Page 29 of Glad You're Here

Thea

Jo needed a babysitter again. First, I said, “Hell no.” Then she sighed into the phone. It wasn’t a normal sigh. It was the kind that only came from a soul so tired that it might be unable to go on.

She said, “Okay, that’s okay,” in the smallest voice I’d ever heard from her.

Something pricked that spot in the center of my chest. Something screamed at me that Jo needed help tonight more than I needed quiet. Honestly, all I had these days was quiet.

“Wait.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “You can bring them over.” I wanted to leave it at that but suddenly found myself saying, “And maybe you could stay for a drink, and we could catch up before you do whatever you need to do.” I winced and bit my lip. Why did I say that?

Levi. It was Levi’s fault. He had me thinking I could be friends with people and that I had something to offer the world. He said some weird shit about me and the color yellow last night at midnight when we were texting. Unfortunately, I did like the color sometimes. It went well with purple.

“Wow, that sounds nice.” Jo perked up a little bit. “Honestly, I don’t have anything important to do tonight. I needed a break from mom life before I lost my mind.” She paused before saying, “Why are you being nice to me, Thea? We aren’t even real friends.”

So Jo finally wanted to get real. Awesome. “No, we’re not friends, but we were once. So I’ll see you in a few?”

“See you in a few.”

I ended the call and hobbled around my house, picking up my shit so the kids would have room to play. I always informed Lenny that creative geniuses were notoriously messy when we lived together. She always put up with me. I should tell her how much that meant. Talking mushy feelings was rough for me, but I should find the strength for my aunt.

Twenty minutes later, Jo’s boys tumbled into my living room with loud voices, snotty noses, and wet snow boots. The little one probably had sticky hands again. Fine. I knew his name was Ryker.

Ryker grinned and touched my arm as I directed them to my living room. Yep. Sticky. Honestly, how? Did he keep a secret glue stick in his pocket so his hands could always be prepped to disgust?

I turned on a movie for the boys and poured Jo a glass of wine. I wasn’t in the mood for alcohol. Drinking was like a game of Russian roulette with fibromyalgia. Sometimes, I could get trashed and feel okay. Other times, it turned up the volume on my pain by ten. For myself, I brewed a cup of chamomile tea in a plain white mug. My yellow one sat in the sink, stupidly reminding me of that one time Levi washed it and made me tea.

Jo settled into a chair at my kitchen table and looked at her boys, all snuggled on my yellow sofa, watching their show. Without shifting her gaze, she said, “I was always painfully jealous of you, Thea.”

I sat across from her and snorted into my tea. “Jealous of the weird goth girl with a dead mom?”

Jo turned away from her boys and back to me. “Jealous of the stunningly gorgeous, interesting girl who didn’t give a shit about what others thought of her. Jealous of the artistic talent and the way you enchant everyone you meet. Even my kids love you! They never shut up about that one time they painted and went to the train museum with you.” Jo let out a dry chuckle and tucked her blonde curls behind her ears. “I was even jealous that your mom was dead, and you got to live with your cool aunt who loved you to pieces.”

“Jo, that’s crazy.” I narrowed my eyes at her. I knew she never got along with her mother. I’d heard Jo’s mom criticize her weight and looks on more than one occasion over the years. Maybe things were darker than I’d realized.

“It is.” Jo nodded. “It’s crazy to wish your mom was dead. It’s crazy to wish you were anyone but yourself, but here I am.” She shrugged, and I noticed the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “Ugh. I need therapy.”

I smiled and patted her hand. “We all do.” Then, some highly uncharacteristic words flowed out of me. “But Jo, you’re doing an incredible job raising your boys alone. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” What if someone had said that to my mom after I was born? What if someone had taken her in and taken care of her?

“Thanks, Thea. You pretend to be cold and aloof, but you’re a big softy.” Jo wiped her tears. “I’m sorry I was awful to you in high school. Jealousy is a bitch, and I let it ruin the only true friendship I ever had.”

I blinked at the woman who sat across the kitchen table from me, and for a split second, I saw the little girl I knew, the one with big blue doe eyes that begged to be loved. Suddenly Jo made perfect sense to me — the high school bitch, all the men, all the fakeness. Girl wanted to be loved. If I painted my ex-best friend right now, she would be all soft lines in pinks and blues.

“Jo, we’re good, okay? We’re good.”

Jo smiled and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Thea.”

Later that night, as I got ready for bed, I picked up my phone to message Levi, but I did something crazy and started a video chat instead. I wanted to see his eyes, see if they still made me feel something. When he answered, and his face filled the screen, I flooded with warmth.

Home.

“Thea.” He smirked at me.

“Levi.” I smirked back. “Your beard is coming in nicely.”

“Your hair is light purple now.”

I laughed and ran a hand through my hair. “Yes. Hair dye does fade.”

“It looks good.” Levi smiled.

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