Page 30 of Wild Side
Then I toss the curtains open and stride into the arena, serenaded by the deafening roar of the crowd.
And I almost smile, because they haven’t forgotten me either.
CHAPTER 12
TABITHA
Rhys:
Checking in. How’s Milo?
Tabby:
He’s just fine.
Rhys:
I’ll be away for another week.
Tabby:
Great.
Milo is curledbeside me in bed. It’s Tuesday morning, and I don’t have to work until dinner. Rhys has been away for two glorious weeks. The sun has been shining, the birds have been chirping, and I’ve been pretending that he and his “I don’t know” plan to take Milo to a place filled with snakes and crocodiles doesn’t exist.
I definitely have not been thinking about his head between my legs. Though, if I was, I could argue that’s a great place for it,because at least I wouldn’t have to listen to him talk or look at his grumpy fucking face.
Milo stirs, reaching for me in his sleep, and although I had been considering rolling out of bed to make a coffee, his sweetness has now convinced me to stay.
I’m paralyzed by how much I love him. By how much I need him. And by the knowledge that he needs me too.
Ever since we told him about Erika, he’s been having nightmares. He wakes up scared, and though they aren’t ever about something real, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s processing a lot. Another call with Trixie confirmed as much.
So I’ve kept him with me in my king-sized bed. We both get more sleep this way, and truth be told, I enjoy watching him sleep. I can lie beside him and pick out all the fragments of my sister. It feels like she’s not as gone when I look at him. Like she lives on in him because his earlobe is shaped exactly how I remember hers. Or the way his bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top—she had that too.
Telling him might have been worse than finding out Erika was gone. Rhys looked like a stony-faced ghost. He sounded like the male version of Siri reading a script, and he looked blank—traumatized—as he did it. It might be the first time I’ve felt a true flicker of empathy for him. I itched to reach out and hold his leg like he’d done mine. But with Milo there, I didn’t. Instead, I jumped in and wove softer wording and a few more sentimental lines.
I don’t know if it helped Rhys, because, as usual, the man barely talks to me. But I do think one glare he shot my way might have been appreciative.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
The conversation was brutal, watching the emotions flicker over Milo’s face. He didn’t cry. Not then. Instead, he’s criedover inconsequential things. His tears have come out in different ways at various times.
And mine? They haven’t come at all. Not since the night I was packing things up in Erika’s house and dropped a heavy box of journals on my foot. The black bruise on the bridge of my foot has only recently smudged away into my regular skin tone. My nose had stung, and my eyes had welled. It had hurt like hell.
But one thing I know will hurt more is opening those journals. That’s the one box left taped shut and pushed into a corner in the basement—formerly called “The Dungeon” and recently renamed “Rhys’s bedroom.”
Letting him stay here was out of character in every way. And I do my best not to dwell on my decision. I tell myself I’m just doing what needs to be done. Keeping us all afloat—like always.
Which is why I’ve worked so hard at being present and emotionally available for Milo these past weeks. We’ve spent our days unpacking his mom’s things and incorporating them into the house. Trixie recommended the exercise to weave Erika and conversations about her into our everyday lives. A photo here, a trinket there, a worn Persian rug from her house laid out in the entryway.
Erika’s will stated that she didn’t want a funeral, so the urn housing her ashes sits on the mantel, flanked on both sides by small frames we spent the week filling with our favorite photos of her.
In a dark twist, Milonamedthe plant I brought back from her house in Emerald Lake “Erika.” Every morning, he gets up and greets her by name. It shouldn’t be funny, but it makes us both laugh. And strangely, I find myself smiling over at the plant when something cute happens with Milo, as though I’m looking at my sister and exchanging a look that saysthis kid.
He probably needs a pet, but for now, there’s just a corn plant named Erika, with a slightly angled trunk and broad green leaves.
Today our bittersweet bubble is going to be popped though, because the big broody porn star is set to return for a few days. And I’m as nervous as one would be before a major final exam.
