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I reach over for the cup and take a sip of water before replying. “No. Well, not always. Sometimes I just needed to get away. I dated a little in high school and college, but then after Aria passed—” I stop the words. He already knows I gave up having a life.
“And then Blake,” he says.
I nod. “We all know how that turned out.”
He sets his plate down and then scoots closer to me on the couch, holding out his arm.
That’s all the incentive I need to snuggle into him, his arm wrapping around me.
“What about you?” I ask. “Have your past relationships been as exciting and dramatic as mine?”
He rests his chin on top of my head. “Nope. I’m incredibly boring. I had a couple of short-lived relationships in high school, a slightly longer one when I was getting my undergrad, but during med school and in the ER, I didn’t have the time or energy for anything serious.”
I gasp. “You mean it’s not likeGrey’s Anatomy? Everyone dating everyone else and getting it on in the on-call room?”
He chuckles. “Maybe for some people. Not me, though.”
We watch the flames in silence for a few long minutes, enjoying the quiet, enjoying the feel of each other.
We cuddle on the couch and talk late into the night about anything and everything, stories from our pasts, our likes and dislikes, whatever comes into our heads without reservation.
As we chat and laugh and touch, a sort of awareness falls over me, as soft and sure as being covered by a thick, downy blanket.
He makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. Even when I thought I was on top of the world, when I had a kickass job, I wasn’t this content. I still felt . . . like something was missing. Like I needed more and more, like my life only had meaning if I was chasing something that was just out of reach. Working constantly was the single path forward. Now I can see that there might be more routes, more directions I can choose. Maybe there is one where I don’t need to have it all, where I only need what I already have.
Where I’m at is just right.
It's enough.
Maybe I’m enough.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Mindy
When Finley has an objective with a time limit, she turns into a wild, rabid, organized tyrant.
“Okay, people, we need to separate everything in three piles: donate, trash, and keep.” She paces in front of us in the hall outside of Dad’s room.
We’re all lined up, like the good little soldiers we are, dressed in comfortable clothing and ready to work.
Jake straightens from where he’s been leaning back against the wood-paneled wall. “Sir, yes sir!” He salutes her.
She rolls her eyes. “Any photos you find can go in here,” she points at the empty box at her feet, “but place them carefully. No chucking things in here like we’re playing in the NBA.” She narrows her eyes on Jake.
“Don’t look at me. Piper’s the sloppy one.” He nudges her with an elbow.
“I am not sloppy.” She shoves back at him with both hands, making him stumble into me.
I push him back to rights. “Yes, you are.”
She sticks out her tongue. “You’re a neat freak. You can’t chime in here.”
“Children, pay attention,” Finley says. “Clothes that are in good shape can be donated unless it’s something anyone wants to keep. Otherwise, we can throw any items for the trash in the bags out here.” She gestures to the roll of trash bags on the floor outside the door.
“Are we ready?”
“As we’ll ever be,” Taylor grumbles.
