One Last Miracle [complete]

XIII

XIII

two months, twenty-eight days...

James still hasn't responded—to a text I sent an hour ago: any chance we can meet up later today? I have to talk to you.

Sitting at the breakfast bar, absentmindedly munching on cheese toast, I stare at the blank screen of my phone. There's no notification of a text. Nothing. He should have at least seen it by now—eleven in the morning on a Sunday isn't late to be awake.

"It's not going to move if you look away."

Turning to look at Rick, sitting on the stool next to me, I raise an eyebrow. "I know that."

He doesn't look up from his plate of bacon. "So why're you staring at it?"

"Because I am."

"That's not an answer."

"It is."

"It's not."

"It is."

"You're not very funny," he mutters, finally looking up from the bacon.

"That's because I'm not trying to be," I say back, taking the last bit of my toast. Jumping off the stool, I round the bench to the sink, rinsing off my plate. "And, for the record, I am funny."

"Tell me a joke," says Rick, jumping off the counter. He throws his cutlery in the sink, grabbing the bacon with his hand.

"Okay." His dishes aren't that dirty, but I rinse them under water anyway. With mum at the supermarket and dad at work, no one else is going to do it. "So, there was once two marshmallows. One was having a bad day—so angry he was yelling at the other marshmallow—"

"Not funny," Rick sing-songs.

"I'm not finished." Dishes rinsed, I step from the sink. "So, this other marshmallow is angry. He says the other marshmallow 'Stop being so mellow. You're supposed to be angry.''"

"What?"

"Marshmallow. Mellow." He's silent, so I try my hands off on my cotton shorts, muttering, "They sound the same. That's the joke."

"That's not funny. Not even a little. I know a joke..."

He continues to mumble, as he makes the trip to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk, but I hear none of it. Instead, like a thousand stage lights are suddenly glaring, my attention is drawn to my phone, where it's chiming with a message.

Rushing over, I leave Rick to it, switching my phone on. And, from James there's a reply. Sliding the bar across, I unlock my phone. It all takes too long, the nerves getting worse by the second. Finally, my phone responds, opening the message.

Only just saw your message. Free to meet up whenever after two. Busy til then. Text time and place and I'll drive there later.

After re-reading I start to respond—

"Why're you smiling?"

Startled, I look up at Rick. He's staring at me, still careless tousled bed hair all over the place a contradiction to serious expression on his face. "What's with all the questions?"