I laugh as Easton leans over to whisper, “Are you enjoying the first row seat to the bickering I put up with on a daily basis?”
“Very much,” I assure him as Blakely yelps. “You’re making ice cream? What the hell kind of crazy shit do you have going on? It’s barely nine in the morning, you fucking weirdo.”
My hand receives a firm smack when the dictator catches me mid-heist. He snatches the bowl and moves it to the other side of the counter. “You two are not slick. Stop eating the berries. And yes, I sure the fuck am making ice cream. It’s supposed to go on top of the berry cobbler if these hooligans would quit depleting my supply. And we’re having steak and potatoes. Maybe some carrots.”
My jaw drops. “Maybe he’s got a point, Blake. Believe me, agreeing with his insanity is a low point for me, but I’m not sure you could give any appliance that kind of attention.”
She glares daggers, but it’s still not all that convincing. It’s hard to not be aware of the shift back towards normal. We’re an argumentative group, and it has been far too easygoing around here with everyone stressed to the max. “I provide all things in my home with quality love and care. I resent your accusation otherwise.”
Brady scoffs. “The neglect I’m seeing here is absolutely criminal. I could sue. I should sue, come to think of it. For custody, obviously.”
They go on and on, riling each other back up when someone finally breaks character by laughing. Easton is my accomplice, tossing in the occasional comment to keep it up purely for our entertainment purposes. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. There is no shortage of love for my Chaos. Even in the midst of the old lady bickering, he’ll get a shout out for being the smartest in the room. They lay it on thick and mean every word of it.
Blake assured me in the hospital that she’d hold all of us together while we stitched ourselves back up and she certainly has. It's still a long road ahead, but walking it with the love of my life and two best friends makes it seem possible for the first time in a long time.
CHAPTER 17
EASTON
My cheeks ache from smiling, which isn’t a problem that has plagued me very often. The day of celebrations is beginning to wind down, and I have never felt this special in my life. It’s been such a good day. Brady cooked all my favorite things, Blakely found some balloons to blow up somewhere, and Chase has been spoiling me with all the affection and praise I can handle. I’ve got my sketchbook propped up against my thighs with my head in my boyfriend’s lap. There’s a queer romance show on the television. The panic I felt last night is a distant memory, because while danger lurks outside, these four walls are overflowing with safety, warmth, and love. All is right in the world for the moment, and I’m not going to take a second of it for granted.
In the spirit of having the equivalent of a full high school education, my brain worm has something more complex it’s trying to drag me along for. I can kind of see where it’s going, but it’s a far cry from my usual fantasy works.
A text comes through on my phone from Chase’s mom. I’m still getting used to the fact that his family wants to talk to me occasionally, but today it’s easier to imagine.
Margeaux: Hi, honey. You’ve popped into my mind a thousand times today, so I wanted to check in on you.
It’s sweet that she cares. I assure her I’m fine, thinking she’ll leave it there.
Margeaux: I’m glad to hear that! Are you working on anything new?
You know what? What the hell. I send her a quick shot of the sketch and try my best to explain where I’m going with it. I’m really hoping her career working with artists has given her the ability to understand me.
“Oh, shit,” I hiss when she calls me.
Chase sits up straighter and looks around. “What?”
I roll my eyes and show him my screen. “Your mom is calling me! What do I do?”
He grimaces, but tries to hide it behind a shrug. Antisocial creature. “Answer it?”
Obviously. Okay, yeah, here we go. “Oh, good. There you are. I hope I’m not interrupting something,” she says when the call connects.
“Um, no. Not at all. Hi.” I duck out of the room to Blake’s office so they can continue the show and not be forced to witness whatever this is.
Her voice is as musical and warm as I remember. “Perfect! So I saw your text and wanted to ask you a bit more about it. Are you planning to sketch it out and then replicate it on a canvas, do you think?”
My head might explode. It’s fine. “Yes?”
“I love the concept. It could easily be made into a series. The possibilities are endless if you want to explore.”
It would probably be strange to say my brain worm won’t be satisfied with just one. “Yeah, I was thinking of doing several,” I say absentmindedly. Why is she asking me this?
“Amazing! You let me worry about the finer details, okay? I’ll handle everything. You just keep going and don’t forget to send me updates along the way.”
What is going on? “Sure. I can do that.” Can I? I don’t know.
I look around, hoping for a context clue to jump out and bite me. No such luck. “Well, I’ll let you get back to my boy. We’ll talk soon.”
