Page 67 of Every Broken Piece
“Healthy food is important for recovery. How’s chicken parmesan sound?”
“Umm. Delicious.”
Conor’s glaring at me. A small smile tips Amelia’s lips as she glances between the three of us.
“You all are welcome to stay. I bought plenty.”
Amelia uncurls herself from the funny looking chair. “I should go. Come on, Conor.”
“I’m—”
I glare at him. He swallows. “I’m coming.”
I see them out and make sure to lock up behind them. The lock’s flimsy and I have to shove the door with my shoulder to get it to engage. There is no second lock. Damn it, it would be so easy to break into this apartment. I’ll have to find something to reinforce it before we go to bed tonight.
Tess crunches into her apple, her feet curled under her. I grab one of the blankets from the back of the couch and cover her. “Doing good?”
She nods. “I’m not an invalid. I can cook and look after myself.”
I sit next to her, taking Conor’s spot, but closer, and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s so different from her mother. Open and honest, sweet and naive. Healthy despite her bruises and injured wrist. Her hair shines, her eyes tell me everything she’s feeling. I can only guess at her childhood, but how she came out of it so perfect is beyond me.
I want to gather her in my arms and feel her slight weight pressed against my side. Instead, I move to the other end of the couch and wedge myself into the corner so I’m facing her.
“This where you sat the nights we texted?” I ask.
She nods, chewing her bite of apple. This is exactly how I pictured her, comfortable, under her favorite blankets. I love that my imagination aligns with reality.
“Tell me about Conor,” I say.
She pauses while taking another bite of apple. Seeing her eat the food that I bought for her brings intense satisfaction. Such a primitive emotion, providing for those you love.
“What about him?” She swipes apple juice off her chin with the back of the hand holding the apple. Her injured wrist is cradled against her body. I’m sure the ibuprofen barely controls the pain, but after learning she grew up with an addict for a mother I’m not arguing with her about her meds.
“Are you two close?”
She studies the apple as she turns it this way and that, determining her next bite. “Just friends.”
I raise my brows. “He know that?”
She pulls the apple away. “Of course. He’s part of Amelia’s friend group.”
Amelia’s friends. Not hers.
“Why’d he come over today?”
She lowers the apple to her lap. “You’re not one of those possessive guys that doesn’t like women to have male friends, are you?”
Am I?
Never thought I was. Cara had male friends. Except when I think back, Cara didn’t have many friends. She was a loner, preferring solitude to other people. She could sell the shit out of her art at the fairs she attended, but that was because she was talking about what she loved best. Thinking about it now, I realize she had acquaintances. She had wives she’d talk to when I brought her to work dinners and work functions. Mothers she’d met at toddler story times and play groups but that was it.
Cara preferred her own company. There were times she preferred her own company over mine. I’d be talking and look over to see her staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts, not having heard a word I said. I chalked it up to the dreamer in her.
“You can have all the friends you want, Spitfire. I’m not here to tell you one way or the other.”
“You don’t like Conor?”
“I like him well enough.” When he’s not in the same room as Tess, but I keep that to myself. I’m skating on thin ice here. She’s calling me out and I’m not stupid enough to blow my chance with her over Conor.
