“It’s almost your birthday.”
She was perched at Mia’s kitchen table, mug of tea clutched in both her hands, a blanket she’d taken from the spare bedroom around her shoulders. It was less for warmth and more for some kind of symbol of protection. Dogs had thunderjackets, she had a blanket, tea, and Mia. It was practically the same thing. She had one of her smaller sketchbooks out and flipped to a blank page beside a half finished crossword in the New York Times.
What’s an eleven letter word for a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to someone else?
Distraction. Ruby didn’t want to talk about the last few days and she knew that probably killed Mia. It’s not like she didn’t want to tell her, she did, she really, truly did. But she couldn’t get the words out, she could hardly get them out in prayer, she couldn’t burden her elder sibling with the knowledge of what’d happened beyond telling her that she was alright. At the hospital she’d claimed a guest of the hotel had a big dog that’d gotten out during the commotion. The wound was able to be healed with magic but she appeased Mia, quietly sat as her arm was cleaned and bandaged. She’d healed it later in the shower, let the water soothe the broken skin slowly.
“Is there anything you want to do? I gotta thank you for taking care of me anyways.” Looking up from the black and white printing, she offered a small smile. It was a real question. Mia didn’t ask for this, she didn’t need to be taking care of her like this but of course she was. Taking care of her, of their brother, of their mother even, was her real job. @drmiapeterson