Page 69 of Waiting Game

She needs to laugh more.

Some days, that cloud of inherent sadness around her makes me want to?—

Fuck.

The stalled thought has me pinching the bridge of my nose.

It isn’t my place to make things better for her.

Even though I want to.

I’m not supposed to be talking to her.

Gracie’s my sis. I’ve got her back—always—and what I’m doing with Mia makes me an asshole.

I can’t help but want to do a whole lot more though.

She’s…Mia.

An Achilles’ heel-type problem that comes without the need for an orthopedic surgeon.

Except that doctor’s appointment will come if Gracie finds out about this.

“I watched the whole season,” she admits sheepishly. “I have the rest to watch later.”

Me: When you’ve finished that, I have a bunch of other random British shows to recommend seeing as you’ve torn through the Canadian satire I told you about.

Me becoming her ‘watch next’ feature only started when she confessed one day that it was her uncle’s funeral and I wanted to make her laugh.

“Their sense of humor is different than ours, isn’t it?” she muses, twirling a strand of bright purple hair around her finger.

God, I love that wig on her.

Me: It’s black humor. They’re weird but I dig their comedy.

“Doesn’t that mean you dig them?” she teases.

Me: My mother is actually from the UK, so EWW.

“How can that be ‘Eww?’”

Me: It is.

“Your logic isn’t logicking today.”

Me: Something I pride myself on.

Mia rolls her eyes. “Have you ever been to England?”

Me: Sure. To see my mother's side of the family.

“Do you have a lot?”

Me: Not really. A couple aunts. Some cousins.

Me: Oh, and a great uncle.

“That sounds like a lot.”

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