“I’ll always come when you call, Eddie. Every single time.”
When I finally get the strength to release her, I follow her into the house. I hold back a laugh as I step over a player whose face is covered in permanent marker. The living room looks like a cannonball of board game pieces exploded, scattered over every inch of shaggy carpet. From here, I count seven bodies on the ground, one on the couch, three curled in front of the fireplace, two on top of the dining room table, and one in the corner.
Mallory leads me into the kitchen and clicks on the light before dropping into a chair. She fiddles with the drawstrings of my black CLU Swim hoodie, which I haven’t seen since The Dip.
It looks so good on her. I don’t ever want it back if it means she will wear it forever.
I lean on the wall across from her. “Sorry for pounding on the door. I called and couldn’t get through. I was worried you decided you couldn’t wait and started driving back to Clear Lake.”
She drags her hands down her face. “Shit. My phone must have died. I almost made it through three things I could smell and fell asleep on the floor. I’m sorry.”
“All that matters is that you’re okay.” I give her a quick smile before wrinkling my nose. “Do you remember what the three things you could smell were? Because all I smellis—”
“Puke? Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “They’re deep cleaning the whole house before we leave. I don’t know what Coach thought would happen when he banished twenty-seven college students to the middle of nowhere with nothing to do after dark. Of course they’re going to drink.”
The laugh that follows is not normal, but it’s her eyes that scare me. The sadness is suffocating.
“Did you have an anxiety attack?”
“No,” she sighs, reaching for a water bottle on the counter. “But I felt it coming. It sat there, like it was waiting for me to fall down the hole and spiral. I remembered the grounding method thing that we did together in the training room, and it worked again.”
I grin. “That’s a win, Ed. That’s a freaking win right there.”
“Maybe, but this shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” She slams her palm against her forehead, voice choked with anger which I realize is aimed at herself. “I ruined your Friday night because I can’t get my shit together. I forgot to zip my bag, so my test strips got wet and were ruined. Somehow, I can pack nine pairs of underwear for a three-day trip, but don’t come prepared to manage my own condition.”
“Hey, you can’t beat yourself up. Accidents happen. Bags don’t get zipped, and things fall out. Technology malfunctions—”
She throws her hands up. “None of that matters! I should have brought ten transmitters and sensors because I know exactly how unpredictable diabetes can be. Over a year later, and I still haven’t learned my lesson. How is that not my fault?”
“Because you won’t ever be prepared for every little thing in life. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but things are going to happen that even you, the most prepared person I know, aren’t ready for. You only planned to change the sensor. You had no idea the transmitterwould malfunction only a few days into its three-month limit. How is that your fault?”
Mallory deflates, slumping back into the chair. “Just forget I said anything. Okay? You don’t get it.”
“I will never get it, Ed.” I take a single tentative step forward. “I’ll never understand exactly what you go through or how you feel. It’s not my place to try to tell you either. All I can do is be here for you and tell you the truth.”
“And what’s that?”
The distance between us feels so much farther than five feet. The wall she’s putting up is so high, and I’m not sure if what I want to say will bring it down or make it impossible to crawl over again. But I have to try.
“That you aren’t stupid or forgetful or ill-prepared. That you live in a world where things happen and it’s nobody’s fault. That having the memory of a goldfish is necessary at times like this. That your brain is being mean as hell to you, and I’d do anything to make it stop.”
I blink back a rush of relief when her shoulders relax, and the wall that was so close to shutting me out crumbles to the ground.
“I’m sorry, Kenneth. I’m tired and grumpy and… I’m so sorry for snapping at you.”
“Apology accepted, but not needed,” I recite. Our thing.
She pushes herself up and grabs the grocery bag of supplies I brought. “How did you know the limit is three months on the transmitter?”
My cheeks burn and I scratch the back of my neck. “I did some research.”
“So, you take notes when I talk, and you do research on your own?” I nod, and she finally looks at me. “You keep on surprising me, Gray. Thanks for bringing this. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Eddie.” I swallow hard. “How would you feel if I put it on for you?”
Puffy eyes make her look even more surprised. “What?”
Diabetes videos are all I watch on YouTube nowadays. After searching her specific brand of insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor, videos were bookmarked and studied until I had the step-by-step instructions and other pertinent information memorized.
