“Why not?”
“It sounds like you were bound to snap at him, eventually. It was a pretty shitty situation.” She wraps her arm around me, adjusting my head on her shoulder.
“But it’s good, too.”
She nods, petting my hair.
“I should’ve fucking done my therapy homework,” I whisper.
She slaps me, and it stings on my sensitive hangover skin. “You pay for that shit out of pocket. Do the fucking homework.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“You seem happy when you’re together, Georgia. You seem…” she thinks for a moment. “Settled. Balanced. Calm. All of your PAPing comes to life when he’s around. In fact, I don’t think you have to PAP when you’re together. You just… embody it.”
“I know. He’s my rock,” I say miserably. “I love him.”
“Your parents would have loved to see you two together.”
I feel a hundred sharpened pencils stabbing my heart. “They would’ve loved him. And his family.”
“Is it too late, do you think? Are you broken up? Or just… taking a break?” she asks me.
I shrug, covering my head with the comforter andburrowing deep into my bed cave. “I haven’t spoken to him all week. But I feel like maybe it’s not worth it.”
She kicks me under the covers. “Maybe not right now, like this.” Her voice is muffled by all the surrounding padding. “But I think it is. As long as you’re working on yourself. Getting yourself better.”
“But then what if it’s too late after that?” I whisper.
“Then at least you’ll be your own rock.”
I’m eating lunch in my classroom, a Cup Noodles that’s still pretty hard and crunchy because I couldn’t find hot enough water, when Gloria strides through my door carrying an enormous bag.
I blink twice to make sure I’m not hallucinating, looking down at my Cup Noodles to make sure I’m not currently getting botulism.
She sits down at a student desk across from me for only a second, then stands up and starts cleaning and organizing my classroom. I forget she was a teacher for thirty-five years.
“Hello, Georgia,” she says, straightening my desks, pushing in chairs.
“H-hi, Gloria. What are you doing here?”
“I was just in Oliver’s office. He doesn’t know I’m up here.” She pulls snacks out of student desks. My threats of death or dismemberment have clearly lost their power. “I know that you and Oliver are in a rough spot.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s my fault.”
She shakes her head, fury crossing her face for half a second. “No. It’s both your faults. But he loves you.”
I start to tear up at her use of the present tense. “Is he okay?—”
“He’s not okay. But he will be. You will, too.”
I start to cry, then.
Gloria’s eyes soften when she sees me, and she comes around to sit next to me, holding my hands. “Oliver told us about your parents. Right before you two came for Noche Buena.”
I think back to that night, how his entire family gave me space to grieve while still being quietly supportive. How it was just what I needed.
“I’m really sorry, Georgia. They seem like wonderful people, to raise someone as bold and spirited as you. I’m sure that you are still healing from their passing, and that is contributing to your pain.”
