He kisses me softly, replacing the sexual element with desire. “I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The loud banging echoes down the stairwell.
I assume it’s Mr. and Mrs. Hannigan’s lovemaking again, but am mistakenly wrong as the noise is coming from our apartment.
Jiggling my keys in the door, I open it with a struggle—balancing my purse, mail, and dragging along my suitcase, my arms are like a dead weight from the heavy load.
The first thing I see is Flynn, relaxed in his ripped, black jeans and favorite Futurama shirt, sitting behind a drumkit. The drums are shiny red and black, almost identical to the pictures he has pinned near his headboard. They’re an eyesore in our small and very compact living room.
“Check it out, Milly!”
He plays a beat, banging the sticks against the drum, adopting a wide grin. I recognize the beat, a Linkin Park song that was his favorite in middle school.
My suitcase sits by the door, and with a bout of tiredness hitting me, I plonk myself on the couch, hugging a pillow, and listen to the rest of the song.
It’s good to be home, or whatever this place is, familiar in a weird yet comforting way. It’s funny how the things that once annoyed us have become a normality, such as the damp smell coming from the bathroom, and the aromas of curry that seep through the small cracks in the window. The brown walls—once a depressing backdrop—relax my state of anxiousness. I’m glad to see Flynn. I miss him despite his moody ways.
“Wow, bro. Nice kit. Looks expensive.”
“Yeah, it was a gift.”
“Who on earth would have bought you such an extravagant gift?”
Flynn’s face gives it away. I sigh, caught between Flynn being happy and Wesley’s erratic behavior. Granted, he has money and easily flaunts it. I’m simply not used to such extravagance. But this isn’t my battle. In ways, Wesley knows not to throw lavish gifts at me. I think he learned how difficult I can be when he sent me to the store to purchase that dress for his mother’s event.
“Are you mad?”
“It’s not for me to be mad. I guess you’re friends or something. I’m tired… I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
“Cool. By the way, Mama asked if you could call her. When you have time.”
I wanted to tell Flynn about the voicemail Mama left me. But watching him, in his essence and in such a good headspace, I just can’t do it. I need to understand what it means, speak to the nurses and get their opinion on the matter. After my panic attack and Wesley’s brief visit, our two days were jam-packed with work, not allowing me a single moment to think about anything else. In ways, I welcome the distraction but know that I have to get to the bottom of this. Mama only has me, and without me taking care of her, there would be no one else.
I decide to call her as soon as I get into my room. Best to talk before I get distracted by something.
Upon opening my door, the scent of floral mixed with green nature-type smells hits my senses. The room is covered in bouquets. I quietly count the number, twenty to be exact. It’s a mixture of roses, all in different colors, though oddly no red. It’s like a beautiful rainbow sprinkled all over my room.
I move closer, to the one next to my bedside table, and read the card resting inside it.
I love you.
I hold the card close to my heart, bringing a smile to my face. My thoughts on his lavish gifts are afterthoughts now. This makes me happy, I can’t deny that. Underneath it all, lay a sweet and beautiful man.
A man who belongs to me, and a man who loves me in return.
I automatically dial his number, my breath hitched as I wait excitedly to hear his voice on the other end. The sounds of his hello, velvety soft with a hint of cheekiness only confirms how much I miss him. With a small struggle, I hold back my girlish giggles.
“They’re beautiful, every single bunch.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Rich. So, question. Why no red?”
“I hate red roses. My mother loves them. Speaking of which, if you’re done processing, please join me for dinner tonight. Mother is turning the big six-oh and making her closest acquaintances join her.”
“You’re not an acquaintance,” I scold him, gently. “I’m sure she wants her family there. Her one and only son.”