Page 170 of True Blue

“Oh, yeah? Even the ones from the seventies?”

“Especially them,” she says sweetly. “Especially ABBA.”

“God, she loved those Swedish meatballs,” I bark a laugh.

“Teddy,” Indie giggles, making me smile. “Speaking of—you know the closest IKEA is in Philly? It’s like an hour and a half away.”

“I’ll take you,” I say instantly, because her voice sounds disappointed at the distance. I don’t care if it’s on the moon, I’ll take her to the damn IKEA. “We'll go on a road trip.”

Indie’s voice is eager now. “Really? You’d do that with me?”

“Of course, I’d do anything for you,” I breathe, and hear her breath hitch. I used to say that to her—I’d do anything for you, but there was always a silent but. But defend yourself to my mother, but place boundaries to protect our relationship. This time, I truly mean it—anything. “What are friends for but taking you to get furniture that only uses one tool to put together and will fall apart in a year?”

“Oh! And the food,” Indie hums. “That was fine dining to broke seventeen-year-old Indie.”

The sad reminder sends a sharp pang through my chest that I refuse to let ruin this moment. Because it’s a reminder, but not the reality anymore. Indie is a doctor with a cushy inheritance in her bank account courtesy of Nana, making hand over ass money as an oncologist. She pulled herself out of poverty, her damn self.

I don’t feel pity, I feel pride.

“And the food,” I smile, promising her, “I’ll buy you as many meatballs as you want… you little meatball.”

“You’re a meatball,” she murmurs, her voice slurred and adorably petulant. I chuckle and hear her sleepy laugh in return, before she’s quiet for a minute.

“Are you asleep?” I whisper.

“Almost,” she mumbles.

“Want me to sing to you? You know I love karaoke.”

“Just because you love something doesn’t mean you’re good at it,” she says, teasing me.

“Ooh, harsh,” I say, mock-wounded. “And here I am trying to do you a favor.”

Indie giggles, the sweet sound wrapping around my heart. “Please, serenade me to sleep, karaoke master.

Dramatically clearing my throat to give myself a minute to think of the song, it comes to me in an instant, as if someone placed it there.

ABBA. Of course.

I start singing “Take a Chance on Me” softly, keeping my voice low and sweet even though I’m pretty sure I’m butchering every note. Indie’s laugh makes me pause and smile, my chest cracking open at the sound.

“You know this one,” I murmur.

“I know all of them,” she mumbles, tired and warm and half-asleep. “Ellie taught me…”

I smile as I keep singing to her anyway, turning the chorus into a soft vow.

I’ll be here. I’ll wait. I’ll be around when she needs me. I’ll take whatever chance she gives me and never ask for more than she’s willing to offer.

Indie giggles sleepily, and my smile is wide enough to crack my face as I sing to her, the raccoon looking at me like I’m insane.

I flip him off again.

It feels like Nana is here too, right next to me, singing along to Indie. To the girl who burrowed herself into our little family—the true family. It’s like Indie has been there all along, and maybe she has. Maybe things are just predetermined, and people are just meant to meet each other. To balance each other.

Soulmates.

Like Nana and Pop.