Page 297 of Trouble from Abroad
CHAPTER SIXTY
mia
There’sa shift in the atmosphere the very next day.
Pres doesn’t hide our kisses anymore—the PG ones, of course, especially now that he knows they make Lily giggle so hard she snorts. If before he stole touches like contraband, now he reaches for me openly. And he’s collecting the debt he's owed.
Group hugs are now a thing. We’ve turned them into a breakfast side and added them to the night routine too. Mandatory cuddles? You’ll get zero complaints from me.
The scrapbook’s already thickening—corners of new Polaroids are curling where the glue gave up. Lily clips new pics on the twine in the hallway: our singing battles, pancake chaos, telescope nights. Preston must be spending her college fund on Polaroid film. The place feels more like ours every day; there’s always somebody laughing, singing, or leaving a mess behind. And for the first time, messy doesn’t bother me at all.
Outside, the air’s getting colder. Mornings mean hoodies, fogged breath, and Lily’s little red nose as she waves atus from the school gates. Evenings start sooner and we found Jupiter last night. Pres whispered boring facts about its orbit until I kissed him mid-sentence just to shut him up. He grinned into my lips and said, “Teen Preston always knew hot girls love it when I talk science.” He wiggled his brows, and I cracked up. I love his silly side.
I’ve started slipping tiny notes into Lily’s lunchbox. Dumb puns mostly. “Have aflantasticday!” or “You’re thezest!” She saves every single one in a purple box with kitty ears when she gets home.
What I didn’t expect was Pres liking his notes so much too. I wrote “You’re my favorite snack” on top of his packed lunch one day. He texted me that afternoon with a photo of the Post-it stuck over his heart. I nearly walked into a lamppost, smiling.
This week, he sent me on what he called a ‘multi-store mission’—something about specific brands of protein yogurt and the good kind of toilet paper. It felt suspicious from the start.
When I got home, my room was empty. Correction:Ourroom was fuller.
My books, clothes, sketch pads—everything—had migrated to the his bedroom. Pres stood there, leaning against the doorway, all proud of himself.
“Before you bite my head off,” he said. “Lily helped.”
She peeked from behind him, grinning. “Welcome home, Mia.”
And what could I do but pepper their faces with kisses until one of them screamed for me to stop? Lily, obviously.
Later that day, Lily drew us. Three stick figures and one speech bubble over her headthat said “NO CRUSTS.”
Pres pushed everything else off the fridge—calendars, flyers, dentist reminders—and pinned it dead center with the care of someone handling something sacred.
“We were due a family picture.” He clears his throat. “Thanks, Lil.”
It hits me sometimes, out of nowhere, how much of me belongs here now. With them. And then the clock in my head starts ticking again.
Pres announced Zaha’s coming next Saturday with her design plans for the rest of the house. He told Lily she doesn’t have to change her room if she doesn’t want to, but of course, she jumped at the chance. He offered to redesign our room from scratch, so it has more of me in it.
“Can I have a slide from my bed to the desk?” Lily asks.
Preston scratches his head once. “Let’s run it by Zaha.” Then he turns to me. “Go crazy with your research, bring your ideas too.”
“Pres,” I laugh, “we don’t even know for sure?—”
He cuts me off. “You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”
“I do.”
He smiles, gaze tracing my mouth as if committing it to memory. “God, I love those words coming out of your mouth. Say it again.”
“You’re insufferable.” I laugh again into his joke.
“Still waiting,” he whispers, kissing my tattooed wrist.
I say it again. “I do.” Quietly.
Somewhere along decorating plans and bedtime giggles, practical life still happens. School sent new emergency contact forms home. When Lily handed them to me, I froze halfway through the second page, where Pres had already written my name in his handwriting.
