Naomi stared at me. “The point? To help her! Are you not paying attention to anything coming out of my mouth?”
“No.” I shook my head, trying to come up with the best way to communicate what I meant. “I mean, yes, I’m paying attention, but that’s the question Monica’s asking herself right now… what’s the point? If she goes through the trouble to get a prosthetic arm, then what? She still can’t fly. She can’t go back to the Air Force, and that’s what she wants.”
“But she can do other things.”
“Like what? What else would she want to do?” If we knew what else she was interested in, maybe we could find a way to motivate her.
“Anything… everything else. I don’t know. Look how much your leg enables you to do.” Naomi’s answer was no help at all.
“I can walk without crutches, and that’s nice.” The help wanted ads were spread across my coffee table, all inked up with circles and Xs, showing which jobs I’d tried for, which had shot me down, and which I was still waiting for a response from. Just looking at all those rejections made me feel like I wasn’t worth shit. Scooping up the ads, I shook them to get my point across. “But I still can’t get a job.”
Maya started to fuss. Naomi stood, bouncing the baby in her arms. “And this is why Monie needs your help. You know how she feels. You can relate to her in ways that I can’t right now. Go share whatever secrets of the disabled universe will help her get up in the morning and do something with her life. You’ve figured out how to make this work, help her.”
If there were secrets to any universe, I sure as hell didn’t know them, but there was no talking sense into Naomi. Not when she was worried about her friend. I didn’t have anything figured out, but had learned long ago to hide my issues. People saw what I wanted them to see, and nothing more. Well… until I finally snapped and destroyed what was proving to be my one chance at stable employment. That probably should have clued everyone in on the fact I wasnotokay. But apparently I still had what it took to pull off that deception.
Naomi bounced Maya out of my room, leaving my door open and waving for me to follow. She pointed at Monica’s door, and I stopped in front of it as Naomi continued on. Halting at the top of the stairs, she gave me a quick thumbs up before descending and leaving me to my own devices.
I could have slunk back into my room, but now that I was so close, there was no denying the gravitational pull. I knocked. Seconds stretched into at least a minute as I wondered what the hell to say. There was no game plan, no prepared speech, I was going to have to wing it and hope for the best. Finally, Monica answered wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt. Her arms were folded over her chest, her hair was big and wild, and there were sleep creases running across her cheek.
Feeling guilty for interrupting her nap, I took a step back. “Hey. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s okay. What do you need?”
No ‘good to see you’ or ‘hey, how you doin’?’ Just a down to business question about my presence. That didn’t bode well for my task. Unwilling to let it deter me, I retook my ground. “Nothing. I just wanted to stop by and talk. Can I come in?”
She glanced down at herself and nodded before reluctantly stepping back. “Sure. Why not?”
Another stellar response, putting me at two for two. Not ready to call the game yet, I took a look around her space to get a lay of the land and hopefully find common ground. Judging by the partially empty open suitcases, she’d started putting away her clothes but hadn’t gotten far. “How’s it goin’?” I asked, eyeing the luggage.
She closed the door and beamed me the fakest, most unnatural smile I’ve ever seen. “Never better.”
“I can’t tell whether you’re being sarcastic or legitimately trying to lie.”
Pushing off the door, she shook her head. “Nobody wants to hear the truth. It’s uncomfortable.”
“As uncomfortable as that smile?”
“Nothing could be as uncomfortable as this smile.” Now we were making progress. “Promise you won’t narc me off to Naomi or my mom? I realize I’m a grown ass woman, but I can’t handle any more of their lectures or disappointed stare-downs.”
“I’m a vault.”
She sighed. “I swear I’m trying, but I don’t have the motivation to unpack. Probably doesn’t help that not even half of my clothes will fit and single-handedly defying the laws of physics is not in my skill set. I need to go through my shit and pack some of it up for charity, but even thinking about that makes me twitch. I haven’t felt overwhelmed since college, but now every little thing is paralyzing.” She sat on the sofa. “But this old sofa has a really comfortable butt imprint right here, so I’m planning to sit on my ass and read ebooks on my phone until either my coping skills magically kick in or Naomi busts down my door and physically drags me out of here.” She eyed me for a moment before asking, “Join me?”
As she patted the seat beside her, her braless tits bounced, reminding me of their undeniable perfection. Bigger than a handful, dark pink nipples that responded to my tongue and fingers alike, they were one of my favorite features. She was opening up to me about her struggles, and I was ogling her body like a horny dog. Monica was overwhelmed by her situation, but I was awestruck by everything about her. Trying to keep my eyes on her face—and not on the perfection she covered back up by refolding her arms—I sat. “You need any help?”
“Why? Can you extend my closet and pull an extra dresser out of your ass?”
“I’m not much of a carpenter, and I’m all out of ass dressers, but I could take you to go look at storage options,” I offered. “There’s a couple of furniture places down the road.”
“Did you miss the part where my ass is trying to become one with this sofa?”
“That would be a pity, since you have such a nice ass, and this sofa is kinda rectangular and lumpy.”
She eyed me. “I don’t know that flattery will work here, but you’re welcome to keep trying.”
“No flattery; all honesty. That ass should be on display, not hidden in this room. What’s the real reason you don’t want to go out?”
“Look at me, Stocks. I have one arm and my hair is out of control. I can’t even tie it back.”
