attentions, and I shift to glance over the couch and watch Katie pad over to me. She holds her hand out in front of her as she walks as though she’s balancing something.
“Whatcha got there, Katie bug?” I say, choking on the nickname given to her by a woman no longer in our life.
“A ladybug.” Tricia answers for her, and I realize we all need to learn to adjust. We’ll need patience and guidance in how to encourage Katie to use her voice on her own instead of relying on us to speak for her.
“Emily said ladybugs are signs of good luck.” The unfamiliarity of my child’s voice, soft and quiet, still makes my heart zing in my chest.
“That’s right, baby,” I say although I have no idea if this is true.
“You can also make a wish on one,” Tricia adds, and I wonder how women know all this stuff.
“What would you wish for?” I ask as I reach out for Katie and tug her to me. She falls between my knees, leaning into my chest as she watches the red bug with black dots crawl over her wrist.
“I’d wish for Emily to stay,” Katie whispers. Tricia’s breath hitches in response.
“Me, too, baby girl.” I lean into her and kiss the side of her head. “Me, too.”
Rule 22
When a gentleman knocks, open the door.
[Emily]
One week down, I tell myself, fifty-one more to go. I’m surprised I’ve made it five days. I don’t know how I’ll survive months without them.
I’m efficient, I say to myself. As the words filter through my head, I envision Jess’s face.
I arrive at the door to my empty, lonely condo. Being efficient isn’t the same as being happy, though, and I know I’m not.
Live for now, Emily. Nana’s words echo in my ears like a soft whisper.
Am I? Am I following her advice, or am I still floating like I once told Jess?
It’s only an adjustment period, I try to convince myself. So much happened so quickly, and I’m just processing. One month. In one month, my grandmother passed, and I fell in love.
My fingers fumble with the key to my condo.
I fell in love.
My forehead begins to fall toward the door until I hear voices in the hallway. I don’t want any witnesses to my sadness, so I turn the key in the lock and open the door. Once I enter my place, I stare at the open concept space. My bedroom and bathroom are both within sight of the front door. It isn’t a house. It doesn’t have a yard or a playhouse in a garden. It’s four walls and three rooms sandwiched between other units. I wonder if my neighbors feel as lost as me sometimes.
I toss my keys on the kitchen table, reach for my phone for the millionth time in a week, and then set it down. He didn’t call. I didn’t call. Neither of us is being cruel. We just decided not to say goodbye, and phone communication seems like it will only prolong our heartache over the situation.
I had to go home. He had to stay.
I set the phone back on the table just as the buzzer at my door goes off. I’m not expecting anyone, and I don’t know how someone got in the building without ringing me first, so I peer through the security hole to see who it is. I gasp and whip open the door.
I stare at the man in my hallway.
“Jess.” His name is a breath of fresh air I haven’t breathed since I returned. His hands slip into his front pockets, and a bag hangs off his shoulder. His lips twist to the side, and his jaw clenches. His eyes are sheepish but intense. I step back, and before I can invite him to enter, he steps into the condo and turns to shut the door. His bag falls to the floor as he turns back to me and cups my face in his hands. Almost immediately, his mouth crashes into mine, and we engage in a battle of lips.
“You piss me off,” he mutters against my mouth. His voice cracks and breaks as he speaks.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to ask the question between breathtaking kisses. Our lips continue to mold over one another’s, and I’m pressed against my closed front door in a matter of seconds. His hands don’t leave my jaw, but my arms slip around his neck, and my hands tug at his hair, which is loose