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PRETEND I NEVER SAID AVOCADO

Sabrina

It’s a new day, and the sun streams through the windows, bright and, mostly, welcome.

With a deep sigh I push myself up in bed, blinking, orienting myself. I look down at the sage green cover, the dark gray pillows. At the spacious bed. At the huge en suite bathroom. This room is so…not mine.

Oh. Right. I sit up. Rub my eyes. Scan my surroundings. On the navy blue chair—the same chair where Tyler sat last night and read on his tablet—is a neatly folded sweatshirt.

I swing my legs out of bed, taking my time to gauge how I’m feeling. The verdict? Surprisingly good.

I stand. Wow. Is this what it feels like to be normal again?

My head doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel hot all over. I’m not really achy anymore. I’m still a little tired though, and my breath is foul.

I need to go downstairs and brush my teeth, but when I look more closely at the chair, my heart squeezes. Underneath the hoodie is a pair of leggings—my leggings—and in front of them, a white card. Something warm and hazy runs through my bloodstream.

Tyler and his notes.

There’s also some white panties and a sports bra too. A stupid smile spreads as I unfold the note.

Hi.

Hope you feel better. You slept all night.

Okay. Not the WHOLE night. You woke up once in the middle of the night and we had a very brief conversation, but I promise you only divulged your social security number and all your bank account information.

In any case, if I’m not here, it’s because I went downstairs to change the cat litter and feed the kitten — like Drama would let me do anything else .

She’s demanding. Also, I did grab some clothes for you in the middle of the night in case you want to shower.

I left out a toothbrush on the bathroom counter too.

Since I know you’re obsessed with minty breath.

And I shut the door in case you just want to spend the day in bed doing none of those things.

But if you’re up for food, I’m ordering some bagels right now since I know you love those.

With avocado.

Unless the thought of avocado makes you want to hurl. In which case, pretend I never said avocado.

— T

My heart swells even more. I do love bagels so much. I also want to feel human again so I head straight for Tyler’s spacious rainfall shower and indulge.

When I’m out of the shower, I pull on the fresh clothes, towel-dry my hair, then twist it into a makeshift bun since he left my hair tie on the counter for me.

Of course he did.

I pad downstairs still feeling a little tired and slow but mostly better. When I reach the first level, the faint sounds of a familiar song drift from the kitchen. It’s Camden, the pop singer, and her bold, brassy voice is like a calling card that tells me Tyler’s in there.

I feel weirdly…shy.

Having him see me like that last night was uncomfortable.

I walk into the kitchen, where he’s putting something in the fridge. I stop at the island. When he turns around, the fridge door shutting, his hazel eyes light up. He gives me the warmest smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes,” I say, then quickly amend it to “mostly.” I shift gears since I don’t like talking about how I feel. “How’s Parker?”

A smile shifts his lips. “All better. I talked to my mom. He’s back at school, and Luna too, of course. She never caught it.”

“Good. That’s a relief. Thank you for everything.” Then I’m quiet for several seconds, weighing how far to go. But he carried me upstairs and gave me meds and Gatorade, and watched skating videos and left out clothes for me. I swallow down my pride. “I hate being sick.”

His eyes soften, and he gives a gentle nod. “I had a feeling. But it’s okay, Sabrina. It happens to everyone.”

“But I don’t like it when it happens to me,” I say, with maybe a pout.

“Well, no one does.”

“I know. I just really don’t like it,” I say, and he seems to sense I’m not whining. I’m actually admitting something hard .

He takes a step closer to me. “Because you’re afraid of not being perfect.”

It’s said gently, like a soft gust of wind through a window that flutters open the pages of a book, revealing a twist in the story you didn’t see coming. The twist is that he’s figured me out. The thing I usually try to hide behind doing too much, being everything, trying hard.

“Maybe,” I say softly, crossing my arms over my chest, like I’m hugging myself. “Probably.”

Tyler looks like he wants to reach for me, to wrap me in his arms, and I wouldn’t object. But instead he says, “It’s okay. You don’t have to be the super nanny. You don’t have to be super Sabrina. It’s okay to be you. And I really wanted to be there for you. To take care of you.”

My throat tightens so hard, so uncomfortably, I can feel tears building in the back of my eyes. I fight them off. “Well, thank you,” I say. Then I say one more hard thing. “I guess I’m not used to it.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say Chad never took care of you?” Tyler doesn’t sound bitter or angry at him—just matter of fact, like he knows that’s what Chad would’ve been like.

“He’s not really a caretaker.”

“And I’m guessing your parents weren’t either?”

A mirthless laugh falls from my lips. “You’d be right.”

“I’m glad it was me last night then,” he says, “because I’m not like that.”

I wince, but it’s not because what he said was painful.

It’s because the past still aches. The way I grew up still hurts.

Because the armor I had to wear doesn’t always shield you when you’re sick, when you’re vulnerable, when you can’t do everything.

But it’s hard to linger in this conversation.

“What about you? Are you worried about getting sick? Or are you an ox? ”

He flexes a big arm. “Ox, baby, ox.”

It’s like he knew I needed a little teasing to break up the serious moment, but my mind latches onto that word again— baby . The way he says it so easily, the way he’s saying it…again. I hang on to the sweetness of his tone too.

I still don’t know what’s happening between us. But maybe that’s okay. “Well, Mister Ox. Where’s the little Drama queen?”

“Shockingly, she’s sound asleep. In your apartment,” he says, then he adds, “I hope you didn’t mind me going downstairs to your place and getting some things.”

That raises a good point. “How did you get in there? I don’t mind but I’m curious.”

“You gave me the code. In the middle of the night. I asked if I could get some things for you.”

I laugh. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“You were pretty sleepy. You’re cute when you’re sleepy. And you’re cute when you’re sick.”

I growl, wiggling a finger his way. “Now that’s taking it too far, you ox.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, then gestures toward the counter where he’s taken out a cutting board, and left some bagels and avocado. “Can I make you a bagel?”

I set a hand on my belly, and it’s rumbling. “You know, I think I am hungry. But let’s pretend you never said avocado.”

“I never said avocado.”

He slices the bagel and toasts it. And I take this care-taking for what it is.

Care.

Care given freely. Without expectation of performance. Without the requirement of excellence. It’s just care, and maybe I don’t have to figure out what this thing between us is all the time. Maybe I can simply accept it as something new and lovely in my life .

And I like new and lovely a lot.

When I’m halfway done with the bagel, he clears his throat. “Sabrina,” he says, and he sounds serious.

I tense. A Pavlovian reaction. Something tough is coming.

But then his lips curve up like he has a secret. “I called Trevyn the other day. I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous, but I really needed his help with something.”

He hands me another note card.

Sabrina,

I should have done this a while ago. I should have asked if you had plans for the holiday. I didn’t and I’m sorry. And I should have said something, too, the last morning we spent together. I’m sorry for not figuring it out sooner.

A lot of this — well, all of this — is new to me.

So I’m not sure I’m so good at figuring any of this out.

And I don’t even know if you’ve already made Christmas plans with your friends.

If you have, I understand. But Trevyn said he thought you were still free.

And I just can’t imagine taking the kids to see Ice Spectacle in New York without you since I know you wanted to go too.

I’m not asking you to babysit. I’m not asking you to work. I’m just asking you to go…with us.

— T

Luna makes an announcement after school a few days later. “Since we’re not going to be here for Christmas, we should gather all the toys we don’t use and clothes, too, and donate them, instead of getting a tree.”

“We talked about how to help others in my classes too,” Parker puts in. “Maybe we can get gift cards for unhoused families and donate them too. A lot of shelters have holiday giving programs.”

And I fall even harder for these kids. “Just check with your dad,” I say, fighting off a lump in my throat.

Tyler doesn’t need to be asked twice. He says yes and helps the kids gather items that afternoon.

After we drop off some donations at a local shelter, we pop into its secondhand shop and pick up some gently used garlands and a wreath too, and decorate the house that way, as Parker discusses the science of Santa with his father, and Drama plays with a few stray ribbons.

It feels like a new tradition, but I don’t want to get too attached to it. It’s like fostering. You give the animals so much love for a short time, knowing you’re only a stop along the way.

And that’s okay.

We return Drama to Little Friends the next day. That was always the plan—to take care of her until she was big enough to be spayed and fully vaccinated.

Still, Luna pouts, and Parker’s lower lip quivers as we walk into the animal rescue in the heart of the city. A little pink crate swings in Luna’s hand. Inside, a tuxedo kitten is curled up peacefully on a blanket.

I spot Nia quickly. With a shirt that reads I Work For My Cat and flower tattoos winding down her bronze skin, she’s hard to miss.

She’s microchipping a little silver tabby at an exam table in the cat wing, but she looks up and sees us, finishes popping the chip in, hands the animal to a volunteer, and turns in our direction.

Once she peers in the crate, she says approvingly, “She looks a little chunkier.”

“She sure is,” I say, handing the kitty over.

“Aww, we’re going to have people lining up for you,” Nia coos, scratching Drama’s chin as she opens the crate .

The kitten happily accepts the adulation, purring louder as Nia cradles her.

But when I glance at the Falcon kids, my heart squeezes. Their frowns dig deeper into their cheeks. My chest aches for them. I’ve fostered before—many times. You grow attached, but you learn to let go so you can keep helping.

These kids though? It’s their first time. I kneel so I’m closer to eye level. “I know you’ll miss her,” I say gently, one hand on Parker’s arm, the other on Luna’s shoulder. “But she’s going to find an amazing family, and when she does, do you know what that means?”

Parker sniffs, valiantly fighting off tears. “What does it mean?”

“It means we can keep fostering. The more we foster, the more stray animals we can help find homes. Every time we open our home to another foster, we’re giving an animal a second chance.”

“It helps so much,” Nia adds with a sage nod. “We always need fosters. So, so badly.”

Luna octopuses her arms around me. “I want to keep saving lives.”

“Me too,” Parker says, his voice wobbly but determined.

I glance at Tyler, who’s standing as stoically as possible by the cat cages. His jaw is tight but his eyes are a little wet. He strides over to Drama, scoops her up, and presses a soft kiss to her tiny head.

It’s not really goodbye.

It’s the start of a new hello—with a new family, whoever they might be.