Page 5 of That Rush

“I know. I mean here at Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

I glance around the kitchen I grew up in. Being here makes me feel eighteen again, like Dad is waiting to fix whatever I screwed up and Mom can still solve the rest with food and a hug.

I can’t move backward. Josie needs me to build a life for us, and hiding in my parents’ house won’t do that.

“We’ll stay for a little while,” I tell her. “Then you and I will find our own home.”

“Can my unicorn sheets come?”

“Yes.”

“And Mommy’s picture?”

“Absolutely. We’ll bring her picture wherever we go.”

She returns to her pancakes, satisfied.

Mom places a plate in front of me before sitting beside Josie. “I cleared two drawers in the guest room. There are new pajamas and a toothbrush upstairs.”

“We’re not moving in.”

“I know.”

“I need to start making decisions.”

“You will,” she says. “Today, she needs clean clothes.”

I look down at the pancake on my plate. They’re offering food, a bed, and a few phone numbers. None of it changes who Josie’s parent is.

Trying to handle every detail alone will leave me exhausted while she waits for what she needs.

I take a bite even though it tastes like nothing.

Dad taps one finger against the legal pad. “I can make the calls, sit beside you while you make them, or stay out of it. Your choice.”

My instinct is to tell him I have it handled. Josie’s chocolate-covered fingers and my shaking hand around the fork say otherwise.

“Sit with me,” I say. “I’ll make the calls.”

Dad nods once.

I look at Mom. “Can you keep Josie with you while I shower?”

“Of course.”

“I want to help Grandma make the next pancakes,” Josie says.

Mom smiles. “Then we’d better save some batter.”

The knot in my chest gives way, and air finally reaches the bottom of my lungs. I still have to make every decision that matters. I still have to be the father Josie needs when I have no idea what tomorrow is supposed to look like.

This morning, taking care of her means letting the people who love us carry part of the weight.

The shower washes away three days of sweat. It does nothing for the guilt coiled in my gut.

I pull on clean clothes and head downstairs, but I can’t face the legal pad waiting on the kitchen table. Through the back window, I spot Axel sitting on the porch steps with two mugs beside him.

He glances over when I step outside. “You look terrible.”