Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“My room, baby.”
“Where are the kids?”
“With my mom. They’re spending the night there.”
She nods, a sign she’s remembered everything. She pushes up and swings her legs out of bed. “I have to pee.”
I’m up and out of the chair in no time, offering her a hand.
“I can stand,” she says weakly.
“I know, but let me help you,” I say with my hand still held out. She takes it and I walk with her to the bathroom door, then leave her be.
She shuts the door, and a few minutes later, trudges back to bed. I help her into it. She shivers a little, and I check her temperature again. “You’re one hundred one. That’s good,” I tell her. “Can you drink some more Gatorade?”
“Maybe,” she says.
I grab a water bottle that I already filled with the cherry drink. “Your favorite flavor.”
“A Popsicle might be good,” she says, with the tiniest tease in her voice, and that makes me smile over the memory of the Popsicle and the fact that she can make a joke right now.
“If you want a Popsicle, I’ll get you one,” I say.
“Maybe later,” she says, then takes the water bottle and drinks more. She hands it to me and I set it down on the nightstand.
Drama stretches her way across the bed, padding closer to Sabrina.
“Do you want to go back to sleep?” I ask.
She shrugs, but then says, “I don’t think I’m sleepy right yet. Maybe I’ll watch something.”
“What do you want to watch?” I say, then I don’t give her a chance to turn me down. I hop into bed right next to her.
She stares at me like I’m losing it, shirking away. “You shouldn’t get that close. You might die.”
I laugh. “I’m not going to die.”
“I really don’t want to get you sick.”
“I’m pretty tough.”
“There’s a difference between this virus and someone trying to beat you up with a hockey stick.”
“You’re right. I’m not going to lose my teeth here,” I say.
“Tyler,” she says. She’s so tough but the thing is, I’m immovable in this regard.
“I’m going to be fine. You can’t stop me. Best to just give in.”
She sighs, acquiescing, then says, “You want to watch some skating?”
I smile. “A woman after my own heart.”
Then I hunt through the Chromecast and I find some old skating videos. We watch together, pointing out triple loops and axles, camel spins and twizzles, and oohing and aahing over the jumps.
When she yawns, I say, “Do you want to try to go to sleep again?”
She nods, so I turn off the TV and dim the lights a little more, checking her temperature once again. She’s one hundred one, but that’s good. She’s not getting worse.
I help her settle into the covers, gently take the hair tie from her half-bun, and stroke her hair. “Do you need anything else?”
She shakes her head.
“Sabrina,” I say, since I haven’t said I’m sorry yet and really, I need to.
“Yes,” she says softly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, blurting it out.
She’s quiet for a beat, then she says, “S’okay.”
I keep stroking her hair as I speak. “I’m sorry about the other day. I handled it badly. This is all new to me. The way I feel for you and balancing it all, and I should have done a better job. I just want you to know that, and I want you to come with me. With us. If you want to. I want you to come…just because I want you there,” I say, my heart jumping around as I think about taking her to New York.
But when I look down at her again, she’s fast asleep and probably has been for the last few minutes. I tuck the blanket tightly around her and drop a kiss to her warm forehead.
Tonight is for healing, not exoneration.
35
PRETEND I NEVER SAID AVOCADO
Sabrina
It’s a new day, and the sun streams through the windows, bright and, mostly, welcome.
With a deep sigh I push myself up in bed, blinking, orienting myself. I look down at the sage green cover, the dark gray pillows. At the spacious bed. At the huge en suite bathroom. This room is so…not mine.
Oh. Right. I sit up. Rub my eyes. Scan my surroundings. On the navy blue chair—the same chair where Tyler sat last night and read on his tablet—is a neatly folded sweatshirt.
I swing my legs out of bed, taking my time to gauge how I’m feeling. The verdict? Surprisingly good.
I stand. Wow. Is this what it feels like to be normal again?
My head doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel hot all over. I’m not really achy anymore. I’m still a little tired though, and my breath is foul.
I need to go downstairs and brush my teeth, but when I look more closely at the chair, my heart squeezes. Underneath the hoodie is a pair of leggings—my leggings—and in front of them, a white card. Something warm and hazy runs through my bloodstream.