“He was,” I pause, realising I never actually thought of what I was going to tell her after I executed my perfectly thought-out plan. “He just wanted some treats.”
Amara’s hand is on her hip, and I know I’m in trouble. “Oh, he told you that, did he?”
“I mean, yeah?” I look at the second sandwich. “Fluffernutter sando?” I ask, handing it to her.
Three seconds pass, my heart beating in my ass, before her eyes soften “How much fluff did you put on that thing?” she asks, walking over to me.
“Half the container.”
She takes it quietly, sitting on the edge of my bed.
If you had told me just a few days ago that I would have Amara in my bed again, I would have told you that you were on one. I’d have you tested. I’d probably say that there’s no reason to be a complete asshole.
But here she is, in her Pajamas, hanging out in my bedroom.
But when she takes a bite, her pillowy lips curving around the giant mound of fluff, my heart stops, and Imustbe dying.
At the sound of the moan that comes after, I swear I nearly come right then and there.
Amara’s eyes meet mine, and the crease between her brows deepens. “Can you close your mouth? Freak.”
I do.
“Like it?”Please say yes.
“It’s chunky peanut butter and fluff. Of course, I like it.”
It feels kind of like a bucket of lava is dropped on me.
“Good,” I mutter, taking another bite of mine.
She looks around, her gaze settling on her cat as he cleans his paws. “Did you really do all of this so that I’d come in here?”
“Yes,” I say without thinking.
And she smiles.
At least, she smiles for a few seconds before it drops. She looks down at the plate in her lap, her long hair falling in front of her face like a shield.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
It’s like whiplash.
“What areyousorry for?”
She shrugs, the sleeve of her shirt falling off her shoulder. “I don’t know. I was hurt. I had some memories come back. Idon’t like you, but I also don’t think that you deserve for me to get angry without explanation.”
There’s a dig there, I can feel it.
“I’m sorry too,” I tell her softly.
“It just felt like your family didn’t want me anymore, you know.” She sniffles. “It just felt like you didn’t want me to be a part of his day. Like I was erased.”
I shake my head, a deep sadness settling quickly into my bones. “That’s not true. You know that, right? Amara, that’s not true at all.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me he wasn’t doing well? Or that he passed?”
“I—” I don’t know how to answer that. My shoulders slump, and we settle into a palliative silence.
