How long had it been since an adult touched me? Add more time for an adult male. I pressed my ear under his collarbone like we were slow dancing, but slow dancing at a middle school dance where you don’t know how to touch each other.
“You’re tall,” I blurted.
A snort from his nose brushed my shoulder. “I’ll tell my teammates you said that. I get ‘shrimpy’ comments all the time.”
“You’re tall to me,” I said into his shirt. I drew another breath and realized I’d been clinging onto him for far too long. I cleared my throat. “I should get going.”
With two stiff pats on my back, he agreed. “Yeah. For sure.”
He knelt to get my cane off the ground, helped me into the driver’s seat, and handed me my cane. My face had to be an absolute tomato.
His face flushed to match mine, red even poking through his dark beard. “I, uh, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Just trying to help.”
The words were on the tip of my tongue.I don’t need help.Because really, I don’t. I was making it work raising two kids by myself while I had a chronic illness to manage.
Normally, I’d insist on taking care of myself. I’d chastise him for patronizing me when I could get around perfectly well.
But the truth was, that wasn’t how I felt. I was in too much pain to mess around with hiding my feelings. I turned my knees into the driver’s seat and let him close my door. I started the car and rolled down my window as he started to walk away. “Jack.”
He turned back from where he was shoving one hand in his pocket and the other through his hair. “Yeah?”
“It felt nice.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Being held up by you. I needed that.”
“I think I did too.” He pressed his lips together, eyes scanning my door as he ran a hand through his hair. “See you Sunday?”
“Yeah.”
His little smirk made me want to bury my face in my hands. “Drive safe.”
Then he tapped my car twice like he had before, and I drove on.
“Thanks for getting him again, Gabi.”I limped my way into my apartment’s kitchen, plopping myself into a chair so Hazel could nurse. “How was your day?”
“You look like hell,” Gabi said. “And my day was fine. I only had to send two kids to the peace corner.”
Gabi and I met because she’s a teacher at the school and we worked together to plan an allergy-friendly bake sale fundraiser. She wasn’t Aspen’s teacher, but she sometimes filled in the gaps when I couldn’t pick him up.
I was lucky to have her as a friend, even if she told me when I looked like shit.
“Wow, thank you so much,” I snorted.
“No, I mean, you look like you’re in a lot of pain,” she clarified.
I lifted my shirt, unsnapped my bra cup, and Hazel did the rest. At fifteen months, she was more than capable of driving the breastfeeding car. “Yeah, well, not like I have a good doctor to get me meds. All they did was say, ‘Yep, you’ve got the disease. Go see a specialist.’ Plus I’ve got this little one still hanging on.” I gestured to Hazel.
Gabi grimaced. “You know what I’m going to say.”
“I know, I know,” I whined. “I should just smoke pot. But I can’t while she’s nursing.”
“You can get it without a doctor, and it would be relief sooner. Hazel probably wants a mother who’s not in constant pain. You got over a year. That’s good enough.”
I sighed, knowing Gabi was right, but I’d grown tired of this discussion. Gabi hadn’t been a mom and didn’t know the emotional attachment to nursing. The thought of losing this little bit of quiet time with Hazel when the rest of life was a constant race to get everything done was enough to make my eyes water. I must have been quiet for too long.
“I’m just saying, a little weed might not hurt. It might be just the thing you’re waiting for.”
I forced a smile. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
“Mara, you’re running yourself ragged. Wouldn’t a little pain relief help?”
