Page 95 of Friend Me

“Promise? Because I’ll be back. Better than ever.” Just like Dad.“Don’t run the place into the ground without me.”

“I don’t know…” His voice held a curl of humor. “If I have to deal with that development director again, I might just burn the place down.”

“Order some cookies for the team. But nothing with nuts. And when I see Jackson, I’ll ask him to offer a prize to the person who finds the bug. That ought to get results.”

“You’re the best, Marlee. Take all the time you need, okay?”

“I will.”

They needed me. But right now, Dad needed me more. And I couldn’t help anyone if I burned myself out.

There was a knock at the door just before Jackson walked in holding two cups of coffee.

“Morning,” he said brightly. “How’s Will?”

I took the cup he offered. “He’s fine.” I’d keep saying it until it was true. “But your department isn’t. I need you to turn right back around and go clean up the mess at Synergy.”

“What mess?”

I glanced at Dad—still sleeping—then took Jackson’s elbow to escort him to the elevator. As the doors opened, I said, “Your phone is off again. And as much as I love you, you can’t be splitting your time between the office and me. You can’t do it all.”

Something we both needed to learn.

Something Tyler had tried to tell me with his stories about his grandfather and his nursing home pamphlets. He was wrong about the nursing home—wasn’t he?—but he understood what I was going through. And he’d driven all over Oakland to visit memory-care facilities. For me.

As I walked back to Dad’s room, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and pulled up Tyler’s contact card. He grinned at me in the jacket and tie he’d worn to Alicia’s wedding. I’d snapped it early in the evening, before we’d danced, before he’d kissed me. I’d thought he looked perfect, but now the picture looked off somehow.

I searched my photos for another picture of him. Thisone was right. He wore a T-shirt, his favorite Galaga one. Judging from the date on the photo, I’d snapped it at some Synergy party last spring. His grin was open, bright.

Wait.

I scrolled down to the one from the wedding. Compared to the earlier one, his smile looked forced. Was it only because he was wearing a suit, or was it something more? Was it because of Operation Prince Charming?

It’d been his idea. I’d have been fine going together as just friends. Tyler was the one who’d proposed the whole fake-date thing. Because he knew I wanted Cooper and he…he cared enough to help me get what I wanted.

He cared. Even then, he must’ve wanted more, but because he was a better person than I was, he’d done what he thought I wanted. For me. Until he’d woken up and realized he deserved more. More than me.

In Jackson’s office, he’d said he needed my undivided attention. Between my responsibilities at work and my dad, could I give that to him?

I leaned against the wall next to Dad’s door and covered my face.Not right now.

Tyler deserved more. So I needed to back up. Back off. Return to what was safe, what I could manage: friendship.

I tapped out a text:I’m sorry. Our friendship is important to me. What can I do to make things right between us?

Our friendship. Could we salvage it after what I’d done, how I’d treated him?

I sent the text and waited until it showedDelivered.Then a few minutes more until it saidRead.And then five minutes…ten. When the nurse came by, I followed him inside Dad’s room.

The rest of the day, whenever Dad slept, I checked my phone. But the text sat there, read, with no response.

* * *

“Hey, guys.”Jackson strolled into the hospital room Friday afternoon. It was a better day for Dad. He and I were playing cards, and I was losing. I wasn’t sure if it was my anxiety about my upcoming meeting with the social worker or Dad’s addled rule-bending that had moved my pile of M&Ms to his paper cup. I welcomed the break, but—

“Why aren’t you at work?” I lay down my cards and went to hug Jackson where he loitered by the door.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he said, smirking. “With Cooper gone, I was practically the last person left on the sixth floor. But if you don’t want this”—he held up a familiar red coffee cup—“I’ll just drink it on my way back to—”

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