Page 141 of The Thought of You

“That you’re unhappy with us.”

“But I’m not,” I assure her. “That’s not at all what I said or meant.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She narrows her eyes, and I hold Huck a little tighter. When he’s older, his mother’s stern glare is going to chill his bones. “You have every right to be mad at us. I call you anytime I need a babysitter, Lottie sends you 911 messages when she breaks a nail, and Laurel, well, she might not actually need anything from you, but I’m sure she calls you to complain about her workload like she does to the rest of us. And that is definitely something to be pissed about.”

“I’m not pi—” I peer down at Huck again. He seems to be listening so intently, it’s hard to imagine he doesn’t understand much right now. “I’m not peeved.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m just… I feel invisible sometimes,” I finally confess much like I did to Mom last weekend.

I halfway expect her to laugh and point out how many times I’ve been on TV. How often I still get tagged by random baseball fans I don’t know on social media. How a meme with my face was trending online three years ago.

I steel myself against what I imagine will be a long monologue of all the ways I’m so popular around town too. That she doesn’t even live here anymore, but she knows how well-liked I am.

But she doesn’t do any of that. She doesn’t even move or change her hard expression at all.

“I’m really sorry, Owen,” she whispers, and her features darken with obvious guilt. Her lips droop into a frown that drags even the corners of her eyes down.

And while her apology is appreciated, I’m not sure the look on her face is worth it.

“I’ll do better, okay? I promise.” She squeezes my shoulder, and my stomach tightens.

“I’ll do better about letting you in,” I say in return. “After talking to Mom, I realized I might not be the easiest to help since I don’t always ask for it.”

“So, you’re asking for it now, right? Because I have thoughts.” She wiggles in her spot, tucking her ankle under her knee.

A deflection is on the tip of my tongue, but that’s exactly what I just told her I wouldn’t do. She’s here to try, and I need to do the same.

Instead of diverting the conversation to something that removes the spotlight from me and onto her, I fight my natural instincts and relay the details with Addie—the important details, anyway.

Halfway through, I’ve barely taken a breath when a new message lights up my screen. I’m embarrassingly relieved to find who it’s from.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Whit scoots closer and peers over my shoulder. “Open it, open it!”

My pulse spikes.

“Well? What does it say?” Whit urges.

I read the message again. “To check my doorstep.”

My sister flies off the couch as if I dunked ice water onto her. She’s the first to the door, but she stops herself before throwing it open. “You should probably do the honors.” She bites her lip, and it’s clear she’s trying to hold herself—and a squeal—back.

With Huck on my hip, I stare at the door for a beat before I open it, inhaling deeply in preparation to see Addie, but she’s not there. Nothing’s on my doorstep except for a large gift bag.

Whit jumps out and grabs the bag. “Were you expecting a present?”

“Not so much. Not after the ultimatum I gave her.”

She freezes with her mouth dangled open.

“I haven’t gotten to that part of my story, have I?” I grimace.

“You need a lot more help than I thought.” She waves for me to follow her back into the living room, where we resume our previous spots, and she folds her hands in her lap.

“Should I be lying down for this?” I ask, only halfway kidding.

“Explain yourself, big brother,” she says and sets the gift bag aside as if I can’t be rewarded until I tell her the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

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