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He kisses her forehead before kissing mine and then produces a popsicle for Brianna.
"When your mom was your age," he tells her as he sits beside us, "she would only eat popsicles when she had the stomach flu."
"What was your favorite color popsicle?" Brianna asks me as clutches the popsicle in her hand.
"Purple," Dad answers.
I nod. "Yep."
The doorbell echoes through the house, and Mom wipes her hands on a dishtowel while yelling, "I've got it!"
Dad launches into a story about how I puked in his yellow jeep two decades ago and he never got the purple stain out of the seat. I roll my eyes. Brianna laughs.
Mom peeks her head into the room. "Iz?"
"Yeah?"
"Door," she flashes her eyebrows at me.
Confused, I slip off the couch.
Mom grabs my arm as I walk by and whisper-yells, "Brady."
I stop walking. "Here?"
Her eyes widen. "Yes."
I smooth my pants and run my fingers through my hair before I open the front door. Sure enough, Brady Cohen is standing on my front porch.
"Uh, hi," I say as I step out onto the porch and close the door behind me.
"I tried calling you," he holds up a bag.
"What's this?" I ask as I take it from him.
"I picked up some stuff at the store. Saltine crackers and Pedialyte. I figured your mom was making soup, so I didn't pick up any of that. She always used to make it when you were sick. And there's a doll in there. I don't know if I chose right. But I..." he trails off.
Touched, I hug the bag to my chest. "You didn't have to do this."
"I know." He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and I internally sigh at how handsome he is as the front porch light casts a golden glow around him. "But I wanted to."
"Ava's kids had the stomach flu yesterday," I make small talk. "She said it's a 24-hour thing. Brianna should feel better tomorrow."
"You don't have to come in tomorrow," Brady rushes to get out. "I don't want you to feel like you have to. You have your laptop, so you can work from home."
Snow is still falling slowly and my heart throbs in my chest. "I'll see how she's feeling in the morning."
"I should have told you I wasn't going to make it in today," Brady exhales.
"You don't owe me an explanation about how you spend your time, Brady."
"My mom has dementia," he shakes his head. "She was having a really bad day, so I stayed home with her. She...she misses my dad. She couldn't understand where he was and why he wasn't answering her phone calls. I should have let you know I wasn't going to be in, but she can be a lot to handle."
Wait. What?
He was with his mom.
He stayed home with her.
