Sloane’s eating the popcorn again.
She’s watching me.
It’s like it was Saturday night when I slipped on the coffee at the museum.
She’s making sure I’m okay.
It’s not as foreign and wrong of a feeling as it should be.
I take care of me. When I struggle, I call Vanessa or one of the guys from the neighborhood.
Don’t always say I need help.
Don’t need to.
Not with them.
Feels almost the same with Sloane right now, and that has me off-kilter enough that I burn her grilled cheese.
She eats it anyway.
Insists on it, actually.
Once she’s eaten, her eyelids begin to droop.
I don’t ask if she wants the bed.
Instead, I rise and hold a hand out to her, and I take her there. Toss a clean shirt and sweatpants on the bed for her, since all she has is her scrubs.
And then I leave her alone.
Tomorrow’s Wednesday. She still has to work.
And it’s not like I’ll sleep well even in the bed.
She should have it.
She face-plants onto the quilt covering the mattress, and I retreat outside for the fresh air I’ve needed since that phone call then start a campfire.
Check my phone.
No messages from Vanessa, but it’s blowing up with texts from everyone else. On the group text.
Naturally.
So if anyone didn’t know before, they do now. I scroll. And scroll. And scroll.
And I finally get to the beginning.
Ellie:What the HELL is going on in Shipwreck? Davis, we need an update RIGHT NOW. Is Sloane okay?
Beck:Did we bring the right kind of litter for her cat? We can go back out if the cat’s picky. Our cat’s picky. We get it.
Sarah:Our cat is not picky. You simply spoil her. Davis, Ellie’s not the only one who wants to know. How’s Sloane?
Cash:You’re not hosting a woman at that tour bus-wannabe thing you’ve got out there in the mountains, are you? My dude. You can spring for a hotel room. A fancy one at that. Spoil her. Don’t make her stay in the camper if you want to keep her in your life.
Tripp:Let the man have some peace. We all know he doesn’t date, even if he’s marrying her on Saturday, and we need to respect that.
