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Depends who you ask. My bank account would probably call it a financial problem.
My thumbs are hovering over the screen before I’ve decided what to say.
Luke
What is your typical coffee order?
Almost immediately, the little dots appear, then vanish, then come back. I catch myself watching them longer than I should. She’s thinking or rewriting, maybe both.
Olivia
Iced caramel latte is my go-to. What about you?
She likes sweet things. So do I.
Luke
I actually prefer a white mocha with two pumps of caramel. Hot or iced depending on the time of year.
I slip my phone into my pocket before I can get distracted again and take one slow breath, letting the calm have its final few seconds.
Time to go inside.
The front door opens and Bo comes flying out of the house like he’s been launched from a cannon. “Dad!”
He’s barefoot, in basketball shorts and a superhero cape, no shirt.
I stop long enough to brace myself and he collides with my legs anyway.
“Easy there, buddy.”
“I missed you.” He squeezes harder.
“I was only gone a day.”
“I know.” He looks up at me like that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said. “That’s a long time.”
I ruffle his hair before following him toward the house.
“Did you have fun with Grandma?”
“The best. I beat her at Uno.”
“He absolutely did not,” Dottie calls from somewhere inside.
“I forgot she can hear me.”
The smell hits me before I even step into the kitchen. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, fresh rolls. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten anything besides station coffee and a vending machine granola bar in far too many hours. We had back-to-back calls and didn’t have time to cook a proper meal.
I haven’t set my bag down before the pot roast finds me, and my stomach answers for me.
Dottie glances over her shoulder as she stirs something on the stove, wooden spoon going in slow circles.
“There he is.”
“There I am.” I drop the bag by the door and drag a hand down my face, which does nothing for the smoke I know is still in my hair.
She taps the spoon on the rim of the pot, sets it down, and turns to face me full-on. Studies me for exactly one second, head tilted, the way she reads a man before he’s said a word worth hearing. Then she points down the hallway.
