Page 46 of If You Never Come Back
“No. Thank you, Shay.”
With those final words, I fall asleep.
* * *
The soft soundsof metal hitting ceramic wake me. I open my eyes and peek up at Wes standing in my tiny kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee.
For a split second his brow jumps to his hairline, but then it eases back to its rightful place. My chest squeezes at the sight of him in my apartment…that used to beourapartment.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks.
“It’s fine. You made coffee and that’s exactly what I need right now.” I push myself up to a sitting position and feel the tell-tale pressure of my bladder. I clear my throat. “After I, um…”
I look at the bathroom. Wes drops the spoon on the counter and jogs over to me.
“Right, you’re probably dying to pee. Sorry.”
Like some sort of firefighter on a romance novel cover, he hauls me up with zero effort like last night and walks me to the bathroom. When I’m finished, I hobble the three feet to the kitchen counter just as he tries to reach for me.
“I’ve got it, Wes.”
“You really shouldn’t stress your ankle.” He stares at my ankle while he speaks.
Leaning against the counter, I blow on my mug of coffee, then take a careful sip. “I’ll survive, I’m sure.”
He crosses his arms, leaning on the wall across from me. It’s a strangely foreign stance we take in this space where a handful of months ago we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
He turns his head to glance at the far end of the counter. I stare too, and then immediately dart my eyes away, remembering we had stand-up sex at that exact spot a month before he left me.
Wes clears his throat. From behind my mug, I peek up at him. His eyes are shy and his cheeks are crimson. Looks like that memory hit him, too.
“So,” he says after another handful of awkward silent seconds. “How long until you think you’ll be ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“For me to take you to the hospital to get your wrist and your ankle checked out?”
I shake my head. “I’m not doing that.”
Just then my phone, which is still on my nightstand, rings. I turn and start to walk toward it, but Wes tells me to rest and finish my coffee while he gets it.
“It’s your mom,” he says, sliding his finger across the screen to answer it before I can even tell him to ignore it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Anak! Remy said you fell and hurt yourself last night. Are you okay?”
I grit my teeth, annoyed. Hopefully, Remy left out the part that Wes was involved at all. If she finds out he’s here, she’ll drive all the way from Redmond to lay into him for breaking my heart, and that’s the last thing I need to deal with.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Nonsense.”
Car keys jingle in the background.
“I’ll take you to the doctor and then when we get home I’ll cook you somebiko. That was your favorite dessert when you were little, remember? Always made you feel better, no matter how upset you were about anything.”
Despite my mom’s overbearing response, my mouth waters at just the mention of that sticky rice cake, the perfect combination of coconut milk, glutinous rice, and brown sugar. I can’t have her babying me though. If I don’t stop her, she’ll fuss over me for weeks.
