The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to the fifth floor. Topher shot out like a man on a mission, his strides long and purposeful, while I scrambled to keep up.
When we reached his mother’s door, he just stood there, the weight of what might be waiting inside clearly dragging him down.
Without really thinking, I reached out and touched his arm, a gesture that felt oddly intimate given how little I knew him. The warmth of his skin under my fingers sent a jolt through me, and I had to remind myself that this was just part of the act. Just me, trying to channel some of that comforting girlfriend energy I’d seen in the movies.
“Hey, whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.” My voice was softer than I expected, as if I actually meant it. Which, weirdly enough, I did.
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a split second, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. My heart did an unexpected little flip.
Topher didn’t say anything, just gave a short nod before pushing the door open. I followed him into the room, bracing myself for the worst. My mind had conjured up all sorts of grim possibilities, but none of them prepared me for what we saw.
There, in the center of the room, was Mrs. Brodie. She was perfectly fine and doing something I never would have expected.
She was propped up on the hospital bed, legs crossed under the blanket, and her attention was wholly on a stack of brightly colored magazines spread out on the tray table in front of her. She was meticulously cutting out pictures of cats, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
She held a bottle of glitter glue in one hand, carefully pasting the cut-out felines onto a large, pink construction paper card that read “Get Well Soon, Doc!” in big, glittery letters. Now and then, she would pause to adjust her reading glasses, her expression a mix of determination and childlike glee as she decorated the card with stickers, sequins, and more glitter than should ever be allowed in a hospital room.
“Mom?” Topher’s voice was a mix of confusion and disbelief, his earlier panic replaced with a kind of stunned shock. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Brodie looked up, blinking at us as if we were the ones acting strangely. “Oh, darling, I’m fine,” she said, her tone as casual as if she’d just asked for a cup of tea. “How do you like my ‘get well soon’ card for Dr. Henderson? It’s actually for his cat, who’s been feeling a bit under the weather.”
Topher’s mouth opened, then closed, as he struggled to process what he was seeing. “Why did you scare me like that? I thought something was seriously wrong!”
She set her crafts aside, her voice softening. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk to you about something, that’s all.”
Topher looked like he was still trying to catch up, but he nodded, stepping closer to the bed. “What is it?”
Mrs. Brodie took a deep breath, her expression softening into something more serious. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s best for my recovery, and I’ve decided that my wish is for you to live with me and to bring your lovely Kathleen to stay with us. You know, for my health.”
Topher blinked, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “Wait, what? For your health?”
She gave him a sweet smile. “Yes, dear. The doctor said I need to be near the warmth of family.”
Topher sighed loudly. “Fine, I was already thinking of bringing you to my house in the Garden District. It’s got everything. Close to the hospital. Quiet. Pool and hot tub. Every comfort that money can buy.
But Mrs. Brodie shook her head firmly. “No, it has to be my house, Topher.”
“Mom, I have plenty of room. You’d have your own wing! And there’s a pool. You love pools!”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond before launching into more reasons. “Plus, the house has a home theater. You could watch your shows on a screen as big as a wall!”
Mrs. Brodie just looked at him with that same calm smile, clearly unmoved by his pitch. “Topher, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need a mansion. I need you and Kathleen with me, in my little house.” She paused. “It’s for my health.”
Topher was stubborn. “Mom. My place has heated floors. Think of it. You hate cold feet. Never again, and you don’t even need socks to achieve it. Warm feet, and you can show off your perfect manicure.” He grinned. “How can you say no?AndI have a personal chef! He can make those soufflés you love!”
Mrs. Brodie chuckled softly, patting the bed beside her. “Oh, sweetheart, all the heated floors in the world can’t replace the comfort of having the two of you in my own home.”
My heart skipped a beat. The three of us? Living together in her house? This was not part of the plan.
But Mrs. Brodie was firm. “Topher, I want to be in my own house, surrounded by my things. It’s where I’ll feel the most at ease, and where I’ll get better. I don’t want a chef or a maid. Besides,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “it’ll give me and Kathleen a chance to get to know each other better.”
“But, Mom, who’s going to do the cooking and the cleaning?” Topher asked, sounding more like a lost kid than a billionaire with an army of staff.
Without thinking, the words slipped out of my mouth. “We will. Of course, we’ll stay with you, Mrs. Brodie.”
As soon as I said it, a wave of panic hit me. What was I doing? Agreeing to live under the same roof as Topher? But then I saw the way Mrs. Brodie’s face lit up, and somehow, it felt like the right thing to do, even if it meant navigating the awkwardness—and potential disaster—that was sure to come.
Topher shot me an annoyed look. But there wasn’t much he could say without looking like the bad guy. Instead, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If that’s what you want, Mom.”
