Page 49 of My Best Friend's Dad

Small steps.

It’s a lot for a head stuffed full of cotton.

Mika’s right. Soup. Bed. Rest. Tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow, I’ll text Rowleigh. As a friend. As someone who is worried about him and…as someone who misses him. Even aget better soonwould do. I don’t have to tell him that I’ve thought about him endlessly, that I’ve wished for more non-taco dates, rainstorms, and hellacious barn finds. For more late-night car breakdowns, unexpected lounges, and piano music.

More him.

Always, always more of him.

“Are you okay? You’re spacing out on me.”

“Yes!” I snap my focus back to Mika. “Soup. Ice cream. Bed. Sounds like a plan.”

She guides me back to the table like I’m going to fall over. Right now, I just might. All the heavy mouth breathing because my nose is so congested makes me totally lightheaded.

“It’s a great plan. I’ll come over and check on you tomorrow, and we’ll start kicking the future’s ass.”

Tears spring to my eyes. They’ve been watery for days because of my sinuses, but these are legit tears from the heart.

“I love you, Mika. So much.”

She sits me down, warms my soup up for me, and sets it back on the black placemat.

“I love you too, sister from a different mister. And maybe one day, my future stepmom.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands, but she laughs and pulls them away, slipping the spoon into my hand. “Eat. Let’s get you back from death’s doorstep. Summer colds are the absolute worst. We can talk shop on that and everything else another day.”

Stepmom is a strong word. I know that.

I also know it’s so wrong that it doesn’t feel so wrong that in my heart of hearts, I can’t stop missing her dad.

Chapter twelve

Rowleigh

Idon’t know about this.

“You don’t know about this.” My daughter is an uncanny mind reader. She’s driving the midsize SUV that I bought her for her sixteenth birthday. I’ve asked her every year if she wanted something new, but she doesn’t. She likes this. “I get it. It’s going to be fine.”

“She doesn’t know I’m coming.”

Mika blinks heavily lined eyes at me. “That’s the definition of a surprise.”

“What if she doesn’t want me in her house? Or in her life?”

“She told me she texted you.”

As we pull up to a red light, I study my folded hands in my lap with mad scientist-level intensity.

“You didn’t respond,” Mika adds.

“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I should respond,” I mutter.

“I read it. It was just friendly.”

Hey, Rowleigh. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for getting you sick. Sharing is caring, but germs should be a solo affair. I hope you get better soon.