Page 175 of True Blue

I shake my head. “Nothing, just… I’m proud of you.”

Teddy’s face transforms; he blinks a few times as if he’s trying to realize what I’ve just said, and if he’s allowed to feel it.

I give him time to work through it, and the waiter brings us our food back.

And then, finally, he smiles at me.

“That means more to me than you know, Indie.”

“Do you feel proud of yourself?” I ask him, and he thinks for a long moment before he nods.

“Yes.”

“Good,” I say simply, picking up a piece of broccoli with my chopsticks. “That’s the most important thing.”

33

TEDDY

JANUARY

Istand in the foyer and look around the house with pride. The painters finished yesterday, painting the kitchen walls and cabinets robin’s-egg blue.

It’s one of Indie’s favorite colors. She used to call it Cinderella blue.

I picked out the backsplash: these old vintage tiles with a floral design, mixed in with clean white ones. They remind me so much of something Nana would have, and when I texted Stephanie and Danielle pictures, they responded enthusiastically.

Stephanie

HOLY SHIT.

BUY THEM.

Danielle

INDIE WILL LOVE THEM.

I’M JEALOUS.

I smile, thinking of my sisters and how much our relationship has improved. They’ve been a major part of the design of this house.

While I know what Indie likes, color and design-wise, they've been more than helpful with styling the rooms, choosing furniture, and finding decor that feels like Indie.

She has a bunch of Nana’s furniture, and I feel like those pieces will perfectly fit in this house. I can even fix them up if needed.

But I did get a brand-new mattress and a bedframe back in November because the air mattress was killing my back.

I keep assuming that she’ll want this house, and I haven’t even told her about it yet. I think she assumes I’m in an apartment somewhere in town, and I’m letting her keep that thought because I don’t want to show her this house until it’s done. Not completely furnished, but with no major projects left.

And I think by next week, by the anniversary of Nana’s death, it will be.

That feels a little kismet.

The last two months since Thanksgiving have been wonderfully chaotic. Indie’s work has really ramped up, and she’s usually exhausted by the time she’s done—mentally and physically.

I’ve even been picking her up from work a few times when she asked, too tired to drive. Sometimes we go out to eat, or we go back to her apartment, where we order takeout and watch movies until she falls asleep. I’ll carry her to her bedroom and tuck her in before I leave.

When I first went to her apartment, when she showed me Nana’s photo album, my heart almost stopped when I saw all the framed drawings leaning against the wall.