I understand the pressure being father-of-the-year from Leo’s perspective puts on Evan, though. He runs himself into the ground to ensure Leo is happy and safe, and I know he judges himself as a father. I mean, it’s difficult not to when you’re doing it all on your own, and I’m worried about how he’s going to cope when I go.
Who will they hire? What’s the replacement going to be like? Will Leo like them? What if they secretly take photos of Leo or the inside of the house and spread them, or whatif they forget to remind Leo not to talk with his mouth full, and something awful happens?
I can’t stop worrying about their future, even though I’m not going to be part of it. But still, the dread clings to me, and I scratch at my itchy skin again, mainly in dislike at the detour my thoughts are taking this time.
Pulling my gaze away from the two boys, I enter my cabin, but the sight of a freshly made bed and new sheets jolts me into focus.
I hadn’t done that before I’d left?
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket to see a text that’s just come through from Mae, thanking me for coming tonight, and an older one from Evan, sent to me after he had left Mae’s, that I must have missed.
Evan:Thought it might be the scented laundry detergent making you itchy. Sorry to invade your space, but I got you new sheets and stocked your cabin with sensitive detergent instead, so I hope that helps. There’s also something you might be interested in on the counter. Leo and Donkey tell me I have to say they both say goodnight, too.
A small smile unfolds on my face. My eyes shift over to the kitchen, and they expand when I see that the berry and spearmint teas I had left untouched have now been replaced with matcha powder, all different varieties: vanilla, mint, butterscotch. All sugar-free.
Something inside my heart tugs, because this small gesture of changing my detergent and stocking the cabin with my favourite drink means more than it should. It shows me that despite Evan having these impenetrable concrete walls cemented around himself, he’s a man with a bone-deep instinct to care and provide.
He doesn’t show this side of himself to many people, and for him to feel comfortable enough to do that with me—it hits harder than I expect it to.
15: Evan
“Are you being nice to her?” my sister asks me over the phone, relaying the entire conversation to my mother, back in Wyoming.
“I’m notnotbeing nice to her.” I stand outside the house, rummaging through my bag for my keys.
Flo’s legs had been rashy for too long for my liking, and I finally figured out that the laundry detergent I had used to wash her sheets must have been irritating her skin, since the hives were mostly just on her legs.
Until she then washed her clothes, and suddenly, she was red all over.
It seems to have worked because I was met with a relieved and grateful Flo the next day. I think she’s made herself enough iced matcha lattes to fill a lagoon, too.
Gracie hums. “Do you like her? I mean, you’re not immediately blabbing on about all the terrible things she’s done.” I can hear the smile in my sister’s tone. “Do you have a crush or something, Evan?”
“I’m a thirty-three-year-old man, Gracie. I don’t have crushes.”
My mother cackles from the background, and I just know these two are going to have a field day when this conversation is over.
“I miss you, my boy!” my Mom yells, followed by another laugh, and I can already tell they’ve both had a few too many old fashions—their drink of choice.
“I miss you, too, Mom.”
“Are you doing anything for your birthday?”
To be honest, I’d forgotten that my birthday is coming up. “No, definitely not.” I find my key and open the front door, and I’m immediately greeted by my son, dressed in a more than questionable outfit.
He wears a long red cape and a red T-shirt with muscle padding I got him last year for Halloween, and a maroon lacy bra over his head. The two cups cover his ears, and he holds them as he zooms around the room, making whooshing noises, one fist out in front of him as if flying.
Since Flo and Leo dropped Cheese off at a special rabbit sanctuary the other day, where they were promised they could come and visit anytime, my son’s been a crazy ball of energy, claiming he wants to be a superhero who saves all the homeless animals in the city.
“Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter to myself, but Gracie only laughs.
“What? Has your nanny finally done something bad?”
“She’s lending her undergarments to my son as toys. I have to go.” I hear my sister’s bellowing cackle for a second,but I cut the line and throw my phone and bag onto the couch, calling Flo’s name.
She appears in the kitchen doorway, apron on, hair up, looking much too like a wife and mother, and I grit my teeth together and ignore the fact that she looks good standing in my kitchen. It’s something I’ve come to accept I’ll probably never have—a wife.
“Oh, hey. We just finished making cookies. They’re sugar-free, so they might taste like crap, but I wanted to try them out.” She wipes a smudge of what looks to be chocolate from her cheek, smiling at me.
