Page 70 of The Sweetest Obsession

The little girl stuffs her face gleefully, avoiding all attempts by Grant to awkwardly ask about her school day and my efforts to evenmoreawkwardly ask about the “Miss Lilah” she worships so much at school by somehow always having her mouth full.

I get one comment in about how it’s not ladylike to talk while chewing—right before Nell stuffs another steak fry into her mouth.

Leaving me looking anywhere but at Grant.

I’m so messed up inside.

The way Nell made it sound, Grant’s been waiting for me all these years. But he’s the one who told me to leave...

I don’t understand.

I have so many questions, but I can’t ask them right now. Not when the air feels like a wall between us, and not with little ears listening.

So I finish choking down my food and when we’re all done eating, Nell stands and announces, “I need to wash up for bed.”

“I’ll come up, too. I’ll read you a story, if you want,” I say quickly.

Grant stands abruptly, his head bowed as he gathers up the dishes.

“You girls run on. I’ll clean up in here,” he says flatly.

Nell just smiles, sly and too knowing.

That girl is an evil scientist stuffed into a kid’s body, I swear. She’s just too much for her own good and mine.

I’m still glad she happily waves to me and leads the way upstairs, then proceeds to spend twenty minutes showing me her toothbrush, her strawberry-shaped toothbrush cap, her special bubblegum-flavored toothpaste, and therightway to wash my hands with her soap that turns into rainbow foam while you scrub your fingers together.

How charming.

I also snicker because I can already tell she’s going to drive some boy wonderfully crazy when she grows up.

I help brush out her wildly curly hair, then we head for her room, which is wall to wall with bookshelves and brightly colored things. The giant floppy blue stuffed unicorn I’ve seen before is on the lace-frilled bed.

She bounces up to settle against the pillows and holds up the stuffie.

“Here, meet Mr. Pickle,” she announces cheerfully. “Mr. Pickle, say hi to Miss Philia.”

She picks up one dirty hoof and waves it at me, switching to a different voice, high and screechy. “Hi, Miss Philia!”

“Hi, Mr. Pickle,” I say carefully. “You’re pretty old for a unicorn, aren’t you?”

“I’m just as old as Nelly!”She continues in her Pickle voice. “I’ve been around since she was a baby! Nell’s Mommy and Daddy sent me to stay with her forever because they can’t!”

Oh, crap.

My heart wrenches for that little girl.

...was Mr. Pickle the only toy salvaged from the burning house?

God, no wonder it’s so stained and worn. I can’t blame her for wanting to believe her toy will stay with her forever when her parents left so suddenly.

How do you think Grant feels?

How do you think he feels that you left him?

I shove the thought away and offer Nell a smile. “Did you want me to read you and Mr. Pickle a bedtime story?”

“Yes!” Still clinging to the unicorn, she turns and rummages around in the small shelf built into the headboard. She picks a thin square picture book with a battered cover illustrated with monsters with large yellow eyes.

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