Page 70 of Falling for Her

He shrugs. “He’s okay. I heard you once on the phone with Mom talking about him.”

I take a huge sigh. “Asa, the only thing that matters is that he treats you right.” I reach over and put my hand on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, and you shouldn’t have heard any of that. Tim loves your mom, and he really likes you. It’s okay if you like him.”

“He’s goofy sometimes, and he doesn’t know how to catch a ball, but he tries.”

“Then maybe you need to practice with him more.” He nods his head. “Your mom will be back before you know it, and it’ll be like she was never gone.”

“I’m going to go and try to call her.” He picks up his plate.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” I tell him as he makes his way to the back door. “Anything.”

“That’s what Finley said.” He smirks before going inside.

I stay out longer than I have to, my head turning at every single sound. Get up and go inside, I tell myself, and obey.

I clean the dishes, then call for Asa. He looks up from his tablet. “Upstairs, get your teeth brushed, and make your bed.”

“Do I have to? It’s the weekend.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Weekends are for chilling.” My eyebrows pinch together. “Like sit and chill.”

“Who told you that?” I ask him, even though I know exactly who told him that.

“Finley. Sunday is Sunday Funday, but also Sunday Reset.”

“Teeth.” I point to the stairs. “Bed.”

“Ugh,” he grumbles, “this is not a chill day.”

“You can ‘chill’”—I use my fingers for quotations—“after you brush your teeth, make your bed, and get dressed.”

“So, half chill.” He drags his feet up the steps. “One day, can we do full chill?”

“One day,” I agree. I look out the front window, somehow expecting to see Finley’s car, but her spot sits empty.

I go upstairs to make my own bed; the scent of her perfume from when she slept there is gone. I pull off the sheets and put them in the wash right away, not wanting her to do laundry experiments with them. I make my bed while Asa plays with LEGOs in his room instead of making his. “Asa, are you dressed?”

“Ugh, no.”

“You going to go to the barbecue in your boxers?”

He mumbles something, and I want to laugh because he’s been with Finley for a week and a half, and he is starting to sound like her.

“I’m going to shower,” I tell him. “Dressed and room fixed when I get out.” He doesn’t say anything. “Did you hear me?”

“10-4.”

I look up at the ceiling. “Good God,” I mumble.

I take a shower and pull on a pair of blue boxers and blue shorts. I take a green polo from the top of the stack of folded shirts and put it on, leaving the buttons open. I spray two shots of cologne on before running my hands through my hair.

“You ready?” I ask, walking out of the bedroom, expecting to find Asa in his room. But all I see is his bed, which is finally made. A pair of shorts are shoved in his dresser in a ball so they stop the drawer from being shut.

I discover Asa downstairs on the couch, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a beige shirt. “You ready?”

He puts his tablet down on the table and jumps up. “I need socks.” He rushes past me to the stairs as I put on my sneakers. He comes back, hopping on one foot as he tries to put on his socks while walking, but fails.