I cannot be her friend, probably, but maybe I’d be good at it, if I tried. “Kiss me good-night?”
She rolls her eyes again,grinning this time. “We could actually be pretty good friends, I think…. You’re surprisingly sweet.”
I hate that I agree, even as I shake my head just as she had. “We’ll see about that.”
“If you change your mind,” she says playfully as I reach the door, mimicking my words from earlier today, “you know where to find me.”
Ten
Prue
I wake upto a text from an unknown number, and notice I’dsomehowtexted them last night before they replied today.
Prue: Hi sexy
I roll my eyes, adding Milo’s number to my phone. His text from this morning reads:
Milo: good morning hot stuff
Prue: You’re annoying.
I send. Then, three little dots appear almost immediately.
Milo: is it always so hot and cold with you?
I slip on my housecoat and slippers and make my way down the stairs from my loft to the studio below. After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I’m out the door into another brisk September morning and walking toward my parents’ back porch when I feel the buzz of two more texts come in.
Milo: when do you want me today?
Milo: is Mrs Welch in good spirits?
I guess he was serious about painting with her. I quickly wipe the smile off my face, once I notice it’s there. I willnotbe the kind of girl who smiles at her phone when a boy texts. Especially notthisboy.
I look up to the back door, unsure of what awaits me inside.
Prue: I’ll let you know.
Milo: stop putting periods at the end of your sentences, it’s freaking me out
Prue: Punctuation is important!
Milo: it’s texting, killer! Loosen up
Prue: Never.
I slip my phone into my pocket as I enter the kitchen and find Mom and Dad both at the table, enjoying breakfast. He’s brushed her hair, as he does most mornings, and tied it into a low bun—just the way she likes it.
“Morning.” I grab the coffeepot and pour myself a mugful. “How did everyone sleep?” I ask them both, but really just Dad.
“Very well,” he says, nodding. “And we’re feeling good this morning, aren’t we, darling?”
Mom nods, biting into her toast. “We are,” she repeats, rocking slightly in her chair. “I slept well.”
“Good!” I lower into the chair next to hers and place my hand on her knee, which is covered by soft fleece pajamas. “Mom, I have a question for you.” I look between her and Dad, unable to help the smile overtaking my face.
She turns toward me, her eyes keen and curious.
“Would you want to paint today?”
