She pinched my side. “Don’t lie.”
I leaned my head against the wall, smiling. “I teach third grade, Bee. This is far from the first time I’ve dealt with a little vomit.”
“A shit ton,” she mumbled. I kept smoothing her hair and she snuggled closer to me, a little bit of pink returning to her cheeks. “So maybe we shouldn’t stop at that place with the burger that has cinnamon rolls for buns.”
“Maybe not.”
“Thank you.” Her voice went quiet, honeylike. “For staying, Vi.”
I bent over, pressing a soft kiss to her sweaty temple. “Always.”
I meant it, although I certainly meant it less when the next wave hit. After what felt like hours, Phoebe settled down and insisted on a makeshift bed in the bathroom for easy access. I laid out every blanket from the back of Dex’s car, hoping they would be enough cushion to minimize the hard, cold tile, and she zonked out immediately.
I showered in the second bathroom, emerging in pajama shorts and a tank top, hair damp around my shoulders. I found Dex in the quaint kitchen, gazing out the window over the sink, both hands braced on the butcher block counter. After the dayof misery, I couldn’t fault myself for taking a moment to drink him in—the fitted black T-shirt and sweatpants, the ropy muscles of his arms, the slope of his shoulder blades, his messy hair curling at the base of his neck.
“Hey,” I said.
He turned, eyes dipping to my bare legs and back to my face in a blink. “Hey. How’s she doing?”
“Sleeping finally. I’m hoping the worst is over.”
“Did she have any Pedialyte? She really needs to stay hydrated.”
I tried to push away the warm, gooey feeling. “A little,” I said, toying with the hem of my shorts. “I’ll check on her in a bit and make sure she has some more.”
He nodded, satisfied with this. “I, uh, got us a pizza. I don’t know if you have an appetite after today, but it’s there.”
“Maybe later.” I smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”
He made a face. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“You found us a place to hunker down, got Phoebe medicine, and got me dinner. You’re amazing.” The words slipped out, unwitting. Dex blinked twice and dropped his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweats.
“Violet,” he said, almost a warning. Because apparently now I couldn’t even say thank you. Pushing down the sting of rejection, I turned on my heel and headed into the living room. The cabin was quaint, eight hundred square feet of rustic log walls and a huge, encroaching stone fireplace. I paused, staring into the depths of it, wondering what it was like here in the winter, snow on the ground outside and a fire crackling, warming the whole cabin. I imagined three stockings hung from the mantel and enough twinkly lights to illuminate the state of Wyoming.
I shook the thought from my head and folded my arms tightly, veering for the couch. I sank into it—it was worn, toosoft, and my back would kill if I sat there for more than twenty minutes, but then Dex appeared in the doorway and I pressed myself farther into the cushions, feet planted firmly on the floor.
“You were crying,” he said quietly. I exhaled, scrubbing my hands over my face.
“Yeah. She was… she said some stuff. About our dad,” I explained, dropping my hands to my lap. “It broke my heart.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“God, no. I want to be distracted. You up for the job?”
It took a beat for the words to land, for both of us. I hadn’t meant it in a suggestive way, but it sure sounded like I did, and my blood sizzled to a boiling point. Dex cleared his throat.
“Television,” I blurted, gesturing wildly to the ancient box in the corner of the room. “TV is a great distraction. One of the best.”
His face broke into a smile and he shook his head, coughing out a laugh. I couldn’t help joining in. We were being silly. I couldn’t figure out if we were pretending too hard or not hard enough.
Our laughter put a pinprick in the tension, enough for us to sideline the rest and eat the entire pizza while watching reruns ofThe Office. It was so delightfully mundane. The sort of unremarkable night that maybe once would’ve been easily forgotten, but now I knew to hold on to it with both hands. What a privilege it was to be bored and boring. We were alive at the same time, on opposite ends of the couch. I could’ve lived in this moment with him forever.
I checked on Phoebe in twenty-minute intervals and by midnight, it seemed like the storm had officially passed and she was out for the night. When I returned to the living room, the end credits were playing and Dex had slumped farther down the couch, long legs crossed at the ankles, eyelids heavy.
“What’s the update?” He’d made a point to ask after each check-in and I tried my best not to melt into a puddle of goo.
“Still sleeping,” I reported. “But now she’s facing away from the toilet.”
