And then he casts a forlorn glance to the ground. He looks likeArgos, after he’s been caught chewing up one of my Birkenstocks. But somehow, even cuter.
I groan, flopping onto the beanbag. “Fine.” I drop the phone on my stomach. “You can keep it.Ifyou also have a not-terrible picture of me, too.”
“I already have lots of those,” he says.
I peer slowly his way. I’ve never once been aware of his taking my picture.
Alex opens his mouth, then shuts it, then says, “That sounded really creepy.”
“Yep.”
“I’d like to address that.”
I tell him, “I’d like that, too.”
“Mia,” he says. “She takes your photo when you’re around. Like, every time.”
My heartbeat stutters. “What?”
Gently, he lifts his phone from where it rests on my stomach and navigates to his photos, down to Albums, where a rounded rectangle says on the right,Thea, my smiling face on the left side.
I scroll through the album, laughing. Many of these photos are objectively unflattering, taken beneath me, from her four-year-old height. Even so, they make my heart pinch. Mia wanted my picture.
Some aren’t unflattering, at least. My goofy smile as I’m juggling her size-three soccer ball in the backyard. My who’s-a-good-pup look I give Argos, as I cup his face and pucker up to kiss his head. My upside-down grin as I hang from the playground bar, jazz hands out, my hair frizzy and wild, nearly brushing the ground.
“Why?” I ask Alex.
He eases down beside me on the beanbag, opening an arm.An invitation. I roll toward him, setting my head on his shoulder, and his arm curls around me. He holds his phone above us in both hands, just like he did that first night at my apartment, as we Wordled and tore through mini crosswords.
“She has albums for her special people,” he tells me.
I watch him swipe through to his Albums, catching fragments of faces and names. Jen’s face on an album namedMommy. An older couple, head-to-head, that I think might be his parents; a man with Alex’s vivid blue eyes, a woman with his dark waves and curls hair. Another older couple who might be Jen’s parents, based on their looks. Three women, one after the other, who have to be his sisters.
“No Album for Ethan,” I observe. I am vindictively pleased.
Alex frowns down at me. “Hellno.”
“You wouldn’t let her make one?”
Alex grins. “Even better, she didn’taskto make one.”
I try to hide my glee, the delirious grin squishing up my cheeks.
Alex lifts his eyebrows. “Wow,” he says. “Nowthatsparked your joy.”
CHAPTER 23THEN
November 28, two autumns ago
“Ted,” Alex says. He rests his hand on my bouncing knee. “What’s up?”
“I’m nervous.”
He glances my way briefly, brow furrowed, then back to the road. “Why?”
I huff out a breath, staring ahead. “I don’t know.”
“If it helps, I’m nervous, too.”