“I can’t say for certain on that front, but I’ve always wanted to have a child. I suppose I did imagine it that way.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Amelia didn’t want to, and we made our decisions together. I always believed that’s why our relationship was strong.”
“Mm,” she says, nodding.
“Unlike her, I wasn’t worried I’d turn into my father—that would’ve been somewhat difficult, as he was never around enough for me to catch his habits. But I would’ve been lucky to turn into my mother. She was so joyful and endlessly thoughtful. My sister is, too. You’ll like her.”
“I bet I will,” she says, and I myself like the certainty with which they’re speaking about the future. “How lucky you are, to have had so many good women in your life.”
“Truly,” he says. Then, very quietly, he adds, “I…I do feel guilty.”
She doesn’t ask him why; they both know he’s falling for her. And I’m pretty sure she’s already fallen for him.
“Oh, Miguel. I understand,” she says softly. “I don’t know if it helps, but I do, too. And I’m trying not to rush this for that reason.”
Instead of saying more, they look at each other and eventually go back to reading, or at least they pretend to; I somehowdoubt either one is absorbing a single word on the pages they’re flipping.
A few minutes later, Fiona’s lids begin to flutter, then slowly close. The next thing I know, her mouth’s hanging open, just a smidge, and her glasses are halfway down her nose.
Miguel watches her for a while. Then he carefully extricates himself from the sofa and gets a blanket from the armchair, which he drapes over her. I’m certain she’s going to wake, but she just closes her mouth and curls to one side and doesn’t wake again until Amelia Mae comes hollering through the back door. “Gotta pee!” she says, rushing past us. “Riley’s on the patio with Walter trying to get him to go to the bathroom, too!”
“Oh!” exclaims Fiona, glancing around.
“You fell asleep,” says Miguel from the armchair.
“But that never happens to me. Honestly, I barely sleep at night. And forget cars and planes and other people’s living rooms,” she says, blinking hard.
“Why not?” says Miguel.
“I don’t really know. I’m usually just…on.Thinking about things, though Amelia Mae will tell you I’m worrying and she’s probably not wrong. I have no idea what just happened.”
I do. She feels safe with Miguel. She feels safe withus.Even me! So safe that her busy brain turned off for a while and let her rest.
And as for Miguel—there’s color in his cheeks, a spring in his step, analivenessthat hasn’t been there in a long time.
She rises and walks over to him. “Thank you for that.”
“Thankyou,” he says quietly. They’re almost the same height, so he doesn’t have to reach far when he pushes a straypiece of hair behind her ear. She’s standing very still, and so is he. Then he leans forward and—
I bark. Loudly.
I swear I didn’t mean to, and I know I shouldn’t have. But it’s too late; Fiona has startled and stepped back, and Miguel’s shifting awkwardly. “Sorry,” he says gruffly. “It must be the puppy.”
“It’s fine,” she twitters. “I think I’ll get some water and check on Riley and Walter.”
“Of course.”
Miguel glances at me as she heads into the kitchen, but he doesn’t look upset. Just sort of…confused.
Me, too, buddy.Why on dog’s green earth would I sabotage my own mission?
Twenty-Eight
Fiona and Amelia Mae decide to have dinner on their own and leave the puppy, who’s sleepy because of his shots, with us. Fiona tells Miguel she’ll reach out later, and when the doorbell rings that evening, I jump from my bed and scramble down the stairs, certain it’s them. After all, I know Amelia Mae wants to spend as much time with me as possible before they return to Chicago.
Except when Miguel throws the door open, it’s not them at all; it’s Miriam! She’s on the stoop, wearing a bright blue dress and a smile that’s painted a dark color. I bark and circle her. Just when I think things couldn’t possibly get better, here sheis!
