Page 60 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“What’s that you have?” I point to the paper.
“Oh.” She looks down at it, seeming to forget it was clutched in her fist. “I made a drawing for you. I was going to put it on the fridge.”
“You did? What is it?”
She all but thrusts it at me and I have to scramble to get my hands on it before it falls to the floor. It’s then that I realize Spencer is standing awkwardly in the doorway looking around.
“Oh, sorry, you can come in if you want.” I gesture him inside. That’s what a friend would do, right? Invite him in?
He steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him. “Is Jameson here?” He looks around like he expects my boyfriend to pop out from behind me.
“No?” The word comes out as a question. “Why?”
He shrugs, the soft fabric of his t-shirt stretching against his muscles. He’s seriously bulking up lately.
“No reason.”
I don’t dwell on his strange behavior, because frankly, I don’t have the energy.
“Mom!” Roe yells at full volume to get my attention. “You haven’t looked at the picture I drew yet.”
“Oh, right.” I pull the paper away from my chest and look down at her drawing.
“It’s me, you, and Daddy,” she says excitedly, jumping up and down in front of me. With her energy levels you’d have no idea she broke a bone this morning.
“And what’s that?” I point to the dog shaped thing in my arms. I swear, if she’s still on this pet thing I might bang my head into the wall.
“That’s my baby sister,” she announces promptly, and I nearly choke on my own saliva.
“What?” I blurt, not sure I heard her right.
“Well, I know I don’t have oneyet.” She does a twirl. “But I’m asking Santa for one for Christmas so it should be soon.”
Apparently, our birds and the bees talk didn’t make sense to her,
Spencer reaches out and ruffles her hair. “I told her Santa doesn’t deliver babies, but she wouldn’t have it. She’s named her baby sister and everything.”
“Oh.” My throat feels dry. “And what did you name this imaginary baby sister?”
She stomps her way to the refrigerator and pulls out a Capri-Sun. She waits until she’s stabbed the straw into the pouch and taken a long, dramatic sip before she answers. “Ruby.”
“Ruby, huh? Where’d you get that name idea.”
She huffs out a breath that stirs her blond bangs. “From my brain, duh.” She rolls her eyes for good measure, so I know how done she is with my questioning.
Teenage Monroe is going to exhaust me; I just know it.
She takes another long sip of her Capri-Sun and burps. “Can Daddy stay and watch a movie?”
“I…”
“We always watch a movie on Sunday nights,” she reminds me, like I’ve somehow forgotten our usual plans.
“It’s okay,” Spencer says, and I can tell from his fidgeting he knowsI’muncomfortable and doesn’t want to impose.
My shoulders droop, and I keep the sigh I desperately want to let out held tight in my lungs. Friends—I remind myself—we’re trying to be friends again.
“Sure. Stay and hangout.”
