Page 39 of Stuck with You

“Moping? That sounds like a terribly depressing activity to do on your own.”

Her eyes sparked with a little more emotion as she glanced back up at me. “It’s not exactly the kind of activity you do with others either.”

“Are you kidding? I love a good moping session, and I happen to be a great moping buddy.”

Clary didn’t respond. Instead, she looked at me like I was slightly unhinged. I was only trying to help though, and she needed someone right now, whether she liked it or not.

“And as your official moping buddy, I have to say you’re doing it all wrong,” I continued.

“You’re not my official moping buddy. And I was moping just fine on my own before you came along.”

“I beg to differ. There’s no tub of ice cream in here, and you don’t even have some good emo music playing in the background. This is like a moping catastrophe.”

“So, you’re telling me that I don’t even mope right?”

“Your words, not mine, but pretty much. It’s lucky I came in here when I did, so I can set this all straight.”

Clary let out a sigh and closed her eyes for several seconds. I got the feeling she was hoping when she opened them again I’d disappear. Now that I knew the depth of her sadness though, there was no getting rid of me.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” She blinked her eyes open, and my chest clenched at the misery in her gaze. Clary was truly hurting. I considered caving and giving her what she wanted, but I knew firsthand how pain could be so much worse when you were left to endure it alone. I’d acted exactly like her when my dad left us after my parents’ divorce a few years ago. This was a different situation, but I understood Clary’s sadness and knew she was feeling adrift and needed support.

“I wish I could,” I replied in a soft voice. “But the cardinal moping buddy rule is you can never leave your buddy alone in dire times.”

She deflated a little and rested back against the headboard of the bed. “So, I’m stuck with you then.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?” she replied.

I started to smile. “Nope, I’m like that marshmallow cereal ice cream they serve at Scoop. At first, you’re not sure about it, and the first bite might be a little sweet, but once you get used to the taste it will quickly become your favorite. I’ll grow on you, trust me.”

“Yeah, like a fungus,” she grumbled.

I grinned a little wider. It wasn’t the reply I was shooting for, but at least Clary had the energy to give me attitude. That meant she wasn’t a complete lost cause.

“Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, jumping from the bed.

“Where are you going?”

I turned to her as I reached the door. “The fungus needs to grab snacks and his laptop for our full-blown moping sesh.”

“Can’t wait,” Clary muttered as I walked out into the corridor. She was in a serious mood today, but I didn’t blame her one bit. I’d probably be just as bad if my mom was in the same situation as her parents.

I gathered supplies before returning to Clary’s room. She hadn’t moved while I was gone, which was a testament to how crappy she was feeling. Even the threat of being trapped in her room with me for hours wasn’t enough to get her out of bed.

“I come bearing gifts,” I said.

I passed her a tub of cookie dough ice cream before opening my laptop and setting it up on the bed. I made sure to wedge it between us. I was all for testing the boundaries of Clary’s personal space but only when she was her normal happy, slightly fiery self. She was like an electric fence I liked to try to get close to, just to see if I got zapped. It seemed like the power was currently off though, and it felt unfair to even try.

Clary took the ice cream and frowned at it.

“You don’t like cookie dough ice cream?” I asked.

“No, it’s fine.” Her words were devoid of emotion, but she must have been happy enough with the ice cream because she cracked the lid of the tub and started to eat.

“It’s no marshmallow cereal, but it will do in a pinch,” I replied with a wink.

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling before pointing her spoon in the direction of my laptop. “What’s that for?”

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