Chapter 7: His Side of the Bed

Tobias's apartment was plain and warm, with a gray couch, a wall of paperbacks and a drafting table in the corner.

He cooked that night in socks, with a dish towel over his shoulder.

Tomato soup and grilled cheese, because he said it was the only thing he could make that wouldn't embarrass him.

"You're a civil engineer," I said. "You build bridges."

"I check other people's math on bridges. It's not the same skill."

"So you can't cook."

"I can cook six things. I'm cycling through them for you."

I sat on the counter with my legs swinging and ate a sandwich cut into triangles.

It was the best thing I'd eaten in a week.

"How's your mother's hip?" he asked, flipping a second sandwich.

"It's better. She's walking to the mailbox now."

"Good. She hated that walker."

"She really did."

I took another bite and realized I'd never told him about the walker.

Maybe my mother had mentioned it at some Christmas.

Maybe Ivy had.

I let it go.

Ivy's text arrived at nine.

She had picked out a dress for me already, deep green, and would drop it off tomorrow.

She'd added three knife emojis and a champagne glass.

"She's insane," I said.

"She's wonderful," Tobias said. "She's also been waiting for this since she was fifteen."

"For what?"

"For somebody to tell Connor the truth about himself."

He said it lightly, and I laughed, and neither of us said the other thing.

Later, he washed up and I stood in his hallway in one of his gray T-shirts.

The bedroom door was open.

His bed was made, with a navy comforter pulled tight.

A lamp was on, throwing a soft circle on the pillow.

I could hear water running in the kitchen.

I thought about the car at the rest area.

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