Make It Right by Megan Erickson Page A

cousins and napping under a maple tree and playing tag with two normal legs.
    And that’s when she realized the date.
    “Thank you for the pie, but you didn’t have to do this,” she said, the mass of calories now lying in her gut like sludge.
    He placed his plate on the counter. The fork clattered on the blue ceramic. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I also wanted to ask about Nick.”
    Her aunt and uncle had visited yesterday and wanted to take Nick home, but he’d refused, worried about getting behind on assignments.
    Lea cringed. “You guys are going to smother him.”
    “I know, but I told your aunt and uncle I’d at least check in.”
    Lea sighed. “I just left there, actually. He’s okay. In good spirits. And probably sick from eating all the ice-cream sandwiches I bought.”
    Her dad laughed. “He probably thinks they have magical healing powers.”
    Lea smiled.
    “So how are you with everything that happened?”
    Lea bit her lip and chasing a crumb around her plate. “I’m okay, I guess. It hurt to see him like that. And I’m just thankful it wasn’t worse.”
    She looked at her father, pleading silently to change the subject. She wanted to talk about something else. Because she wanted a reprieve before she was alone again, worrying over Nick.
    And as always, her dad understood her silence. He bent to his bag sitting at his feet and pulled out a blue-and-brown blanket, crocheted in a chevron pattern. “Here, this is to match your couch pillows.”
    She and Danica had had a great time shopping at Pier 1 to decorate their apartment, because they didn’t want it to look like just any college crash pad. Although Danica had tried to buy a pillow with a pattern that looked like a giant vulva.
    “Oh Dad,” she said, reaching out her hand to feel the worsted-weight yarn he always used, a mix of merino wool, mohair and silk. “I have like twenty blankets already.”
    “I know, but one can always use more blankets.”
    She laughed softly, cradling the softness and rubbing her chin over it. “True. This one is beautiful. I love the colors and pattern.” She hopped over her stool, landing none too gracefully on her bad leg, before walking to her couch and laying it over the back. She ran her fingers over the ridges as her father’s scent closed in behind her.
    “How do you feel?”
    That meant—how’s your leg? What’s your pain level? She should have known her father would make an unexpected visit on the anniversary of the day her body became less than perfect. But for years, he hadn’t been able to mention it, or get close to her, or give her blankets. She’d been an angry teenager. And she knew that he was grateful every day she’d come back from that and learned a little self-acceptance.
    But not happier than she.
    “I feel okay,” she answered noncommittally, knowing he’d let it go. “You want something to drink? Coffee?”
    He shook his head. “No, I want to sit down and talk with my daughter.”
    She sighed.
    “Oh, don’t act like it’s torture to talk to your father.”
    She rolled her eyes and rounded the couch to sit. Her father claimed a recliner nearby, rocking gently, each forward motion a squeak.
    “Your mother sends her love.”
    “Please tell her the same.”
    He paused. “So you were okay, going to the hospital?”
    He knew the sight of Nick injured would slay her.
    “It was okay. A friend offered me a ride, and he was really sweet about it.”
    Her father’s face cleared. “Oh?”
    “He lives with Kat’s boyfriend.”
    “What’s his name?”
    Lea hesitated. “Max Payton.”
    He furrowed his brow and tapped his chin, like he was searching his internal Rolodex.
    “Dad—”
    “Is he nice?”
    “I don’t—”
    “What’s his major?”
    “Um—”
    “I want to look out for you, especially after that”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“asshole Jason.”
    Lea rolled her eyes. First, because her father still couldn’t swear like a normal adult,