“Stella, it makes sense?—”
“I said no.” Her jaw set in a way that was painfully familiar. Pure Walsh stubbornness. “I’m not... I don’t need your room.”
They stood at an impasse, Tyler’s offer hanging awkwardly between them.
“I’ll give Stella my room,” Meg said quietly. “The spare room. It’s comfortable, already set up.”
Tyler turned to her. “Meg, no?—”
“It’s fine. I’ll take your room, Tyler. You can have the couch.”
“The couch?” Stella looked at the loveseat in question. “He won’t fit on that.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tyler said quickly.
“Your feet will hang off the end,” Meg pointed out.
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“This is stupid,” Stella announced. “I’ll take the couch. I’m the shortest.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Tyler and Meg said in unison.
Stella threw up her hands. “Then what? This is like some weird accommodation standoff.”
“You’re taking the spare room,” Meg said firmly. “I’m taking Tyler’s room. Tyler’s taking the couch. Discussion over.”
“But—” Stella started.
“Kitchen,” Meg interrupted. “Why don’t you wait in the kitchen while we sort this out?”
“Do I get a choice?”
“No,” Tyler said.
“Cool. Love the democracy.” But Stella trudged into the kitchen, dumping her duffel bag on a chair. “Nice shells,” they heard her mutter.
Meg looked at Tyler. Really looked at him. He seemed to have aged five years since this morning, exhaustion and guilt etched into every line of his face.
“I should go to Margo’s,” she said quietly. “The apartment above the Shack is?—”
“No.” The word came out sharp, desperate. Tyler’s hand actually reached out like he might grab her arm before he caught himself. “Please, Meg. You can’t— I can’t?—”
“Tyler.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be her father. I don’t know what she eats for breakfastor what music she likes or how to talk to her without her looking at me like I’m some stranger who ruined her life. I can’t do this alone. Not tonight. Not yet.”
From the kitchen came the sound of cabinet doors opening. “You have, like, no food,” Stella called. “Unless you count hot sauce as a food group.”
“I threw out the expired ones,” Meg called back.
“There are non-expired ones?”
Tyler almost smiled. Almost. “Please,” he said again to Meg. “Just... stay. We’ll figure out something better tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Meg agreed. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Luke cleared his throat. “I should probably let you all get settled.”
