Page 21 of This Life and All the Rest
She tilts her head to the side, and the way her hazel eyes have brightened heats my blood. I can’t form words, so instead, I nod again.
Her phone vibrates and she pulls it out of her back pocket to check it.
“My ride is here. I guess I’ll see you...”
“See you later, Lennon,” I say with a smirk, and her lips turn down.
“It’s Capri now, Macon,” she states.
I pop an eyebrow and cock my head.
“Sure it is.”
Her nostrils flare, and I wait to see if she’ll say something else. Anything. She doesn’t. She pushes past me without another word, but not before I catch the way her hand balls into a tight fist at her side.
I bet her teeth are gritted, too.
There you are, Lennon. There you fucking are.
EIGHT
Sam dropsme off at my dad’s house with the promise to be back in a few hours to take me to the rental car place, since she’s got to go back to DC tomorrow. I told her I could ask Andrea for a ride, but Sam insists on driving me.
There are still two weeks left of June, which means two more weeks of internship until she’s off for a whole month. With any luck, my dad will wake up soon, and Sam and I will be on a plane to Paris at the end of those two weeks.
I’ll be back on French soil by July, and spending my birthday in Paris where I belong.
My brow furrows, feeling guilty for being here while also feeling guilty for wanting to leave. When I think of all the work I’m unable to complete while I’m here, my anxiety spikes. When I think of prioritizing work over the health of my father, it spikes further.
And when I think of my emotional well-being...
Walking through the front door, a crying baby and the smell of burnt food pull me from my inner turmoil.
“Andrea?” I call as I hurry toward the kitchen.
The crying grows louder, the smell intensifies, and the air is laced with dark smoke.
“It’s okay,” Andrea says, and when I step into the kitchen, I find her fanning the smoke detector with a dishtowel with one hand and clinging to a screaming Evelyn with the other.
“Shit, let me help.”
I rush to her and take the dishtowel.
“Thank you,” she says, then turns to open the window above the sink. I watch her, noticing a pan of charred pasta and tears on Andrea’s face.
“Sorry,” she whispers to Evie, rocking her from side to side and holding her carefully against her chest. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
I look away. It feels like an intrusion, so I turn my attention back to fanning the silent smoke detector. I make a mental note to check the battery later. With this amount of smoke, it should definitely be making some racket.
“You can probably stop that now,” Andrea says, so I give her a tight-lipped smile and stop fanning, lowering my arms to fold the towel and set it back on the counter. “I, um, just got distracted.”
“Yeah.” I glance at the pan of burnt pasta. “You want me to make something so you can...” I gesture to Evie, who is still crying. Andrea nods with a wince and a forced smile.
“Would you? I was throwing some spaghetti together for her, but that’s the last of the noodles. I just realized I forgot to grocery shop.”
She laughs lightly at herself, but it’s humorless and tired, like she’s laughing to keep from crying again. She sways and pats Evie’s back as she talks over the sounds of the baby’s cries.
“If you could just heat up some of the veggies in the fridge, there’s some microwavable toddler meals I can give her to tide her over until I can get to the store.”
