Page 53 of One More Chapter
“Yeah. Or that.”
I’m about to yank the novelty bell from her hand when she lifts it between us and shakes it back and forth. That tinny sound is sweet relief to my ears. I bow my head, hiding my smile.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Pain meds and Cheetos, peasant.”
I shake my head, opening the bag of Cheetos before I find her next dose of extra strength Tylenol.
“I guess we should probably figure out a game plan for teaching while I’m all laid up,” Penelope says, popping a Cheeto into her mouth. I steal one, nodding as I crunch it between my teeth.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Well, with you being called out so much for admin duties, I was thinking I might just run things like I normally do. Would you be opposed to me taking the reins? Lesson planning would be one less thing for you to worry about.”
“I guess that makes sense. I still feel bad that you’d be doing the bulk of the planning.”
She shakes her head and waves her hand between us.
“I have a yearly plan that I’ve been following forever. If anything, it’s the grading that’s going to drown me, especially with one hand.”
“That’s where I can make up for being out. Give me whatever you have to. I’ll get it done.”
She nods, and then cracks a huge yawn. It’s barely five, but after the day she’s had, I don’t blame her for being wiped.
“Did you eat yet?” I ask.
She lifts the bag of Cheetos. “I’m content with snacks for dinner.”
I nod, then toss her the remote. She feigns a gasp, clutching her good hand to her chest.
“What’s this?! He’s letting me pick the channel?!”
“No good sports on tonight. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
I head into the kitchen as she flips through a streaming service, and toss something quick into the oven before heading to my room to change. I return in sweat shorts and an old Celtics shirt with a tray of chicken nuggets and pizza rolls, settling in to watch reruns ofNew Girl.
“What’s this?” she asks, staring at the plate I place between us like it’s a foreign object.
“Dinner.” I shrug, feeling my neck heat. “You skipped lunch to get X-rays. I’m no gourmet chef, but I’m pretty certain Tyson puts protein into these things. No girl dinner tonight. Now,eat. Doctor’s orders.”
The blush that colors her cheeks has the cogs in my chest stuttering.
We laugh through a few episodes together, sharing snacks. As the sun goes down, she declares that she’s going to sleep in the living room.
“It’ll keep me from rolling onto this thing,” she explains, lifting her cast that has been resting on the arm of the couch.
“Okay,” I nod. “Then I’ll be right back.”
As I’m jogging down the hall, she calls, “Where are you going?” after me. When I return with my pillow, she blanches.
“You don’t have to… Anthony…”
I crash into the other end of the recliner, pop open the motorized footrest, and make myself comfortable.
“I can sleep anywhere. Promise.”
It’s an absolute lie. My back is going to hurt like a bitch in the morning. She tries to protest once more, but I dismiss her, wiggling my ass deeper into the couch. She sighs in defeat, clicking onto the next episode.