Page 234 of Falling for You
‘Tired,’ Stevie says at once. ‘But hopefully I’ll perk up after this.’ He holds up his coffee and takes a sip.
‘No,’ I press on. ‘How are you feeling about going home?’
I keep looking at Stevie, waiting for him to push me aside or pull out his phone in a defensive huff, but he doesn’t. Since our chat last week, he finally seems willing to talk to me. It’s a miracle really.
‘I feel … okay,’ he says. ‘I’ve actually been doing some research.’
He unzips his carry-on bag and waves a bunch of Post-it notes in my face.
‘What are they for?’
‘To help!’ he says happily. ‘I read a great blog about a woman with dementia and how she decided that it wasn’t going to define her. She was just going to live with it. And that’s how I think Mom feels about it.’
I nod, taking a sip of my coffee. ‘I agree.’
‘She had loads of tips on there, and one of them was sticking Post-it notes with reminders of appointments, tasks, that sort of thing. I thought it could be something we do together this week.’
‘That’s a great idea.’ I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a shake.
He shrugs me off, embarrassed. ‘I just want to be helpful.’
‘I get that.’
We slip back into silence, staring at the throng of people zipping through the airport. They weave in and out, manically looking over their shoulders to check they haven’t lost anyone from their party as their wheeled suitcases drag loudly across the marble floors.
‘So, why are you going back?’
I break from my stare, his question catching me off guard.
‘Is it because of Annie?’
I frown, shaking my head. ‘Of course not,’ I say, a bit more tartly than I’d meant to. ‘I didn’t even know her six weeks ago.’
‘Why, then?’
I sink further into my seat, hoping that Stevie will catchon that I don’t want to get into it all. Unfortunately, he does the opposite.
‘Look, we’ve got another four hours before our flight. You might as well tell me the truth,’ he says, his voice all light and superior. It makes my toes curl.
‘Why do you care?’
‘Because you’re my brother.’
I huff, snatching the paper bag from Stevie and taking a bite of scone. It sticks to the roof of my mouth like a claggy chunk of bread and Stevie looks at me in horror.
‘You’re supposed to have jam and cream on it, you lunatic.’
I force myself to swallow the congealed ball of stodge and take another sip of my coffee to try and wash it down.
‘I’m going back because I don’t like it here,’ I say, coughing slightly as the scone sticks to my windpipe.
‘Right …’ Stevie says slowly. ‘And why’s that? Because it isn’t all sunshine and roses like the films make it out to be?’
‘Yes, actually.’
‘That can’t be the reason you’re going back to New York,’ Stevie scoffs. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. What are you, six years old?’
I glare at him. ‘It’s not just that.’
