Page 71 of Something Like Shelter

“I’m a commitment-type guy. I wouldn’t try to be a part of your life if I didn’t hope it would be for a long time.”

“I know that, you know, things happen, obviously. I just want someone around who at least wants to be around, you know?”

“I want to be around. Even when you have a fever flush and a runny nose,” he said, reaching toward the nightstand to pass me a tissue.

“Guess the cold part is setting in.” I sighed and blew my nose. “Really, you don’t need to be here for this. What if I get you sick?”

“Then you can play nursemaid for me,” he said with a smirk. “You should be resting.”

“I can’t. Adelaide—”

“Is being cared for by her grandparents.”

“Yeah, but if they stay, I need to clean the guest—”

“I can get the other guest room ready for them.”

I was surprised how much of a weight that offer took off my shoulders. I didn’t want to complain too much, but my bones felt heavy. Just getting up to go to the bathroom sounded like a monumental task. Changing a bed sounded impossible.

“Yeah?”

“Just point me to the sheets.”

“They’re in the closet in that room.”

“I’ll get on that then. You finish your water and try to rest. Oh, and it’s garbage night, right? I’ll get the pails out. What?” he asked, catching me watching him as he got off the bed.

“Nothing. It’s just… kind of nice not to have to do everything.”

“You miss putting the pails out more often than you remember.”

“Oh, I remember. I just hate doing it.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. I’ll check in on you in a bit,” he said, then leaned over the bed to press a quick kiss to my forehead.

“And you’ll make sure my parents have Adelaide covered?”

“Yep. Now, get some rest.”

I didn’t. Not right away, anyway.

I lay there, listening to Owen moving around in the guest room, my mom singing to Adelaide, and, eventually, my father’s voice as he brought back supplies. And, finally, Owen dragging the pails down the long driveway.

“Hey, my girl,” my dad said, standing in the doorway with a tray. “How you feeling?”

I sighed.

“That good, huh? Your mother had me bring you tea, electrolytes, and some orange juice.”

“Thank you,” I said, sitting up and reaching for the tea. The scratch was steadily becoming an ache, and the tea might help soothe it.

“So,” he said, and I tensed, knowing what was coming. “Owen.”

“Owen,” I agreed.

“Is this a safe space?” he asked.

“Sure.”