Page 141 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“Is that a word?”
He straightens, eyes flashing, mouth pressing flat. “Maybe ask the author in your life. Oh wait, you can’t.” A beat. “Because you fucked it up.”
Later that night, my phone pings with a notification.
Not from Faye—and I can’t lie and say the fucked-up part of me isn’t desperate to hear her voice, to read one of her pithy (and well-punctuated) text messages.
It is.
I miss her—so fucking much.
But she hasn’t reached out, though the notification is about her.
Still, I should ignore it.
Hell, it would be better for both of us if I canceled it outright.
Yet, even as my fingers descend, preparing to send a message to do exactly that…I can’t bring myself to do it.
Instead…
I pay extra for expedited delivery.
Forty-Six
Faye
The contractor finished taking down the walls today, and I’ve spent the last few hours sifting through the remains of my house.
“I don’t know, Nana,” I murmur, running my hand lightly over the delicate blue bloom of her hydrangeas. “I don’t know what I should do.”
Luna offered to help, but I wouldn’t risk her baby with the smoke and ash and who knows what other kinds of chemicals are still hanging around.
Plus, there are decisions to be made and?—
“I think I needed to do this by myself.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I blink, see Luna herself walking through my back yard, along with Bri and Kailey and…Harper.
The latter waves awkwardly. “I know I’m probably intruding”—her eyes slice to the side, toward Luna then back to mine—“but I brought food?”
“And also, Luns insisted,” Bri says dryly.
Luna narrows her eyes at her. “Excuse me?”
“You did,” Bri says.
An aggrieved sigh though her mouth curves up. “Fine. I did. But Harper works too much and she mentioned she needed some fresh air when we went over to pick up the food.” Luna waves a hand around the back yard. “So…fresh air.”
“With a side of barbecue,” Bri mutters.
“Bri!” Luna exclaims. “You can’t say that.”
Maybe I should be upset, but I’m not.
Instead…I’m laughing.
