I close my eyes, letting his words and his memory wrap around me like a blanket.
“She’s doing better,” he adds, gentler. “And you’re not alone anymore.”
“I don’t know how not to do it alone.”
He reaches over, resting his hand on my arm. “You don’t know, or you’re scared of feeling less useful?”
“Can the answer be both?” I whisper.
“It can. And there’s one thing we can do to help fix both problems.”
I turn my head, pressing my face against his shoulder. “What is that?”
“We practice. Until you learn what help looks like, and until you realize that I don’t love you because you’re useful.”
“You should put that on a Valentine.” I snort.
His eyes narrow. “I’ll remember that.”
Phoebe coughs, then settles. When I run a hand across her face, I’m relieved to feel cool instead of hot. I’m not sure how long it’ll last, but I feel like I can breathe.
I flex my numb legs. “Can you take her?”
“See? That’s not hard, is it?” He chuckles, standing and scooping her up in a fluid motion that should be considered art. He toes the door open just enough to slide out, and I watch them leave.
Part of me thinks I should follow, but I don’t trust my legs.
So I sit, my head against the tile while I think about all the things I should be doing instead. Stocking up on more vitamins, so hopefully no one else gets sick. Ordering more popsicles, since she’s the world’s worst water drinker when she’s sick.
With a sigh, I stand, then turn off the steam program. I’m halfway out the door when I notice Aiden in the doorway of the bathroom, damp and wrung out.
He’s watching me like he’s caught between waiting on me to step into the main part of the room, or doing something else—something that has my breath catching in my throat.
“She’s still asleep. Evie managed a clothes swap, and Phoebe didn’t stir once.”
“Oh.” I frown. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m sorry, I?—”
His eyes flash, and he doesn’t hesitate to cross the space. In a blink, he’s right above me, edging me back into the shower stall.
“You have to stop apologizing for everything.”
I press my lips together, my gaze locked on the hypnotic swirl of emotions in his blue depths. “But I could’ve done that. Evie didn’t have to.”
“Chlo, has it ever occurred to you that she doesn’t consider that a burden?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. But almost immediately, I know exactly what he means. It’s not the first time someone has called me out about my tendencies to sidestep asking for help. “Asking is the burden.”
When his eyes widen, I realize I actually said those words out loud.
“It’s not a burden. She may act tough, but she likesbeing Aunt Evie.” He pauses. “You don’t give her a lot of space to do that.”
I step backward. “Phoebe’s my responsibility, though. She shouldn’t have to stop what she’s doing to take care of her.”
“She’sourresponsibility now. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I blink up at him.
His voice roughens as he asks,“Is the sky falling?”
