attempt to shake him off. “Operation Forgiving Mom is now underway.”
“That’s the cheesiest title I’ve ever heard. Almost as bad as your Hallmark card line the other day.” The prolonged talking while running is becoming difficult, mostly because it adds to the checklist of other tasks I have to focus on: make sure my right leg doesn’t give out from under me, make sure I don’t hold too much eye contact with Ran and give him any indication that I literally can’t keep my eyes off of him, make sure my voice remains calm and controlled when it actually sounds like a blubbering, squeaky school girl’s. It’s like walking and chewing gum while rubbing my belly and patting my head. I’m failing at all of it.
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
“Yeah, how about Operation Try-Not-to-Completely-Hate-My-Mother-and-Work-on-the-Forgiveness-Thing-Later?”
I can almost hear the wheels rotating under Ran’s sleek, black helmet. “Okay, Operation TNTCHMMAWOTFTL commences now.” He counts out each letter on a finger and he doesn’t hide the haughty smirk that goes along with it. “Operation TNT for short.”
“Do I get to blow her up?” I mock excitedly, my pace nothing more than a brisk stride now. I’ve seen elderly women speed walk faster than this so-called run of mine.
“Yeah, her phone,” Ran answers. “You’re sending her a text today.”
My feet set underneath me. The momentum from the weight of Ran’s bike pulls him forward a foot or two ahead of me, and he cocks his head over his shoulder once he notices I’m no longer moving.
“I have nothing to say to her.”
Like usual, Ran ignores my excuses and swings his leg over the side of his motorcycle, bounces up and down on the kicker, and it rumbles noisily to life. “Find something,” he instructs, and with a gloved hand he slams the visor shut, gives me a head-to-toe scan that weakens my knees, and then speeds down the stretch of asphalt, leaving me speechless. Just like always.
***
Ran: Did you follow through with your assignment?
I blink the bleary haze from my eyes. It’s 3:30 a.m. Of course it is.
Me: Yes.
Ran: And that was?
Me: I told her Mikey was not dead. Last time we talked I said I would let her know if he died.
I hear the rattle of the garage door and the squeal of the hinges as it settles back into the frame. Dad’s recognizable footsteps tread down the hall toward his bedroom. He has got to be tired of working the graveyard shift, but I think it’s all he’s ever known. At some point, you must just adapt.
The phone buzzes again and lights up my bedroom, stretching light into the dark corners and pockets of empty space.
Ran: Ok. How did she respond?
My eyelids hang heavy over my eyes, encasing them with tired bags that make it difficult to see the screen. I blink three or four times, and by the last one, they pull nearly all the way closed.
Me: She said that was god.
Ran: Sounds like she’s giving credit where credit is due, you know, to God and all. I’d say that’s a win.
Me: Oops, typo. Supposed to say good, not god. I’m tired…
Ran: Well, that demotes it a little, going from God status to Good, but we’ll take it.
Me: I can’t keep my eyes open. Soooo sleepy…
Ran: Still losing sleep thinking about that near-kiss?
Me: No.
Ran: You sure? Because I’m pretty certain you have to be thinking about it now that I mentioned it :)
Me: I want to sleep. With you let me please?
Ran: ???
My eyes drag across the screen to re-read my previous text.
Oh, crap.
Me: That was supposed to say WILL not WITH
Ran: Sure, Maggie ;)
Me: WILL you let me.
Ran: Yes.
I slump my head onto the pillow and have to prop my phone up in front of my face to stay focused on it. Every ounce of me begs for the surrender to sleep right now.
Me: Yes?
Ran: Yes, I will let you sleep (with me;)
Me: Shut it, Ran.
Ran: Night, Maggie. Sweet dreams.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Something came in the mail for you today, Mags.” Dad flicks an envelope against the back of his hand, not looking up at me, as he peruses the remaining stack of junk mail and bills in the other. “From the insurance company.”
“Nice, Mags! You can finally get a new set of wheels!” Mikey hollers over the back of the couch, his arm draped across Sadie’s shoulders. They’ve been planted in front of the television for hours watching some football game, and I’m impressed with Sadie’s ability to appear engaged