Page 131 of Bottle Shock
Lily chatters the entire car ride—about dance, about the new girl with the hot-pink slippers, about how she thinks she might want bangs again but only if they look “cool and swishy,” not “weird and straight across like last time.”
I laugh at all the right parts, which is easy because she’s hilarious without meaning to be.
Inside the house, she kicks off her shoes and immediately face-plants onto the couch, limbs everywhere.
I drop my own bag and slip off my sandals. “Alright, mission one—comfy clothes. Go change,” I tell her, already pulling my hair up and heading upstairs to trade my dress for leggings and one of Gavin’s old T-shirts. More and more of my clothes have started to find their way into this house. I’m hoping Lily doesn’t read too much into why I’m changing in her dad’s bedroom instead of the pool house.
When I come back, Lily is in her fuzzy pajama pants covered in cartoon bears, carrying a little cup of flour over to the jar of goo on the counter.
“Whatcha doing Lil?”
“Feeding Cindoughrella.”
Covering my mouth, I laugh under my breath. Most kids have pets. Lily Ledger has a sourdough starter.
I wait for her to finish up before figuring out what we’re going to eat.
“Okay,” I announce, with a clap. “We have two options for dinner.”
She turns her head just enough to look at me. “Are we havinggirl dinner?”
I have no idea how she even knows what that means. I can only assume her aunts have mentioned it, since I doubt Lily is allowed on social media.
“We,” I confirm, “are absolutely having girl dinner.”
Which works for me since I am not as good of a cook as her dad is. I’m all for a no-cook dinner.
Before we start raiding the fridge, I pull out one of my insulin pens and do a quick bolus. Lily watches—worry laced in her big blue eyes.
“Why are you doing that? Are you sick?”
I smile softly at her so she doesn’t get even more worried. “Yes and no. I don’t have the cold or a flu if that’s what you mean. There’s just something my body doesn’t do right so sometimes I have to give myself a shot before I eat so I don’t get sick.”
She nods, biting on her bottom lip. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really, it’s like a little pinch.”
She doesn’t looked very convinced. Which I totally understand. Shots aren’t fun for anyone but when you’re a kid, they’re especially scary.
“I was scared at first because I found out when I was just a little older than you that my body wasn’t working right. But as long as I take my medicine, I’m okay. It’s like brushing your teeth so they don’t fall out.”
She nods, starting to understand. “Dad is obsessed with me brushing my teeth so that makes sense.”
Her eyes roll with all the annoyance of a teenager, and something tells me Gavin is going to be in for it when she gets older.
“Do you have anymore questions? Because you can ask me anything.”
I don’t want her to feel like she can’t ask me about it.
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She opens the door wide to the fridge. “We need to pick the very best girl dinner food so you body feels good and you don’t need to take as much medicine.”
My chest goes soft, warm, achy in that way affection sometimes hurts.
I don’t have the heart to explain it doesn’t really work like that—because it doesn’t matter.
She gets it, in her own way.
And her trying is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.
