'I'd like that,' I say, which means it such a lot of my heart chokes.
'I'd like it as well.'
Abigail messages at around 2 p.m. to disclose to me she's at Amaya's and that she's seen Brock, who is coming back. My stomach warms with nerves. Envy, as well, in the blend – the possibility of them three together; myself, his family, the untouchable. I attempt to peruse one of my sister's books, yet the sentences dance about. I flick through her DVDs. I intended to rewatch all the Almodóvars these last months, to attempt to feel associated with her, however without her here, I didn't have the will.
The critical clatters in the entryway. I imagine I haven't heard. I'm trusting he goes up to his room.
'Hello.'
'Hello.' I make myself turn.
He grins – it is a wide, glad grin; it arrives at his
