Page 40 of Bleacher Report
I turn back to the rest of the items in the bags. Next, I pull out a heating blanket still in its box.
“A heating blanket?” I ask, holding it up.
He shrugs again, less nonchalant this time. “Wasn’t sure if you had one. My mom used them a lot when I was growing up for this kind of thing. I can take it back if you already have one.”
I don’t actually, but only because mine stopped working a few months ago and I forgot to buy a new one. The fact that he thought about it and went across the store to the home goods section to find it means a lot. It means he was thinking of me.
The snacks keep coming without end.
“You did all of this for me?”
“I didn’t handle the interview well today. This is my attempt at bribing you with food to forgive me.”
“I’ll admit, it’s working…”
Then I pull out the most unexpected item of the bunch—a box with a grinning French Bulldog on it.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“That’s Sproutacus. Our new plant pet.”
I blink. “I’m sorry what? You bought a Chia Pet?”
“I got us a Chia Pet,” he corrects. “Congratulations. We’re plant parents now. I was going to wait so we could name him together, but I had to kill some time waiting on the food and did some Googling. Sproutacus felt right. Strong. Resilient. He’ll need to be, in this family of overachievers.”
I stare at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement.
“Oh my God…who are you?” I chuckle.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he continues. “Once this is over, how will we amicably co-plant-parent and split weekends and holidays? But I’m not worried. We’re two mature adults. We’ll work it out for the good of Sproutacus.”
I snort. “Co-plant-parent? With you?”
“Why not?” he says, completely straight-faced. “I think we’re doing great already. Look at us—functioning, healthy, thriving. Working through our first fight. Our relationship is ready for this level of responsibility now.”
I shake my head, still stunned. Just hours ago, this man slammed the front door like he was never coming back. Now he’s buying me tampons and adopting botanical dependents.
“Can we trade off claiming him on our tax returns?”
“That’s the spirit.” He grins.
Then, without breaking his weirdly charming stride, he pushes the box of tampons closer to me.
“I’ll set up dinner. You handle…that. I’ll meet you in the living room when you’re ready.”
And for the first time in the last couple of hours, I actually believe we might survive this.
By the time I come back out, the living room has transformed. There’s a comforter spread across the couch, two big pillows, and a heating pad plugged in at the end. The coffee table is covered in takeout containers, chocolate goodies, and two forks resting on a paper plate.
Hunter is fluffing the blanket and queuing up a new chick flick on the TV. I recognize it instantly—it’s one I’ve been meaning to watch for months.
"This is some kind of spread," I say, crossing my arms and watching him.
He glances over. "When I was a kid and I got sick, my mom would do this. Blanket on the couch, ice cream, dinner on the coffee table, cheesy movies. When she went through treatment years ago, we did this a lot. I thought since I screwed up today and you probably aren’t feeling the best, it’s a good night for it.”
I sit down, the heating pad low and warm against my back and my muscles begin to ease right away. "Thank you."
He hands me a takeout box and a fork, then pulls the blanket over both our laps. "You’re welcome."
