“I know. I just… I don’t know.” I sigh. How can I say what I mean without sounding like a jerk?
“You wish she didn’t have to go through this?”
I nod. “More than anything, I wish he didn’t have to. This might sound awful, but,” I pause, watching her. I’ve never said the words out loud, and I’m afraid to now.
Brynn reaches out, placing her hand on mine, and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. “I won’t judge.” She exhales softly. “Believe me, I’m in no position to.”
The warmth of her hand spreads out, circulating through me. Her gaze is kind, her eyes rapt.
“I feel angry at him. His body, I mean. Resentful, too.”
One side of her mouth curls up. She squeezes my hand. “That’s normal.”
“Do you know from experience?”
Her touch disappears, her hand returning to her lap, and she shakes her head. “It’s normal to resent what other people do, and the effects it has on you.”
“How do you know—”
“Are there any other ways it’s affecting you?”
She has barged into my question, and I know what she’s doing, but I allow it.
In my mind, I see my house, the blank canvas in the unfurnished living room, the pristine drop cloth. The place looks like it’s waiting for an artist to arrive, not like one lives there already.
“I used to paint. On canvas. But he got sick, and the family business needed to be run. It’s their sole source of income.”
Mary swoops in quietly, sliding our lunches across the scratched table and refilling our waters, then ducks out. I think it means she likes Brynn. The place is nearly empty now, and there can’t be much for Mary to do. She would stay and chat, but she wants Brynn and I to be alone.
Brynn lifts a French fry to her mouth. “What did you paint?”
“Everything. Anything. Whatever resonated with me.”
“Did you sell them?”
“A few.” I hear the pride in my voice. There’s an incredible feeling that comes with knowing someone wants your work in their home.
“That’s great, Connor.” She bites into her sandwich and sighs contentedly. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite. An idea forms in my head, and I chew on the notion at the same time I’m chewing my food. It might be stupid, and when I saymight beI mean it definitely is, but would it really hurt to try?
“You can see my work sometime, if you want.” Using a napkin to wipe breadcrumbs from my lips, I look at her with what I hope is nonchalance. My insides feel the opposite of that.
She takes another bite and chews slowly. Is she aware that across the booth I am dying a slow, painful death brought on by extreme hope?
She swallows and reaches for her water. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she says, wrapping her mouth around the straw. Her gaze drops to the table, avoiding mine.
She says nothing after that, and I fall silent too. The air is thick and filled with awkwardness. We finish lunch without another word. Our second silent and annoying meal of the day. When I’m done, I hop up and go to the cash register where Mary sits reading a paperback book.
“How was everything, hon?” She takes the credit card I’m holding out.
“Great, as always.”
“I like your new employee.” She laughs at my confused look and winks. “I called your mom. I needed to get the scoop on who was with you.”
“Just an employee,” I say, taking back my card and slipping it into my wallet.
“She seems nice. That’s all.” Mary gives me a pointed look.
