He helps me carry the bag in like it’s some holy treasure.The living room is a mess.Like Joey has been camped out here for days rather than one afternoon.He’s got a blanket nest, a couple of empty cups, a mess of tissues corralled on a tray.But it’s still cozy.Still very…them.
Eddie is on the couch now, instead of in bed, which feels like progress.She’s in flannel pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt, hair in a messy twist thing that somehow makes her look both wrecked and beautiful.
Her eyes sharpen when she sees me.
You came,she says, like she wasn’t expecting me to take her up on the offer.
You said I could,I reply, lifting the bag.And I come bearing bribes.
Joey gasps.Is it snacks?
Partially.I start to pull out all the containers.I got dinner for all of us.Minestrone for you, my lady.I hand Eddie the plastic container.And I got spaghetti and meatballs for Joey and I.Does that work for you, Joey?
Yes.I love meatballs.
Eddie’s mouth quirks despite herself.You really didn’t have to do this.You could have just come over.
I know.I meet her gaze.But I wanted to feed you.Make sure you’re replenishing your fluids.
For a second, something warm flickers there.Then, she clears her throat, which immediately turns into a cough that sounds like it hurts.
I grab the soup container from her hands and set it on the coffee table.Perching on the edge of an armchair, I give her back a gentle tap.How’re you feeling?
Like trash,she admits.But slightly less trashy than yesterday.
Fever’s down,Joey supplies helpfully.I checked.Twice.
That’s my guy,I say.Excellent work.
He beams.
Once everyone is settled with their dinners, Joey drags a beanbag chair out of his room so he can sit closer to the TV and presses Play on a show I’ve seen rave reviews for.
Eddie hums into her spoon, contentment on her face.Wow, that’s really good.She turns to me.Is this really good soup, or are my taste buds just used to having the canned variety?
It’s from a Michelin-starred restaurant, so I hope it’s good,I reply, taking a bite of my pasta.When Eddie doesn’t say anything after that, I drag my gaze off the TV and toward her.What?I ask her stunned expression.
You ordered us food from a Michelin-starred restaurant?Cnfused by her question, I nod.There’s a moment of stunned silence before she wheezes out a laugh.Joey’s going to inhale that pasta and then make a box of pizza bites.I’m so grateful you thought of us, but this amazing food is so wasted on a fourteen-year-old and a sick lady.
I let her words sink in, then shrug.That’s fine.It’s good to know for the future, but honestly, it doesn’t matter to me.I ordered a double order for me and Joe, so there’s plenty to go around if he’s still hungry.I wanted to take one thing off your plate tonight so you didn’t have to worry.
You bought a double order?she asks, amazed.
I was once a teenage boy.I remember how I ate my parents out of house and home.One portion was never enough.It’s no problem.
Her lips are twisted up to one side, and her eyes flick back and forth between mine.If you’re sure…She drags the word out.
I’m sure.
After that, we talk quietly while Joey continues to ignore us and watch his show.I keep the topics light at first—how long she’s taken off work to recoup, the hot gossip at Joey’s team practice last week, how Mason is pretending he’s not totally in love with his new girlfriend.
You like your team?she asks at one point, studying me over the rim of her plastic bowl.
I don’t need to think about it.The answer is instant.Yeah.I do.
You sound really confident about that answer.
I am.I love playing for the Toronto Nighthawks.We’re more than a team; we’re a family.Looking out for one another, joking around.There’s a lot of respect, both on and off the ice.I take a breath, wanting to share more with her.
