Page 37 of The Match

I pause and point to the round yellow button on the wall by my bed. “It speed-dials Joanna’s number. She usually waits about ten minutes for my seizure to pass and for me to regain consciousness and then calls me to make sure I’m okay.” I pause and glance at my little furry hero. “And even though we can’t technically train a service dog to alert before a seizure, he has. Charlie usually alerts me about thirty minutes before almost all of my seizures, and that gives me a chance to go lie down in a safe place.”

“That’s . . . I don’t even feel like the word amazing is good enough. Do you think Daisy will do that with Sam?”

“Hopefully. But only time will tell. Just keep an eye out for Daisy doing anything out of the ordinary. It could be her trying to signal you.”

Jake nods thoughtfully for a moment, and I think he’s about to say something profound. “And to think we would never have found any of this new independence for Sam if it weren’t for you telling me to get my head out of my ass.”

He and I both laugh at the memory. I still can’t believe I said that to him, but I don’t regret it. Not if it got us to this place.

Jake’s eyes land on mine again, and his playful smile dies away. Something is changing in the air, and my body is fully aware of it. He shifts his arm and gently grasps a lock of my damp hair between his fingers. “I’m serious, though, Evie. Thank you. I owe you.” His low voice is rolling over me, and I’m a little worried his finger is going to brush against my neck and feel my hammering pulse.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

His gaze is unwavering. “I don’t think you understand just how much you’ve helped us. It had been so long since I’d heard Sam laugh. And you helping her with her nails and her hair . . .” He shakes his head with a sad smile. “There are so many small things like that I’m not good at but worry she really needs from me. And it’s clear she values those things more than I realized.”

I bump his knee. “You’re a great dad. I’ve seen it firsthand, Jake. And those things you’re mentioning can be learned. Those are the easy parts.”

“I’ve tried. But . . . I don’t like learning on her. Natalie and I have already made so many mistakes that she pays for—and I feel even worse when I’m trying to fix her hair and just make her cry instead.”

“Then practice on me.” I say the words before I can decide if it’s a good idea or not. And I don’t pause to take them back either. “Come on.” I tug him up from the couch.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, my apartment is as big as your eyebrow so we’re only going about two steps to my bathroom to gather supplies. But after that! We’re going five steps to my little kitchen island, where you’re going to practice Girls’ Day on me.”

CHAPTER 17

Jake

She’s loading down my arms with supplies. “What do you mean by ‘practice Girls’ Day’?”

There’s barely enough room in this bathroom for the two of us, so I’m hovering half-in and half-out of the door. Evie keeps rummaging through disorganized drawers and pulling out little bags of stuff. She dumps one on the pile she’s already made in my arms, unzips it, confirms it’s full of nail polish, and zips it back up. “You know, Girls’ Day. Where you get fun drinks and do your nails and hair and go shopping and pretend the worries of the world don’t exist. It’s a whole thing, and you need to be ready for it.”

I’m Evie’s pack mule, strapped down with cosmetic bags. She squeezes past me in the doorway, her body skimming over mine before she wraps her hand around my biceps and pulls me toward her tiny kitchen island.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m still a little lost.”

“I told you. You’re going to practice on me so you can feel confident when you do it with Sam.”

She’s on the opposite side of the island and leans across it to unzip the bag and dump out at least fifteen nail polishes. They clank together as she wildly rummages through them. She’s a beautiful agent of chaos.

“You’re going to let me paint your nails?” I line up her polishes side by side. It’s a neat row of beauty soldiers.

Her hand brushes mine as she takes a pink from my grasp before I can line it up. “First, you’re going to paint your own because I think it helps you understand the flow of polish better and what you don’t want to happen when painting someone else’s nails. You can graduate to me once you’ve learned the basics.”

I give a cocky smirk. “You don’t have to worry, Evie. I’m a master at the basics. Been practicing those on myself since I was a teenager.”

She presses her lips together against a laugh—it grumbles behind her closed mouth anyway. “Interesting. I thought you would have had plenty of volunteers to help you practice,” she says with a taunting smile of her own. “Since you have four sisters and . . . oh wow . . . no, wait. That inappropriate joke really fell apart at the end.”

My face is a look of horror as I laugh. “I have found your only flaw. Evie Jones is not good at innuendo.”

“Oh, I have plenty more flaws where that one came from. Just call my mom and ask—she’ll list them off one by one for you.”

“I remember you saying you’re not close with your parents. What happened there?”

She stares at the line of nail polishes. “They’re . . . we’re just different people.” Her eyes snap back up to me and she smiles. “That’s enough about the Joneses. You can sit there.”

I pull out the small barstool and take a seat. Evie rips off a square of paper towel and sets it in front of me. A makeshift drop cloth. She selects a blue polish, shakes it, and hands it to me.

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