That night, Sara dragged herself upstairs, looking totally wiped out.
Patricia had asked Johns to bring up some of Sara’s favorite food. When he opened the door, there was Sara, flopped across the couch like she’d melted into it.
As soon as Sara spotted Patricia, she sat up and gave her a grateful smile. “Aunt Patricia, thank you for letting me go to the concert. I had so much fun.”
“You didn’t have dinner yet, did you? Marian made you some spicy noodles—just how you like them.”
“Aunt Patricia, you’re the best. Seriously, you’re so much nicer than Uncle Oliver,” Sara said, putting on an exaggerated pout.
She crouched down at the coffee table and dug into the noodles, making happy little noises after every bite. “This is amazing,” she mumbled, mouth full.
Patricia laughed. “Slow down. No one’s going to steal your food.”
“I can’t help it. I’m starving. Going to a concert is exhausting! All that screaming and singing—my throat’s killing me,” Sara said, rubbing her neck.
Patricia just smiled, remembering how Chelsea used to be just as obsessed with her favorite bands.
She asked, “Is your Uncle Oliver always so serious?”
Sara shrugged. “Pretty much. He’s kind of rigid and bossy, honestly. He can be so stubborn, but at the same time, he’s complicated. He has all the same flaws as every other guy, but somehow he’s got all these rare good qualities too. Being around him really depends on who you are.”
“If you were me, you’d probably think spending your whole life with someone like him would be kind of miserable. But you’re not me, so my problems aren’t your problems.”
Sara grinned, waving her chopsticks for emphasis. “As a husband, Uncle Oliver’s not bad. He just shouldn’t try to be the family elder—he’s always convinced we’re one step away from turning into delinquents.”
She finished eating, and Patricia took her empty bowl downstairs to Johns before heading back to her room.
When she walked in, Oliver was leaning against the headboard, the comforter tossed over his legs.


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