“I’m good.” He plasters on a fake grin. “Thanks for helping me clean up.”
My brow furrows in concern as I follow him into the house. “Um, no problem? But we can chat if you…”
“There’s barely any clutter in here. The kids ate almost everything. Teenagers, amiright?” He chuckles, but I follow him in silence.
“Um, sure?”
“Can you collect all the empty bottles and cans and bring them into the kitchen?”
“Yeah.” I guess we’re getting into it. “But, Reed?”
“Thanks, buddy.” He wanders off, and I frown. Very well.
It takes me all of five minutes to collect the recyclables and plop them in the appropriate bin in the kitchen. I even spend some time cleaning up the surfaces. The marble countertops give me pause, reminding me that Reed is in a higher tax bracket than I amme. No wonder he doesn’t want me…
Focus, Skyler.Be there for Reed in this difficult time.
Except he’s taking it all fine.Huh.
The house is so quiet as I saunter back into the now-clean living room. The missing sounds of jovial teens playing games for hours have left a void in the wide quarters. His place may be big, but I can see it being lonely with only two people.
Now, there’s only one.
“Reed?” My voice echoes down the hallway, and I follow a light. I walk past several closed doors and find my friend. His back is half-turned to me. The bright room light contrasts with the dark hallways, so I can’t make out his face.
“Reed?”
He doesn’t turn around, and I notice he’s staring at the doorframe. His hand is on the wooden hinge, but otherwise, he looks fine.
“Are you alright?” The house is so quiet, so tense, as I reach him. I stand closer than necessary, less than an arm’s length away. Sure, it’s because I yearn to be near him, but also, I’m trying to see what he’s looking at.
It’s tape. Blue pieces of tape are on the doorframe. When I look over his shoulder, the room is clearly a lived-in bedroom of someone young. The occasional toy graces the shelves, and the colorful bedsheets are pristine.
Then I turn back to the tape on the doorframe. Multiple little strips line up. At first, I think he’s doing a weird paint job. When I read the writing on the strips, my heart bottoms out.
“Is this…?”
“Aisen’s growth chart,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. His face reads of fond nostalgia and a delicate air of neutrality. “He wanted to see how big he was getting. So he took a pencil, but I said I didn’t want to mess up my walls, so I said no.” We both laugh softly, and he runs his hand on another piece of tape. “Instead, I instructed him to use this tape. He wanted it every month for a little while. I eventually bartered it down to twice a year.”
I smile and picture a young Aisen pleading to have his height measured. Reed continues, “By the time he was thirteen, he didn’t care as much. In fact, I had to remind him of this when he was fourteen.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yup. The kid seemed reluctant but did it anyway. For me.” Reed still avoids my gaze as we walk into the room. He approaches the dresser and picks up a red octopus plushy, one of the few remnants of his nephew in the room. I’m assuming Aisen could only pack the essentials when leaving to join his parents in an ocean circus.
I stand beside Reed as he stares stone-faced at the bed and clings to the plush. I want to say more, but words get caught in my throat. Before I can break the silence, Reed clamps his eyes shut.
“I won’t even get to see him grow up to be fifteen. Or go to college.” His voice goes soft when he whispers, “Or anything, because he’s not my boy anymore.”
Reed’s face crumbles just as my heart shatters along with his. His shoulders slump, and I quickly move in to hold him.
“Hey, hey, Reed, you’re okay.” My own eyes sting as I let him lay his face on my shoulder. His tears moisten my skin, and I rub his back up and down. Reed shivers as I cradle him.
“You’ll still see him again. Shh, shh, it’s okay.” I don’t know what I’m saying as I attempt to support this amazing man emotionally. He sniffs and sobs, so I hold him close, trying to somehow will the pain away.
But no words can soothe a wound this fresh.
“He…he was the only person who cared for me in my family. He made my house a real home, and now…”
