I scoop some eggs onto a piece of toast and take a bite.
“Are you working tonight?” I ask him.
He sighs. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
“We’re supposed to meet everyone for lunch today, right? That is today?” I glance at the dry erase calendar on the wall, trying to remember what day it is. Since I’ve been out of school for the holidays it’s been hard to keep track of the days. Not to mention my focus has been primarily on searching for my son.
Greyson.
I can’t believe I finally know his name.
It feels strange and amazing all at once.
“Yeah, it’s today.” He attacks his plate of food like someone’s going to steal it from him. Someone clearly worked up an appetite.
“I’m seriously the worst friend ever. I can’t keep up with things.”
Jace cracks a smile. “You’ve had a lot on your mind. It’s understandable. Everything will die down soon.”
I take another bite of toast. “Have you …”
“Looked at the computer?” He finishes for me, and I nod. “No,” he answers.
I sigh. “I want to look, but I’m scared to know.”
He nods, giving me a sad but understanding look. “Makes sense. How about this—I’ll hide the computer, and no looking at it until we get back from lunch. That gives her more time to respond.”
“That sounds good,” I agree. It’s going to suck waiting and not knowing, but I know there’s probably little chance she’s responded. The longer I wait to check, the better.
And there’s always the chance that she never responds.
Jace and I finish breakfast and clean up before getting ready for the day. I spend much longer than usual styling my hair and applying makeup. Most days I let my hair do its own thing and makeup is something I usually only wear for special occasions. I dress in a ripped pair of jeans and sweater with a pair of sneakers.
Jace sits on the couch, playing his guitar and humming softly under his breath.
“Working on something new?” I ask, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator.
He looks up from his journal where he was scribbling furiously. “Yeah.” He smiles crookedly. “Inspiration struck, and I wanted to see where it led.”
I pick up my camera and sit across from him in the chair. “Can I take your picture while you write?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Confession—I normally hate portrait photography, but I love taking your picture.”
He waggles his brows. “I’m very photogenic, huh?”
“Something like that.” I snap a picture of him.
“Confession—I love that you love taking my picture.”
I crouch down in front of him and take another photo.
He grows quiet and returns to working on his song, ignoring my presence.
He sticks his tongue out slightly between his teeth as he thinks. I zoom in on his mouth and take another photo. He flicks his hair out of his eyes, and I get a close-up shot of his forehead and the pesky strand of hair. I’ve always been more fascinated by the little things than the bigger picture.
After a while he sets his guitar aside and picks up the book he’s been reading lately.