Chapter Twelve
Mia
Mal is quietly playing his guitar in the living room as I’m sitting at the table in the kitchen, trying to get some stuff done. He said something about not wanting me to listen to what he was doing, that he felt awkward about people hearing what he was doing when he was just plucking at the strings, but the way he looked at me, he looked like a little boy, frightful of not being good enough. He never used to have that fear, he was always so proud and brash. Then again, lots of things were different back then.
I take the mug between my hands, warming my fingers on it, as I look at my laptop, sighing. Back then, I didn’t have to worry about finding a job, finding a way to pay the bills. Or having to consider how I’ll be able to pay for the reconstruction of a damn house
