Wren shakes her head. “Does anyone have any tact?”
Mila’s expression is a surprised frown. “What? Indie promised.”
“I’ll make them,” I say. “Mila’s measures will put us in the hospital.”
“The recipe said a generous measure,” she defends.
“Most people would do one and a half measures in that case—two, tops. Not a quarter of the bottle, Mila,” Wren says, playfully elbowing her.
It was my first and last hangover. That was also the day where I understood my parents even less. Who would want to feel like that every day?
Mila scoffs. “You two are such party poopers.”
I laugh as I pour the gin. These girls are my sisters, and I love their crazy so much.
“Shut up and drink your gin,” I tell her.
The afternoon stretches. Sheila had a cup of tea and a plate of food. She left with a big tub of sausage rolls and satay chicken. I had two gins with my friends, and then we all switched to coffee. No one came here for a session. They might have had a couple more if my mum hadn’t been an alcoholic. I’ve noticed that Andrew and Jodie’s intake has dramatically decreased since I started staying here.
Wren, Mila, and Brody leave in the early evening.
I slump down on the sofa after helping tidy up, and Spencer sits beside me. He rests his elbow on the back of the sofa and strokes his fingers through my hair. “How are you really doing?”
“I’m drained, and I miss her.” With a sigh, I confess, “For a second, I actually believed that she wanted to get better. I’ve not believed that since I was ten. Every time they told me they were getting clean, I’d nod along, knowing it wouldn’t happen. I really thought that Dad’s death would shake her enough to make that change. She went to rehab, Spence.”
He pulls me onto his lap. I tuck my head under his chin and sigh. His heart beats steadily. It’s my most favourite sound. This man is everything. This is all I need.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I wish they could have been better for you. I wish you didn’t have to go through everything you’ve dealt with your whole life. I’m so in awe of you and how you strong you are.”
I’m tired of being strong.
“Everything will be okay. You’re going to have the best career and the best life. I’ll make you happy every day. Whatever it takes.”
I look up, and he smiles. His eyes are shining, only seeing me.
“You are a miracle, Spencer Lowe.”
I want to believe him, but how can our life be a bed of roses?
We will have to share it with the world, whether we choose to or not.
If I’m with him, I’ll never have privacy.
Stop thinking.
I tilt my head up, and his lips meet mine.
Fifty-Two
Spencer
Three days after Jessica was buried, Indie started cleaning the house. We’re talking bottles and bottles of bleach, rubber gloves, and a lot of scrubbing. You could operate on any surface. She was on a mission, and no amount of pleading with her could get her to even take a break until it was done.
So, I shut up, put some gloves on, and I got stuck in.
A lot of her parents’ things have been donated—most of them, actually—but she’s kept a watch her dad owned as well as a necklace of her mum’s.
She’s not stopped, and the house is almost empty of personal things now. It’s just bare walls, besides one family photo and her parents’ wedding picture. None of her mum’s ornaments have been kept.
We’ve not spoken about it because that particular conversation is like walking a tightrope. All I’ve managed to get out of her is that she needs to get the house ‘sorted’. Sorted for what?
She wouldn’t even entertain a conversation about me buying a house here. Since that particularly shit day where she cried and shouted when we first walked back in her place, I haven’t mentioned it again.
I should, I know I should, but I’m too fucking scared in case she tells me she doesn’t want to share a home.
What would I do then?
It seems a bit dramatic to pick her up and carry her back to my cave.
Although, I’m not above doing that when the time comes.
My guess is that she wants to sell the house. I don’t even want to think about that fact that she could be making the house liveable for herself.
Everything belongs to her now: the house, their unused car in the garage, the money in their bank. It’ll take a little while until it’s legally hers, but in the will her parents made years ago, she gets it all.
I stand in the doorway to the kitchen as she scrubs the inside of the oven. It wasn’t dirty to begin with. My gloves are in the bin. I thought we’d finished.
“Indie,” I say. “Babe, you’ve done that.”
She looks over her shoulder. “Maybe I should get a new oven.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that one.”
“It’s old, and there’s this spot I can’t get out.”
I approach with caution. The cleaning has been frantic. She’s almost chewed her lip off already, and now she wants to replace what’s left.
I crouch down, a foot away from her.
“Hey.” I trail my fingers down her back, and she lets out a sigh. “What’s going on?”
“I just want to get the house clean, Spencer.”
“It wasn’t dirty.”
Her head turns back to the oven, then at me. “I can’t be here until the house is spotless.”
“You don’t need to be in here at all.”
“This is where I live.” Her voice is monotone, resigned.
Oh fuck, here goes. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“Spencer…”
“No, hear me out. You can stay at mine for as long as you need. You can sell or rent this. Whatever you want.”
Ethan would call me a pussy for not telling her I want to get a place that’s ours.
One step at a time with her.
We’ve already made giant leaps in
