Page 103 of All the Right Things

I sigh. “I know, baby. We will talk about it tomorrow.”

I go to leave again.

“And Jonas?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

I open my mouth to return the sentiment, but she’s already snoring. As much as I love to hear her say those words, I will love to listen to them a whole lot more when she’s sober.

Chapter Forty-four

Andi

Just put one foot in front of the other, and don’t throw up.

I’ve been repeating that same mantra for the past six hours ever since I woke up. Long Island Iced Teas might just be the death of me.

When I got out of bed, I knew there was something I had to do, so I forced myself to get dressed. I called Tracy to take me to my car, and I drove straight to the airport.

Despite my copious drinking, I still remember everything from last night. The fight with Jonas. The advice from Tracy.

I even remember me mumbling to Jonas that I love him.

And I can say that the alcohol might have let down my walls enough for me to say it, but it was entirely true.

Before I say it to him sober, though, there’s something I have to do.

As I stand out on this front walk, I shiver in the crisp air. Chicago is cold in the middle of October. They don’t call it the Windy City for nothing.

Gathering every last bit of willpower I have, I force my legs to move toward the door. I take a moment to look at the house before me.

The house that gave me a real home for the first time in my life. The house with the woman who took me in and acted like a mother to me. The house in which I felt beyond comfortable in.

The cab that just dropped me off drives away, their tires screeching on the pavement.

Guess there’s no going back now.

When I knock on the door, I realize that maybe I should have called first to make sure someone would be home. But it doesn’t take long for the door to swing open.

“Hi, Cheryl,” I greet as she looks me up and down.

“Andi?”

“Can I come in?”

Her forehead creases. “You sure you want to do that?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She steps aside and lets me in. As I walk through the doorway, memories come flooding back to me. This house was my home for some of the best years of my life. And it still looks exactly the same.

Except now, there are toy trucks and plastic dinosaurs scattered throughout. There’s a small pile of folded clothes on the couch, most of which look like they belong to Mikey.

We walk into the kitchen, and Stacy is sitting at the table reading a book to her son. Trying not to interrupt them, I wait at the doorway until they are finished reading.

“Read it again, Mommy!” He squeals.

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