Page 57 of You Fall First

“No problem.” She collects her purse. “Dutton’s a great kid.”

She tells me I don’t have to walk her out, but I do anyway. The night air is cool, and the sky is bright with distant stars. At her car, I open the door, and she turns to face me. Moonlight spills down the cascade of her hair. I’m already missing her help, and she’s still standing right in front of me.

“So I’ll see you in the morning?” She lifts her chin. “Maybe eight o’clock?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” It’s an innocent response, but the hope in my voice makes me shift my weight.

“Good,” she says.

As she climbs in the car, I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Well, drive safe, then.”

She smiles. “I always do.”

I wait until her taillights disappear, then I return to a house that feels way emptier than before.

Chapter Fifteen

Jo

Delicious smells wafting from the kitchen wake me before my alarm. Bacon tends to do that. And then I tend to roll over and go back to sleep for another hour or two. To be fair, I haven’t set said alarm since I moved back here. Why wake up at the crack of dawn to sit around and be reminded about your lack of career in the only things you’re qualified to do?

And by you I mean me.

Most days, by the time I shuffle downstairs in a bathrobe and slippers, what’s left of my mom’s cheesy eggs and bacon sits cold in the fridge. Dishes done. Both parents at work. I’ve been riding the boxed cereal train for months.

This morning’s different, though.

My mom’s probably gonna freak out when I show up freshly showered and fully clothed so early. In a sundress, no less. This one is the same blue as Bo Peep’s dress from Toy Story. Am I guilty of beating that particular Pixar horse? You bet I am. But if the cosplay fits …

Or something like that.

I throw my hair up in another high ponytail, then I slip on a pair of flat sandals perfect for wandering around Maple Street. Or possibly for playing in the park in the center of town square. I thought about taking Dutton to Bony Mountain today, but we’d probably just go for a picnic at the campground at the base. I can’t imagine a four-year-old wanting to hike to the peak, and I don’t want to piggyback him up and back myself.

As I make my way to the kitchen, my mom’s forking helpings of eggs onto two plates with bacon already on them. My dad’s at the four-slice toaster, popping in a couple of bagels.

His brows shoot up.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you saying I resemble a dead mouse?”

My mother turns to appraise me, her mouth on an angle. “On the contrary. You look lovely, Jojo.” She collects a third plate from the cupboard. “I assume you’re eating breakfast with us?”

“No time,” I say. “I just wanted to say hi before I head out.”

My dad moves to the refrigerator to poke around. “Where are you off to?”

“I’m taking care of Dutton today.” I hike my purse on my shoulder. “That’s where I was yesterday, too.”

My mother takes the plates for her and my dad to the table. “At Noah’s house?”

“Uh-huh.” I shift my weight. “So please don’t wait for me for dinner. I might be late again.”

“I like those two,” my dad says, his voice muffled by the refrigerator’s hum. “Noah and Dutton. That kid made me laugh.”

“I like them too,” my mom says.

Like. I note the present tense.