, looks right into my eyes for a lengthy second, and then clears his throat again, “…I think you guys are awesome. You know that.”
Nodding, I give him a small smile. “Yeah, well…right back at you.”
He gives the smile back to me.
Apologetically now, I say, “I’m sorry about your shirt.”
“Nah, don’t be. I’m just glad Rae is all right.”
“I’m glad, too.” I think about adding that I’m sorry if I freaked out too much over the boy, but I’m reallynotsorry. I don’t think I overreacted. The kid was a jerk.
Landon scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I—I guess I should get back over to the park and clean up our stuff.”
“Oh. Yeah…. Sorry you have to go back.”
