Page 50 of To Belong Together
He shrugged. “A frozen pizza.”
“Lucky I’m here.”
Was John’s concussion worsening again, or was Tim not making any sense? “Meaning what?”
“Issy and I will pick up some groceries for you.”
“Not necessary. I won’t be here this weekend.” Tomorrow morning, he’d leave to shop for cars with Erin, then he’d spend the weekend at wedding events.
“But we will be, so we’ll spare you the trip to the store on Monday.”
John rubbed his face. “You will be what?”
“Here.”
“At my house?”
“You think I’m going to leave one of my most valuable assets unprotected at a time when he looks like this?” Tim drew a circle in the air, indicating John. “What I really ought to do is hire a nurse.”
“You’re not hiring anyone.”
“Then I’ll be hanging around so I can keep an eye on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll be in town until the show. I could bill Awestruck for a rental, or you could just accept the help you obviously need and save everyone the hassle.”
This didn’t add up, and John’s first instinct was to send him packing. If he believed Tim’s concern was only Awestruck, he would. But Tim’s haggard appearance, Issy’s presence, and his announcement about crashing here didn’t add up to a band problem.
It made sense Tim wouldn’t want to talk about it. He and John weren’t buddies. They did, however, have years of history. If Tim needed to feel like he was in control of something, grocery shopping wasn’t the worst task he could tackle.
“Make some of it healthy.”
Tim, already on his way out, nodded and waved.
Erin pickedup the paper towel she’d hoped would suffice as a dinner napkin.
“This is nice.” Mom would give that same smile to a five-year-old who’d brought her breakfast in bed with burnt toast, spilled orange juice, and half-cooked oatmeal.
Erin wedged the brownie spatula into the store-bought lasagna she’d baked. “I hope so.”
She said a brief prayer, and they served themselves lasagna and steamed broccoli. She could’ve put the vegetable in a bowl, but she didn’t think of it until she watched her mom fish green florets from the microwavable bag.
“Sorry. I don’t entertain much.”
Mom cut daintily into the lasagna with her fork. “It’s perfect. Tastes the same.”
They fell into silence as they ate. Erin could think of no conversation—besides the touchy subject she most wanted to discuss. She should’ve turned on music in the background.
“So, what’s the occasion?” Mom had already eaten half her dinner.
Of course Mom knew something was up.
Erin had never invited Mom for dinner before, and she’d asked her not to bring Dad. She pulled her hand back from reaching for a second slice of lasagna. “Did you leave Dad home alone?”
“He’s having dinner with Connie and Nick.” Mom spoke as if he’d wanted their company and not as though he couldn’t be trusted.
“I feel like you’ve been trying to keep me from seeing how bad things have gotten.”
