“Well, what are we supposed to do?”
“You could put your furniture in storage.” Along with a hundred pounds of metal sculpture. “Or sell it, since you’ll probably want to downsize when you do come back to stay.”
“Why would we downsize? We have the house.”
Myhouse. The one they gave me, that’s signed over into my name. They just…what? Don’t plan on moving out? How did we never fully discuss this before? Except, obviously I know. I was too focused on being agreeable to let their fuzzy future plans bother me.
“What are you doing today?” I hate how strained and weak my voice sounds, but I’ll chalk it up to the lingering sickness.
“Spending another day in Hyde Park. We only explored half of it yesterday. There’s an outdoor art installation going on, too. So many beautiful things to see.”
“I can’t wait to see the pictures. I should probably get more rest now, though.”
“You do that, Rosie. And put some makeup on if Reed’s coming by. You should put in some effort after all he’s done for you. Better yet, tell him to wait until you’re back up to speed.”
We say goodbye, and I thumb off the phone, staring at the ceiling.
Then I grab my phone again.
Rose: Please bring sweet treats
Reed: Already on it
When Reed shows up a couple of hours later, I’m wearing a slightly less skimpy pajama set than last night, but no makeup. I’m sick. He’s not coming over to Netflix and chill.
I mean, yes, he is, but also no.
He’s on my front porch with a plastic takeout bag in one hand and a reusable tote in the other. His expression brightens the moment he sees me.
“Hey. You look better.” Then his eyebrows tug together.Frown Mode: Activated. “What’s wrong?”
“Come on in.” I can’t spew everything at him in my entryway. I already have to ignore the echo of my mom’s voice remindingme I shouldn’t tell him anything, anywhere. Ranting to your boyfriend isn’t attractive. Among countless other things.
He steps right up to me, gazing down as if he’s mapping my face. “What happened?”
I take his arm and guide him toward the dining room. “Let’s get some food first, big guy.”
Hmm. Probably a bad idea to test out pet names when I’m still mildly contagious.
He frowns down at me but doesn’t resist. “Sit on the couch. I’ll dish up plates for us.”
Oh, thank goodness. My energy hasn’t bounced back enough for me to do much wandering around the house. I flop down and pull my soft, yellow blanket over my bare legs while he moves around in the kitchen. He looks good in there. At ease. Like he belongs. Ugh, no. He just looks good everywhere.
After a minute, he brings me a plate of chicken lo mein with steaming potstickers on the side, a glass of Sprite, and another plate of golden-brown cookies.
“I think I’m in love.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me as he heads into the kitchen to get his own meal. “Do I need to check your temperature again?”
I’m not delirious, but I still probably shouldn’t blurt out everything I think.
I use one of the overly firm pillows to create a makeshift table in my lap and wait approximately two seconds to dive into my meal. I can’t even care about all the yummy sounds I make as I eat. I needed this food, and it’s too heavenly to slow down.
“Thank you for bringing all this,” I say between bites. “Forgive me for eating like a feral animal.”
“I like that you’re enjoying your food.”
“That’s good because I don’t think I can stop. What is the magical goodness inside potstickers? They’re so tasty.”