Page 18 of From the Wreckage
Me: Not yet. Just woke up. But I will. I think a bath might help.
Everett: I’m sure it will. Take it easy today.
Me: Will do. I’ll text you later with updates.
Everett: I’ll be thinking about it until you do.
When I set my phone down, I realize I have a huge smile on my face.
Oh, boy. I’m in trouble.
I get out of bed, go through my morning routine a bit slower than usual, then follow the scent of bacon and coffee to the kitchen. Dad stands at the stove in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, humming to a classic rock station.
Hearing my footsteps, he turns with a smile, spatula still in hand. “Good morning, kiddo. How ya feeling?”
I nod, then wince, grabbing the back of my neck. “Sore from yesterday.”
“Did you take anything?”
I hold up the bottle of Motrin in my hand. “Just need a drink.”
“Put some ice on it, too.”
I nod. “That’s next. And after breakfast, a warm bath.”
“Better not flood the bathroom, kiddo. I’m not calling the plumber again.” He grins before going back to flipping eggs. “The food’s almost done.”
I swallow the pills with a gulp of water and take my usual seat at the table. Dad slides my favorite mug in front of me. I inhale deeply with a sigh of contentment that makes him laugh.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from the pocket of my pajama pants.
Joey: Hey. Sorry I was busy yesterday.
I stare at it for a moment, debating what I should say. He usually texts me, “good morning. I miss you.”
Another text comes through.
Joey: What’ve u been up to?
Confusion rushes through me, causing my forehead to wrinkle, which in turn makes the gash in my forehead hurt. Relaxing my features, I set my phone down. The words knock something loose in my chest. It doesn’t sound like we’re dating. Not even like a friend who misses me. Just… casual. Distant. Like I’ve been downgraded without notice.
“Something wrong, kiddo?” Dad sets a plate in front of me, his eyes full of concern.
I shake my head, then say, “Just… Joey’s acting a little weird.”
“What’s he doing?”
I shrug and pick up my fork. “He didn’t respond yesterday… and now he’s talking to me like I’m one of his football buds.”
Dad makes himself a plate of food, then slides into the chair across from me. “Maybe he was busy.”
“That’s what he said.” I take a bite of scrambled eggs. “Maybe.”
“You kids haven’t seen each other this summer, huh?”
I shake my head, not saying anything more.
As I eat, it dawns on me that I should be more upset about Joey’s texts than I am.
