Page 26 of You Fall First

Hershey’s Kisses, to be specific.

So after a couple of loud throat clearings to announce myself, I clomp downstairs, where my parents are curled up on the couch, watching The Office.

This is their nightly “before bed” TV routine, and I’m only a little embarrassed to admit I’m a part of the ritual at least a few times a week. Just Mom, Dad, and me, the strangest throuple in Harvest Hollow.

“I’m running to Publix,” I tell them.

My dad glances at the clock, frowning. “Now?”

“Just a small chocolate emergency,” I admit. “Oh. And we’re out of Advil and … other supplies.”

My mom nods, immediately picking up what I’m putting down. “Look in the medicine cabinet. Upstairs bathroom. We might have some Midol.”

My dad blinks, not cluing in. “My what?”

“I already checked,” I say. “Container’s empty.”

“What’s empty?” my dad asks.

“The Midol,” my mom repeats.

“Oh.” He squints. Like he still doesn’t get it.

“Jojo’s got her period,” my mom tells him, point-blank. Finally, the lightbulb goes on, and his gaze dips to my belly.

“Want to borrow my foot massager? Might make you feel better.”

“No, thanks.” I bite back a laugh. Discussing my monthly cycle with my father on a Saturday night is not how I expected to live out the second half of my twenties, but here we are. “I think I’ll stick with chocolate and Advil. Do you need anything else while I’m at the store?”

“Maybe grab some milk,” my mom says. “We’ve got enough for cereal tomorrow, but the kids ran through a lot tonight.”

The kids.

My brain instantly snags on Dutton again. He seemed happy with Rowan and Wally today, but finding out his mom won’t be flying in tomorrow will almost certainly hit him hard. He’s lucky to have his uncle.

Annnnd now I’m flashing back to the low timbre of Noah’s voice. To his dark eyes going soft as he told Dutton they could call Paige in the morning. To the strength in his arm when he hauled me up off the⁠—

“Are you all right, Jojo?” my mother asks.

Wait.

What am I doing again?

“Milk,” I say. “Right. Got it. No problem.”

“Do you need cash?” my dad asks. “There are a couple twenties in my wallet. Your bank account must be running on fumes.”

“Nope, I’ve got it, thanks.” I press on a smile. To be fair, the only reason I have any money left is that I live here rent-free and they pay for almost all the groceries. But this doesn’t do much for my sense of independence. And my credit card’s already come to the rescue too many times. “I have enough to tide me over until I start at Mockingbird.”

My mother purses her lips, but says nothing.

Bless you, Mom.

On my way to the car, I loop on a mental list of what to buy so I don’t forget.

Hershey’s Kisses. Advil. Milk.

Hershey’s Kisses. Advil. Milk.