She smiles like she already knew. “Good.”
I finish eating and stand to wash the bowl. She looks tired so I straighten up the grocery bags and push in my chair.
“Gonna head out,” I tell her.
“Hot date?” she teases.
“Nah. You know I’m not looking for anything serious.”
She cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowing as if she can see through the cracks in my words to the truth behind them. “Just because you’re not looking doesn’t meant it won’t come looking for you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say with a chuckle. “See you later.”
She looks up. “Cal?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for the books. And the groceries. And everything.”
I smile. “I love you, Mom.”
She smiles back. “I love you, too.”
I step outside into the warm afternoon, feeling lighter than I did when I walked in.
Sometimes love looks like big gestures. Sometimes it looks like books and soup with your mom.
When I climb into my truck and turn the engine over, “White Wedding” by Billy Idol blasts over the speakers. And, of course, Silvie’s face pops up in my head. Again. Maybe I need to swing by and check to make sure she’s okay. Then, I can finally move on.
That’s all it is.
Worry over a sad, runaway bride.
Nothing more.
I turned around three times before I actually made it here. Three times. My brain tries to be logical and remind me I don’t dothis. Yet here I am.
Sitting in my truck across the street from Birdie’s house because I just can’t let it go. I need, for some crazy ass reason, to know Silvie is okay.
With a frustrated sigh, I exit the truck and then stride toward Birdie’s place.
I’m halfway up the front walk when I hear Silvie’s voice. I glance over, and she’s not on the phone. No, she’s talking to something on the ground.
I slow to a halt and frown. She’s sitting cross-legged on the front porch, in the shade, barefoot, with her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. She’s in one of Birdie’s oversized hot pink shirts and talking seriously to a very large iguana.
The iguana is staring back at her like he’s considering her life choices. And I sort of am too.
“So, here’s the thing,” she says gently. “I didn’t plan on coming here. But here I am. I feel like you understand me. Don’t you?”
The iguana blinks. I stand, watching this unfold, my arms crossed. I’m wondering if this woman is sane or just adorably cute and a bit lonely for wanting to talk to an iguana.
She nods at him as if he’s just responded. “Exactly. You get it.”
I clear my throat.
She darts her head my way, startled, but I notice she seems nervous, and she fidgets, pulling her oversized T-shirt down. “Oh. Hey.”
I gesture between her and the lizard. “Are you okay?”
