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“Nixon!” I protest, laughing. “Put me down, or I’ll puke on you.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I care! Put me down. Now.”
Finally, this time he listens. He puts me down on the ground, his hands landing on my shoulders to help steady me after all the spinning.
Making sure my wig’s in place, I look up only to find Nixon watching me, a soft smile on his mouth.
“What?”
“You’re laughing.”
I pull my brows together. “Yeah, so?”
By the way he says it, you’d think I’m some kind of grinch or something.
“Nothing. It’s good to see you laugh. I haven’t seen you so happy since…”
Since cancer.
Before really.
There weren’t many reasons to laugh when you were fearing if you were going to make it to the next day.
“Nixon…”
He shakes his head and throws his hand over my shoulder, pulling me closer. “That’s good, Smalls. It feels good to see you happy.Healthy.”
I slip my hand around my big brother’s waist and lean my head against his chest. “I think I’m far from healthy, but I’m getting there. One day at a time, right?”
“One day at a time,” he agrees as we start walking. “So this gallery thing…You gave Prescott an invite?”
“I left it in his letter.”
“I thought you didn’t open the letter.”
“I opened it, but in the end, I decided against reading it. When he’s ready, he’ll find it.”
“But the exhibition is this weekend.”
We come to a stop in front of Nixon’s car, so I let go of him. “Then he better be ready fast.” I turn to Nixon and give him a warning glare. “And do not tell him. He has to do this on his own, Nix.”
“Fine,” he lets out a sigh. “Where are you going? Want me to give you a ride?”
“Actually, yes. I want to stop by the store and surprise the girls with the good news. Hell, why don’t you call Yas and tell her to come too? We can make a party out of it.”
I might not know what’s in store for me down the road, but today was a good day, and I damn sure planned to make the most of it.
CHAPTERFIFTY-FOUR
PRESCOTT
“Are you ever planning to actually open this thing, or are you just going to stare at it?” Spencer asks as he makes his way to the fridge. He pulls out a carton of orange juice, leans against the counter, and drinks straight from it.
Face your demons, Prescott.
I flip the letter, willing it to reveal its secrets to me, but the damn thing is quiet.
