Chapter 95 (1/2)

The apartment is so silent, unlike my mind, and I turn on the faucet and open the door to the dishwasher. I toss out the uneaten broccoli and put the olive oil back into the cabinet. By the time Tessa gets home, I’m still sitting in the kitchen, at the table. The dishes are clean and put away, and there’s no trace of powdered sugar anywhere to be found.

She unties her apron and lays it on the back of the chair. “Hey, what are you doing up?”

I look at the time on the stove. It’s nearly one in the morning.

“I don’t know,” I lie.

She’s having a hard enough time lately, I don’t want to burden her with my problems, especially when I don’t even understand them.

Tessa looks at me and I can see the speculation in her eyes. She glances around the room and spots the cake on the counter.

“Where’s Nora?” she asks.

My throat is dry as I explain. “She came by for a little bit, then she got called back to work.”

“Back to work? By who? I just left there and Robert and I were the last people there.”

I should be surprised by this, but I’m not.

I wave an unconcerned hand. “I must have heard her wrong. How was work?”

I change the subject, and Tessa lets me.

Chapter Twenty-eight

THE MORNING CAME faster than I expected.

When I wake up, I lie in bed for a while, just staring at my ceiling fan. I wonder who lived here before me, and why they decided to paint the fan mismatching colors. Every blade is a different color. Blue, then green, then purple, then yellow, and lastly, red. I wonder if it was a child’s room. If not, the inhabitants must have had quite the quirky side.

I don’t know what time it is when I finally push myself to get out of bed. All I know is that I’m exhausted, like I’ve been through a war in the night. When I grab my phone to check the time, it’s dead. I plug it into the charger and make my way to the living room.

The living room is dark and the television is on. Tessa’s sleeping on the couch and an episode of Cupcake Wars is playing on the screen, the volume low. I grab the remote from where it lies on her stomach and turn off the TV. She’s still wearing her work uniform. She must have been drained by the time she got home. I could tell by the way her eyes were closing while she ate the plate of food she brought from work last night. We sat at the table for less than thirty minutes and she gave me a play-by-play of her night.