Page 101 of Work with Me

“Nah. We were all listening in the dining room. Alicia went straight to her room after and didn’t come out.” He squinted at me. “So why are you back?”

I smiled at the kid, even though I wanted to crumple. She’d spent the night away from her family? I hated myself for hurting her again.

“Breakfast.” I handed him the drink carrier—two coffees, a hot chocolate, and Earl Grey for Alicia—and the sack of pastries. I glanced behind him, but I couldn’t see anyone but the cat. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Let me know if you have any special requests.”

Then I did the hard thing: I turned around and walked back down their porch steps. I got into my rental—a boring blue sedan this time—and drove to the empty office, where I worked half the day on code and the other half answering emails about the foundation.

On Monday, I arrived even earlier so I could drop off breakfast before Alicia went to work. This time, Diane opened the door, wrapping a robe over her pajamas.

No good-morning, no thanks-for-the-bagels. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“I understand.” I handed over the drink carrier. “How do you take your coffee?”

She narrowed her eyes the same way her grandson had done. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t be back.” She shut the door in my face.

But the next day, as I handed her a fragrant tray of cinnamon-spiked Mexican coffees and hot chocolate, plus Alicia’s tea, she said, “Black. But Esmy takes cr—milk and sugar. Skim.” Then she shut the door.

I grinned.

Friday—Christmas Eve—Esmy answered the door. “You came!” She took the tray of drinks and the bag of kolaches, plus a canister of liver-flavored cat treats, and set them on a table inside. Then she actually stepped out onto the porch to hug me. “Thanks for the cream. I haven’t felt indulged like that in months. But you aren’t spending the holiday with your family?”

I let my arms go around her back. Her hug was strong and soft at the same time. And until she’d touched me, I hadn’t realized how starved I was for physical contact. Tyler—a hugger but still on my shit list—had taken the transfer to San Francisco. Cooper had gone home to spend the holiday with his mom, and the office had been a ghost town all week.

“No. I’d rather be here. Where she is. How is she?”

Esmy leaned back. “She’s okay. Eating better. Though that might be because of the holiday foods. Do you want to come over tomorrow? We always make tamales for Christmas.”

My heart leapt, and my mouth watered. “Does she want me there? Did she ask you to invite me?”

“Well…” She studied her slipper.

“I won’t come in unless she wants me,” I told her gently. “And please don’t ask her to invite me. I’ll wait as long as she needs me to.”

Esmy pursed her lips. “My money’s on you, mi querido.”

“Wait, what? Are you guys betting on me?”

Grinning, she shut the door.

I spent Christmas alone in the extended-stay hotel. They had a sad little tree in the lobby. A few noisy families were staying at the other end of the floor, and children’s feet pounded past my door in a race to the ice machine.

On the video call I made that afternoon, I had to put up with Mother’s wrath about not being home and Sam’s accusing glare. I sucked for abandoning her there with our perfect siblings. But I’d stay in Austin as long as Alicia needed. I’d promised her forever, and maybe that was how long it’d take.

But it wasn’t all bad. After the call, I bit into one of the tamales from the paper sack Esmy had handed me that morning. I imagined the four of them sitting around their tree—would they have put it in the living room in front of the windows or right in the middle of the room?—opening gifts with Christmas music playing.

I wished I could’ve taken Esmy up on her offer to be there. I hadn’t seen Alicia in over a week, and I wondered if she was better rested, if her skin had regained its glow. I didn’t want her family to tell me she was okay; I was desperate to see it for myself.

But this wasn’t about me or my desperation. It was about what Alicia needed. If she decided she didn’t want me, if she told me to go away again, I’d hate it, but I’d do it. At least she’d know that she was worth staying for. She might never forgive me, but maybe I’d restore her faith in men, and she might not push away the right guy—the one who wouldn’t fuck things up the way I had—when he came along.

I was crumpling up the bag when my phone rang. I leapt for it. Then I sighed. It wasn’t her.

“Hey, Coop, what’s up?”

“Don’t sound so thrilled to talk to me. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. How’s your mom?”

“Good. She made enough food for you, too. I guess I forgot to tell her you weren’t coming.”

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