“Not lately.”
I let him get in a few more bites before I continue. The last thing I want to do is run him off with too many questions. “Why did you run away?” I ask. “Because of her?”
“Sutton?”
I nod. I wonder what kind of relationship they have if he doesn’t even call her “Mom.”
“Yeah, we got in a fight. We always fight over the stupidest shit.” He eats his last bite, then downs the rest of his water.
“And your dad? Tim?”
“He left when I was little.” His eyes roam around the room, landing on the tree. When he looks back at me, he tilts his head. “Are you rich?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you. You’ve tried to rob me several times now.”
I can see a smirk playing across his lips, but he refuses to release it. He relaxes into the booth more, pulling his hoodie away from his face. Strands of greasy brown hair fall forward, and he pushes them back. His hair holds the shape of a cut that’s long overdue, with sides that have grown out too long and uneven to be intentional.
“She told me you left because of me. She said you didn’t want a brother.”
I have to hold back my irritation. I pull his empty plate of food and his glass toward me, and I stand up. “I didn’t know about you until today, Josh. I swear. I would have been around if I had.”
He eyes me from his seat, studying me. Wondering if he can trust me. “You know about me now.” He says that like it’s a challenge to do better. To prove his low expectations of the world wrong.
I nudge my head toward the doors to the kitchen. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
He doesn’t immediately get out of the booth. “Where to?”
“My house. I have a room for you as long as you stop cussing so much.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What are you, some kind of religious nutjob?”
I motion for him to stand up. “An eleven-year-old muttering cuss words all the time seems desperate. It’s not cool until you’re at least fourteen.”
“I’m not eleven, I’m twelve.”
“Oh. She said you were eleven. Still. Too young to be cool.”
Josh stands up and starts to follow me through the kitchen.
I spin and face him as I push back through the doors. “And for future reference, you spelled asshole wrong. There’s no w.”
He looks surprised. “I thought that looked funny after I wrote it.”
I put his dishes in the sink, but it’s almost three in the morning and I’m not in the mood to wash them. I flip out the lights and have Josh lead the way out the back door. When I’m locking it, he says, “Are you going to tell Sutton where I am?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” I admit. I start walking down the alley, and he rushes to catch up with me.
“I’m thinking of going to Chicago, anyway,” he says. “I probably won’t stay more than one night at your place.”
I laugh at the idea that this kid thinks I’m going to allow him to run off to another city now that I know he exists. What am I getting myself into? I have a feeling my day-to-day responsibilities have just doubled. “Do we have any other siblings I don’t know about?” I ask him.
“Just the twins, but they’re only eight.”
I stop in my tracks and look at him.
He grins. “I’m kidding. It’s just the two of us.”
I shake my head and grab the back of his hoodie, pulling it down over his head. “You’re something.”
He’s smiling when we make it to my car. I’m smiling, too, until I feel a sharp stab of worry in the center of my gut.
I’ve known him for half an hour. I’ve known of him for a fraction of a day. Yet I suddenly feel like I’ll be protective of him for a lifetime.
Chapter Sixteen Lily
You lose your mornings after having children.
I used to open my eyes and lie in bed for several minutes before grabbing my phone and catching up on everything I might have missed while I slept. I’d have a cup of coffee, and then mentally map out my day while I showered.
But now that I have Emmy, her early morning cry rips me out of bed, and I become her gopher before I even have time to pee. I rush to change her, rush to clothe her, rush to feed her. By the time I’m finished with morning mother duties, I’m late for work and barely have time to do those things for myself.
It’s why I cherish Sunday mornings. It feels like the only day of the week I get any sense of calm. When Emmy wakes up on Sundays, I always bring her back to bed with me. We lie together and I listen to her babble and there’s absolutely no rush to get up or be somewhere.
Sometimes, like right now, she falls back to sleep, and I just stare at her for long stretches of time—marveling at the wonder that is motherhood.
I grab my phone and take a picture of her to text to Ryle, but I hesitate before hitting send. I don’t miss Ryle at all, but it does make me sad in moments like this that Ryle doesn’t get to do this with us, or that I don’t get to share in the joys they have together. There’s nothing better than adoring the child you made with the person you made them with, which is why I always try to text him pictures and videos. But I’m still upset about last night and don’t really feel like reaching out yet. I save the picture for a more peaceful day.
Fucking Ryle.
