Zoey reached out without hesitation and rested her hand on Bobbi’s knee. “Thank you. I’m really proud of you. You knew what to do and you did it. That’s a really big deal.”
Bobbi absorbed that, her mouth twisting from side to side. “Yes,” she said finally. “It is.” With that, she scooped ice cream into her mouth. “My therapist says when I want to leave places without telling anyone, my body is asking for movement,” she added. “So now I say it out loud. It helps most of the time.”
“That’s actually very useful,” Zoey said.
“Yes,” Bobbi agreed. “It’s a skill.” She looked at me again. “Does your therapist say that?”
“I don’t have one,” I said.
She turned to Zoey. “You?”
“Nope.”
Bobbi frowned. “Then who helps you when your brain needs a hand?”
The quiet that followed felt strained.
Markie clicked once.
I had answers. None of them were quite acceptable.
“I usually handle it,” I said.
“By yourself?” Bobbi clarified.
“Yes.”
She considered that carefully. “That sounds exhausting.”
Zoey made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort.
“My therapist says brains are team sports,” Bobbi added. “You don’t win by playing alone.”
I thought that over. “That’s good advice.”
“Yes,” she said. “You should get one.”
“SYSTEM ERROR,” Markie contributed.
“Exactly,” Bobbi said.
We ate quietly after that. Markie preened. Zoey leaned back against the couch cushions and closed her eyes for a moment.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Zoey shifted her weight as if to push herself up, but I gave her a look that saidI’ve got it. When I opened the door, a woman stood there with her keys still in her hand, jacket half shrugged off.
“Hi,” she said, speaking past me to Zoey. “I hope this is okay. Bobbi said you were home and asked if she could come by. Is she welcome right now?”
“Yes,” Zoey said. “She’s fine.”
The woman, who I now assumed was Bobbi’s mom, let out a long breath and stepped inside. Her gaze moved through the room without comment. The boxes stacked along the wall. The floor seating. The open ice cream carton on the coffee table. Bobbi cross-legged on the rug with a parrot balanced on her knee.
“You were eating ice cream,” she said.
“Yes,” Zoey said. “It seemed appropriate.”
Bobbi looked up. “Chocolate.”
