Chapter 24: The Fridge

I held my thumb on the Uber icon until the whole screen began to shake.

A box popped up. It said: Delete app?

"That's a hundred and twelve dollars," Tristan said quietly.

"It's the best hundred and twelve dollars I ever didn't spend."

I pressed Delete.

The icon vanished, and the screen settled.

"Yes," I said. "I'm staying."

"With me."

"With you. Not on a trial."

"Say the footnote."

"Don't push it."

He grinned, and it was the whole grin, the one I hadn't seen since the day we signed our names at the courthouse.

That evening, my father's truck was in front of our building with something large in the bed.

It was cedar, sanded smooth and oiled, with a high back and a seat wide enough for two.

"Dad," I said. "Where is this going?"

"Porch."

"We have a balcony."

"It's a porch that's gaining altitude."

He and Tristan carried it up three flights without a word.

They set it on our balcony, which fit it with an inch to spare on each side.

My father stepped back, looked at it, and nodded once.

"There's a thing underneath," he said.

I knelt and looked under the seat.

Burned into the cedar, in neat block letters, were the words: FOR VIVI, AND WHOEVER'S LATE.

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