Almost Home

Chapter Twelve

"Hey, for what it's worth," I say at the ice cream parlor a few hours later, "You don't resemble a toddler right now."

Easton stares at me, briefly, humor laced into his eyes before he says, "I'm drinking a milkshake."

"Yeah, but you don't have it slopped into your hair or anything," for emphasis, I reach out and tousle his loose, messy curls, "You're doing good."

He rolls his eyes, "Meanwhile, you're eating with your dominant hand and still managed to slop ice cream all over your face."

I feel my cheeks heat, "No, I didn't, did I?"

"If you don't trust me, check for yourself."

I take my phone out of my back pocket, checking my face in the front-facing camera, but just as I suspected, there isn't a drop of ice cream on my face.

"Made you look."

I shove at his shoulder as I lean back on the bench, stirring my ice cream into ice cream soup, "Don't make fun of the one willing to keep you out of you," I do finger quotations, "Dungeon of a bedroom."

"Yeah, that might've been a lie," Easton says, sheepishly, "When I said I didn't want to go home because of my room. Truth is, my dad has been doing a great job of keeping me entertained and not hyper-focused on my elbow. Going home, to tell you the truth, wouldn't have been the worst thing."

"So, what you're saying is that you like me more than your dad?"

He laughs, "Yeah, obviously, but I, also wanted to talk to you about something."

Butterflies of all varieties immediately swarm into the pit of my stomach at a million miles per hour, a few fluttering up into my throat before I take a cold swallow of my ice cream and choke out, "About what?"

"Whether or not you're staying next week," he leans back on the bench, rubbing condensation off of his cup with his thumb, "I told my dad about it and he offered the two guest rooms for your family, if you wanted. If not, I understand. You don't really know us well enough to comfortably stay in our house."

"And I'd have to share a bedroom with Carson," I mock shudder, "I did enough of joint bedroom duty when we were kids. It isn't something I ever want to experience again."

Easton laughs, "Bethany and I shared a room for almost two years when we were younger, like really younger. I think I was two."

"You remember that?"

"No, but she tells me about it sometimes," a brief wheeze of a laugh, "Of when I used to wake her up in the middle of the night to get me something to drink because I was too scared to go downstairs by myself."

I giggle, "Carson used to talk in his sleep, but not, like, a couple words. He literally used to carry on full conversations."

Easton laughs, "Really?"

"Yes. Finally, when I had enough, I went to mom and dad and they put him in his own bedroom. I think, before that, they wanted us to have that twin-bedroom-sharing aesthetic, you know?"

He nods, "Have you asked your parents about staying down here yet?"

I shake my head, "I have time. I'm just trying to figure out how best to word it."

"Hey mom and dad," Easton mocks my voice, making it way higher pitched than I believe it to be, "Can we stay down here for just one more week? You can go sight-seeing and I'll hang out with my friend, Easton. He's lonely and hurt and could use the company."

I snort a laugh, "Pulling the sympathy card? That's a new one."

"Well, I figured, you know," he shrugs, "I haven't used it yet."