Chapter Thirteen

I stare at a black ant crawling along the toe of my shoe.

It’s weaving itself into confused circles on the dark suede, looking lost and unsure. It dances across my interwoven laces, likely searching for food and warmth. I can’t help but wonder how it’s surviving these brutal winter temperatures. It’s so small and fragile—so insignificant. It doesn’t stand a chance.

“Dean.”

Cora and I were ants. Small and fragile—lost in a cold, scary world. Set up to fail.

We had each other, though.

The ant is all alone.

“Dean.”

I register my name catching on a sharp gust of wind that sails by, almost knocking me off my feet. I look up from my place on the sidewalk to find Mandy spearing me with those worried eyes I’ve become so familiar with over the past two weeks. “Yeah?”

“Are you ready to go inside?”

Her microbladed eyebrow arches with concern, and I realize I zoned out in front of her parent’s house, sympathizing with an ant. I glance down at the insect, only to find that it has since left my shoe and disappeared into the cement cracks.

I hope it beats the odds.

Mandy plants a smile on her crimson lips when I nod my head, then she steps over to take my hand in hers. She is warm, and yet, a chill sweeps through me.

“It’s going to be fine,” she says idly, sensing my resistance as she threads our fingers together. “It’ll be good to have a little normalcy again.”

Normalcy. Nothing about the last five weeks has been normal, that’s for sure. And I can’t imagine this forced family dinner with her parents will feel anything close to normal. “Yeah. I guess.”

Mandy blinks her fake lashes at me, trying to mask her apprehension with another smile. “Do you need a minute?”

“No.” A minute won’t change anything. A minute doesn’t erase the damage done. A minute isn’t going to teleport me back to the safety of my own bed, where I can comfortably avoid my current reality and battle my demons in private. “Let’s go inside.”

I move forward because it’s the only choice I have. We walk up the cobblestone pathway to the bright blue Colonial-style house in a picture-perfect neighborhood. I’ve walked this path thousands of times before, but today I spot a little gnome statue next to the row of shrubs lining the front of the house. He looks rusted—worn from the elements. “Is that a new statue?” I inquire of Mandy as we reach the porch step.

“Richard the Gnome?” She scrunches up her nose. “He’s been there for, like, two decades, Mr. Observant.” Mandy shoots me a wink, attempting to be playful. “Cora named him Richard because she said he looked like Richard Marx.”

I nibble on the inside of my cheek. I can’t help but wonder how many other day-to-day things I walked right by without ever affording a glance or a thought.