Page 54 of Back to Square One

It was funny how a devastating emotional blow could turn you into a braver person than you were in the moments before you’re hit. She’d never had the guts to simply tell her mother to go. She couldn’t bear hurting her feelings like that. But now? All Rowan knew was that if her mother hovered over her for the rest of the day, she’d go completely mad. And she needed solitude to deal with what she’d learned today.

Her mom had hesitated. It was evident in her eyes that she didn’t want to leave her daughter alone. But there must’ve been something equally compelling in Rowan’s eyes, because much to Rowan’s surprise, her mom gave one nod. “Okay. As long as you’re sure you’ll be okay.”

“I promise. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to be here.”

There was a tiny flash of hurt that zipped across her mom’s face. It always happened when she felt unneeded. But she’d be okay, Rowan knew that.

And now, hours later, she was stretched out on the couch on her back, Kevin settled on her chest like a very heavy loaf of bread, his motor running, reverberating through Rowan’s bones.

Her phone was always on vibrate, but the constant text messages had made her want to throw it across the room. Her friends were concerned. She knew that. But she didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not yet. She had so much to absorb. So much to think about. She’d told Stevie she’d made it home, that she was fine, that she just needed some time, and then she’d turned the phone completely off.

Evie was sick.

Those three words made her stomach churn sourly, nauseated her in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d realized some of her memories were gone. And honestly, if she’d known at some point about the MS, and the accident had wiped it from her brain, that was one thing. But the fact that she hadn’t been told at all—and she had been Evie’s girlfriend when she found out—was a very, very different thing.

What the hell was she supposed to do with this information? She felt ripped in half by the two emotions she was feeling. The first was the combination of hurt and anger over being unceremoniously dumped so Evie didn’t have to “burden” her—and yeah, she had issues with that little factoid. The second was worry and panic over the disease itself. She knew next to nothing about multiple sclerosis, only what she’d seen around celebrities that had it and had gone public.

She wanted to research it, look up the details, the symptoms. The prognosis. God, the prognosis. Was this fatal? Would MS kill Evie?

She had zero control over the wetness that filled her eyes and spilled out, ran down the sides of her face as she lay there in the sunlight shining through the living room windows. The angle was low, the color more orange and red than yellow, and she realized she’d been lying there on her couch, wallowing and being upset, for more than seven hours.

Kevin had held a vigil, clearly understanding that his mom was upset, that these were extenuating circumstances, so his dinner could wait, but at this point, he’d had enough. He hopped off her and began to pace around the living room, meowing loudly. Then he stopped to look at her, as if checking to see if she heard him, and then he started pacing and meowing again. Louder this time.

Rowan sighed. “I know. You’re starving. I’m coming. I’m coming.” Slowly, she sat up, the room swimming slightly, and let her head acclimate. She scrubbed at her eyes and just sat there, feeling heavy, like her limbs were filled with sand. With more effort than it should’ve taken, she pushed to her feet and headed for the kitchen.

As Kevin greedily chowed down, she glanced into the refrigerator. She really should eat something, since she’d had nothing all day. Her stomach still felt off, but at this point it could have been the emotion or it could’ve been because it was empty. With a sigh—something she was doing a lot of, apparently—she pulled out a carton of eggs.

Carrying her plate of scrambled eggs back out to the living room, she sat back down on the couch and clicked on the TV. Something mindless for background would maybe help calm her racing brain. She played with the remote until she found a true crime documentary that looked interesting, was vaguely amused when the play button said “watch again,” meaning she’d seen it already but clearly didn’t remember, then sat back and forced herself to eat. The desire to drown her eggs—and her sorrows—in a glass of Pinot Grigio was strong, but she opted for water instead. Alcohol would only amplify what she was feeling right now, and amplification was the last thing she needed. Her feelings were enormous enough, thank you very much.

She did need to turn her phone back on, though, or her mother was going to show up at the front door, freaking the hell out. Resigned, she finished her eggs, picked up the phone, and turned it back on.

Thirty-seven texts popped through, one at a time.

Rowan groaned.

A dozen of them were from her mother, a couple that were worried and the rest just telling her random things, making conversation, trying to show that she was not worried. Nope. Not at all. Rowan couldn’t help but smile as she typed a text back telling her mom she was fine, that she’d just eaten, that she was going to go to bed early and they’d talk tomorrow.

Stevie was better at listening to her when she said she was fine and needed time, but there were three “just checking in” texts. She typed out a text to her.

I’m fine. Just absorbing, you know? My brain is full. (Good thing I have memory loss to make room for new trauma!) She added a winking emoji just for a little levity. Your truck’s in my driveway. Thanks again for that. She followed that up with a heart.

There were also messages from the others. None of them said anything specific, they simply said they were thinking about her and hoping she was doing all right. Because really, what could they say? We’re so sorry your girlfriend dumped you because she didn’t think you’d be a good partner for a sick person?

But Rowan had to remind herself that they, too, were absorbing the news of Evie’s illness for the first time. “Don’t be so selfish, Ro,” she said aloud. “It’s not all about you.”

And there was a text from Evie.

She stared at it, stared at her name. She was surprised to see it, surprised she hadn’t blocked her number or even taken her out of her contacts list. But there it was, her first name and a heart—a goddamn heart—just sitting there, staring at her. The text consisted of one line. Three words.

Can we talk?

Rowan stared at the text, at the words.

Can. We. Talk.

A simple request, but Rowan wasn’t ready. Yes, they probably should talk. But not now. Not yet.

She tossed the phone onto the coffee table and lay back down on the couch. Her head hurt. Truthfully, she was surprised it had taken this long for a headache to kick in, given how much information she’d been expected to take in that day. Before she got too lazy, she forced herself to get up and root through the bag she’d dropped inside the front door and left there. Finding her meds, she shook out two and downed them with her water, then reclaimed her spot on the couch. She pulled the blanket over her, despite the fact it was August and probably still in the eighties out. Her body was chilled, and the air-conditioning was running because her mother liked to set the temperature somewhere along the lines of “arctic tundra.” She was too lazy to get up again and adjust it, so the blanket was necessary. She hunkered down on her side to try and focus on the TV. Kevin hopped up next to her stomach and spent an inordinate amount of time making biscuits before he finally settled his warm body next to hers and began to purr.