Page 48 of Yours to Lose
“See?” I point at him with my can. “You are a secret softie for our little guy. Will you show me his scarf collection?”
“Nope.”
I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow at him. “You embarrassed about how many you’ve bought him?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“Oh, I bet you will. I can be very persuasive.”
“No doubt about that,” he murmurs. “Come on, Hurricane; let’s go build a habitat.
CHAPTERTWELVE
JORDAN
“Okay, I’m a big fan of the dark chocolate Oreo/mint Oreo combo, but I think the winner is honestly just the straight up peanut butter pie. Nothing can beat it.” Jo bites into another peanut butter pie Oreo and chews thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” I say, glancing over the detritus of our Oreo tasting experiment spread all over the couch and my coffee table. “I think the cream to cookie ratio of the Mega Stuf is what dreams are made of. And actually, the lemon is surprisingly amazing.”
Jo nods, swallowing and leaning back on the couch. “I’ll give you that. The lemon was a real dark horse contender, but it’s shockingly good. It will be entirely unsurprising to you that I can’t pick a winner.”
I pile the Oreo packages on the coffee table next to the fish tank where Dippy sits in his brand-new rock and fake plant-filled habitat wearing a scarf covered in Oreos and lean back next to Jo. “I think you’re right on this one, though. Oreos are too good to just pick one favorite.”
Jo leans over and bumps her shoulder against mine. “See? That’s what I’ve been telling you. Life’s too short to pick one single favorite of anything. Thanks for this, J. I think this was the best dinner/dessert situation I’ve ever had.”
I feel a little glow of pride that I did something that made Jo happy. She’s done that for me so much in the past month or so, and making her happy feels like an accomplishment. Something I want to do more often. As often as I can.
She flops her head back and lets out a little groan. “The thing is, the downside to not having a favorite is that I ate too many Oreos and I now feel like I need to lay on the floor.”
“You go right on ahead and do that.” I roll my head over and look at her. She’s wearing flannel pajamas covered in donuts and the socks I got her when my brothers were in town, and her long brown hair is piled messily on top of her head with pieces falling loose all around her face.
Jo looks cozy and warm, and not for the first time tonight, I have the thought that right here is the comfort I haven’t been able to find in the two years since Allie died. I forgot what it feels like to be perfectly content, without any reservations or complications, but sitting here on my couch with Jo, surrounded by Oreo packages, piles of blankets, and the movie paused on a shot of Jake Gyllenhaal wading through knee-deep water outside the New York Public Library, that’s exactly how I feel.
I didn’t havefind contentment being friends with my best friend’s sister-in-lawon my bingo card for this summer. But somehow, it feels like an accomplishment that I don’t overthink it or analyze it to death the way I have so many things in the last two years. Like maybe, in the last couple of months that I’ve been hanging out with Jo, I’ve reclaimed just a little piece of myself that I thought had been lost forever.
“Nah,” she says, stretching her arms above her head and pulling a blanket back over her lap. I glance over at her, thinking it’s nice that whether we’re running around Manhattan in the middle of the night or sitting on my couch watching disaster movies, Jo makes herself at home wherever she is. I like that about her. “I’m too tired and too full to move. My ass is officially glued to this couch.”
“Well, if that’s the case, should we finish the movie?”
Jo shifts, sinking deeper into the couch. “Definitely.”
I eye her. “Are you going to yell some more about how the politicians in disaster movies never listen to the experts?”
Jo scoffs. “I mean, of course I am.” She sits up straight and points to the TV. “Do you see what’s going on? There’s a freaking flood in New York City, a massive hailstorm in Tokyo, and severe temperature drops in the North Atlantic and the vice president is all, nah, it’s probably nothing. It makes me stabby.”
“But disaster movies are your favorite?”
She huffs out a breath. “I know, it makes no sense. I can’t help it. I just love them so damn much. Something about the worst-case scenario of it all, it gets me every time.”
“You’re an enigma, Jo Evans.”
She shrugs and grins at me. “It’s the way I like it. I’m unpredictable and contradictory. I like to keep them guessing.”
“Who’s them?” I ask. The thought slams into my head that maybe Jo is dating. She hasn’t said anything about seeing anyone, and I don’t know when she would have time since we see each other every day I’m not working, but I guess it’s not impossible. The thought makes me uneasy, and I immediately hate myself for it because I told her I’m not looking for anything like that, and I’m not. I’m not ready. But I suddenly realize I hate the idea of her seeing anyone else either.
I’m officially the asshole.
“I don’t know.” She waves her hands around “Them. You, my friends, my family, everyone.”
