“More than toast and coffee?” I pick up my own plain white mug. “I’m content, Thea.”
“Are you?” Her brow lifts. “You know, Claire would be on your case if she knew this is how you spend your time.”
“Saving lives?” I drink slowly and set my mug down. “She would be proud of me.”
“She would?—”
“Enough.” My voice rises faintly. “I don’t want to talk about Claire. I called to see how you are, not to endure an interrogation.”
Thea sighs deeply. “I mean it, Xander. I’m worried about you. Ever since she passed, you’ve spent every year by yourself. You do nothing but work.”
“I’m not by myself.”
“They don’t count,” she grumbles.
“How cold of you.” A slight smile creeps up my face. “They would be insulted.”
“Like they could tell the difference.” She snorts. “Just… please think about coming? I’d love to see you, and Thanksgiving is like the perfect time for people to spend with family. You’re my only family, Xander.”
That catches my interest. “What happened to Paul?”
Thea groans and gulps her drink noisily, then slams the mug down. “You remember the receptionist? From that little hotel up in the mountains?”
I nod.
“He fucked her. So no more Paul.”
“I’m sorry, Thea.”
“It’s fine. I wasn’t even mad when I found out. Guess I checked out a while ago and it was the perfect excuse.”
Words catch in the back of my throat.
The urge to comfort her battles with my own inability to do so.
Years of people calling me cold and disinterested manifested into struggles expressing my emotions when they do surge.
Luckily, Thea’s never cared.
She says I’m the most emotional person she knows when I feel safe enough to express it, so I know she believes every ounce of sympathy in my silence.
“Thanks, Xander.” She smiles brightly at me, then checks her watch. “I have to go, but you should get some sleep. You look dead on your feet. Have you even been home?”
“Not yet. Hunger overruled my need for sleep.”
“Don’t you have toast at home?”
“Yes, but no—” I catch myself. Admitting my desire for company would only prolong her determination to get me to visit. “No coffee.”
“Sure,” she groans with a look of disbelief. “Love you, Xander. Speak soon.”
“Love you too.”
As the call ends, a sudden bubble of laughter rises from the other side of the cafe.
I glance up briefly, mildly curious, and something stops me from looking away.
Snow.
