“No, he’s my therapist. He helps me a lot. He tells me how to act in public and when I’m being rude. I can tell when people are angry now. And when I say something to upset someone, I know by the look on their faces. But I still mess up a lot. I still have a lot to learn.”
We had never talked about his disability much before. When we were younger I had been too ignorant and self-involved to think about what was going on with him. But I hoped I had grown up a bit in the last six years since to understand a little of what he went through.
He was different. He was more than a little odd.
But looking at him, staring into his lap, chewing on his bottom lip, I also knew he was more than a little special.
“That’s awesome, Flynn,” I said and I meant it.
Flynn jumped to his feet and took my plate that held the remnants of my food. He picked up the club and took a bite of it.
“I wasn’t done with that,” I admonished.
Flynn dropped the sandwich back on the plate and handed it back to me.
“Here,” he said and I pushed it back towards him.
“I’m not going to eat it now that you’ve taken a bite out of it, am I?” I cocked my eyebrow.
Flynn took my plate back and looked down at the half-eaten club. “Yeah, I guess not. That was pretty gross, huh?”
“Yeah, it was. But I’m not that hungry, so it’s cool,” I told him.
“I have banana bread if you want. It’s my mom’s recipe,” he offered, going to the counter and putting a slab onto a plate and bringing it back to me.
“Sure, banana bread sounds great,” I replied, taking it from him. I might not be very hungry, but I couldn’t pass up banana bread.
“I like being with you. I missed you,” Flynn said, surprising me. Of all the things for him to say, I had not expected that. It was such an innocent thing but it held so much weight.
He missed me.
After everything I had done to him.
He missed me.
I couldn’t respond. I had nothing to say to that. I couldn’t reciprocate because Ihadn’tmissed him. I had spent most of the last six years despising him. Blaming him for things that weren’t his fault. It had just been easier to hate him than to hate myself.
“You stopped talking to me. After my birthday. You never called me again. Mom said to leave you alone. That you weren’t my friend. But you were my friend. Because you told me I was and I believed you.” His eyes were bright and even though he wouldn’t look directly at me, I knew his eyes were wet.
I should tell him the truth. I should shatter his illusions of me before they could grow into something more dangerous.
His mother hadn’t told him what I had done. She had saved him from that particular pain. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or upset that she had done that. Because now here we were, six years later, on the cusp of something not yet realized and I struggled.
I wanted to tell him. But I wanted to lie as well. I liked the way he looked at me. To Flynn Hendrick, Ellie McCallum was important. She was wanted. If I told him the truth about that night, I was sure that would all change.
My self-destructive side urged me to tell him everything. To sever the delicate bond that was forming between us.
But I had another side that insisted on silence. The side that was scared to see this new Ellie disappear; because she was a girl who liked to feel. And the numbness of my past just wouldn’t cut it anymore.
Before I could be truthful or dishonest, Flynn got up again and started loading dishes into the dishwasher. He wiped down the counters and threw the food bag into the trashcan.
“Do you want to watch TV? You like TV. We could watch the A-Team,” he suggested.
“I love the A-Team,” I said, slowly joining him in the doorway leading into the other room.
“I remember,” he said, a shy smile on his face. His hair fell into his eyes and I wished he’d let me brush it back off his forehead. Our touches had hardly ever been intentional. And when they were purposeful, they had never lasted long enough.
I had been okay with that. Because touching him would be to admit a physical closeness I didn’t want and I convinced myself that I didn’t need.
