“I don’t need to move. I need ibuprofen.” I squint up at her. “Also, canyoumove?”
“Why?”
“Because the sun is hitting that ring and I’m being flash-banged. Congratulations on the engagement. My retinas hate it.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
“We should probably talk about your wedding soon,” I say, hoping it will distract her from my position. “It’s less than a year away.”
“Plenty of time.” She waves it off. “It’s practically fictional.”
My phone alarm buzzes beside me. Carefully, I reach for it, making sure not to move too quickly. “Shit. I have to pick up Mom’s medication.”
“I can pick them up.”
I eye her. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Make sure you put them in her sorter,” I say. “Only the blue ones on Fridays.”
“I know, I know.”
She pulls out her phone and starts typing.
“You better not be texting Noah.”
“I’m not,” she says quickly. “But I do have practice in thirty minutes.”
My gaze drifts to the violin case leaning against the sofa. It’s scuffed but probably treated with more care than most people give their children.
Our little musical prodigy.
Rowan steps closer and crouches, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You can feel your legs, right?”
“Yes, sweetie. I can feel my legs.”
“Any numbness in your lady garden?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She straightens. “I don’t know what to do, so I’m going to leave. Good luck, sis. Love you.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Love you too.”
“You’re leaving?” Piper asks.
Rowan looks around the room, then at me, still on the floor, still breathing. “Yeah. I’ve got things to do. She’s good. She’s on the floor.”
“Rowan—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You should both go.”
“See?” Rowan grabs her bag.
As she heads for the door, I call after her, “Check in once in a while. Let us know you’re alive. Maybecome to the family dinner this month.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, just before the door clicks shut.
