Something about the raw honesty of his words stings. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Why does it make you sad?”
He hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should answer. But then he looks up, meeting my gaze for the first time. “The last time I was in there was with my sister,” he says quietly.
His words hang in the air between us. “And where is your sister now?” I ask softly.
He looks away, his voice barely a whisper. “She died.”
“I’m sorry.” I sit, feeling my chest tighten. “My brother died too,” I add slowly, my voice not as shaky as it usually is when mentioning him.
The boy turns to me, his eyes meeting mine. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice sincere.
I nod, swallowing hard. “You know what I think?” I say, my voice steadier now. “I think you should go in there and show them who’s boss.”
He blinks. “You think?”
I smile, a small but genuine one. “Yeah. I think it’s better to face our problems than run away from them. It’s scary, I know. But you’re braver than you think.”
For the first time, a flicker of hope crosses his face, and he smiles. “You remind me of her,” he says quietly.
I feel something in my chest at that, the poor boy came face to face with loss too early. It’s not fair. “I’m glad,” I say softly.
He stands, determination straightening his small frame. “I’ll go in. I’ll show them. My brother doesn’t even know I’m here.”
Curiosity sparks in me, but I don’t pry. Instead, I watch him take a step toward the door before I call out, “Hey, wait. What’s your name?”
He pauses, turning back to me. “Elliot. But you can call me Eli. What’s yours?”
I smile. “Adeline. But you can call me Addie.”
Eli grins faintly before heading toward the building. Just before he disappears inside, he glances back. “I hope I see you again,” he says.
I let him go, the ache in my chest settling into something that feels almost like peace.
***
The door creaks open, and I step into the quiet of the house. Quiet, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the subtlecreak of the floorboards under my weight. It’s late too, later than I anticipated.
So late that I don’t want to think about anything other than getting a good sleep, although with my current streak of not being able to, somehow, I doubt it’s going to happen. Tomorrow, I’ll give Camille her phone back. But tonight? It’s settled; I’m relaxing.
“Naomi! Sam!” I call out, my voice echoing through the empty rooms. Not even the sound of hurried footsteps in response. Just silence. Of course. Somehow, I’m not surprised.
In the kitchen, I yank open the fridge. The plate I prepared earlier—untouched. Still wrapped, the edges of the cling film starting to curl. I close my eyes and let out a sharp breath. Of course, they didn’t. Why would they?
“Naomi! Sam!” This time, there’s a bite to my voice, frustration clawing its way out.
Naomi appears first, her arms crossed, and her face already set in that look—her classicWhat-did-you-do-wrong-now?look. It grates on me, every time.
“Where have you been?” she asks, her tone accusatory. “You’ve been gone for hours.”
I don’t have the energy for this. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” I snap, not bothering to make it polite. I turn back to the counter, peeling the cling film from the plate and reheating the meal. The microwave hums, loud in the quiet.
Sam appears just as the microwave dings. I don’t look at them when I speak. “I asked you to do one thing. One. Thing.” My voice is even, despite my brewing fury. “I asked you to give her food. But you didn’t. It’s not hard, so please.Please, can you help me?”
Sam scoffs, arms crossed. “She’s an adult. She can make her own food.”
I resist the urge to yell in her face, because as much as I want to —a nd Ireallywant to—I’m really not in the mood for an argument. Struggling to keep my hands steady, and gripping the plate like it’s a lifeline, I take a breath. A long one. “She’s grieving, Sam. She needs our help.”
Naomi doesn’t miss a beat. “We have our own lives, Addie. She’s fine.”
