And now I’ve got the shit from my mom swirling around in my head. Plus, if I’m going to not be an awful guest, I’m going to have to sit and eat dinner with a table full of people I don’t know and smile and talk and pretend that everything is okay. Which it’s not.
I’m usually good at pretending. But I’m also just fucking exhausted.
This might be a really, really horrible night.
With a deep breath, I try to push everything down, somewhere that no one, not even Alex, will see. Then I stuff my phone and keys in my pocket, climb out of the car, and head inside.
As soon as I open the door, all my resolve drains away. They’re loud. Whoever they are. There’s laughing and chatter and too many unknown voices. My racing heart backfires, and it’s annoying and painful, the pounding in my chest. I almost can’t move for a moment, and I just stand there in the doorway as the voices continue.
Then I hear my name. It’s Alex’s mom, but I can’t look up. Why can’t I look up?
“Oh, good, Nico, you’re home. Come on over here and say hello! These are my cousins, Jerry and—”
Alex’s voice cuts in, a clear reprimand in his tone. “Mom, not now.”
I swallow hard and force myself to lift my eyes. Alex is on his way over to me, his eyes full of concern. He mouths a quick “sorry” and then stops right in front of me, blocking my view of everyone else, and offers me a small smile.
“Sorry, my mom’s just excited to have everyone here. Are you...” His smile falters as he studies me, and I lower my eyes back to the floor. I feel him turn away, and then he says, “Mom, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Nico and I are heading upstairs for a bit. Okay?”
There’s no verbal response, but his hand settles low on my back, warm and solid, and he guides me forward, to the stairs. A moment later, we’re in his room, and he shuts the door behind us.
“Sorry about that. My mom, uh, well, she’s had a few glasses of wine this afternoon. She gets kinda forgetful when she’s tipsy.”
“Yeah, um . . . it’s okay.”
He mumbles something that’s a little too quiet for me to hear, but then his hand is there again, on my lower back. “You look tired. Here, sit,” he says softly, and he presses his hand into me, helping me move toward the bed. “Do you, um, want to talk? What... what happened? Didsomething happen?”
My stomach churns as I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed. He sits next to me, and I close my eyes, wishing, just like I had last night. Wishing he’d touch me again, hold me, comfort me.
And this time, he doesn’t back away. He scoots closer until his shoulder is touching mine, and then his hand settles carefully on my upper back.
“Nico?”
He rubs gently along my back, the motion slow and light, and I let out a shuddering breath and lean into him as a wave of relief saps the last of my energy.
“I’m just so tired.” My head drops onto his shoulder, and I close my eyes. His hand continues to stroke along my back and up around my shoulders until he’s holding me. And it feels so good, just like I knew it would. I sigh and relax into him. “This is good, though.”
There’s a quiet chuckle. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” My voice is muffled as I bury my head in his shoulder, and for half a second, he seems to tense a little. But then his arm tightens around me, and he chuckles again.
“Good. I’m glad,” he says. I’m probably imagining how soft and low his voice has gotten. And how he gently lays his head on top of mine. And his tenderness as his hand caresses up and down my arm.
But if I’m not imagining it, this has to be the best way to spend time after work.
I sigh into him and pull my feet up onto the bed as I kick off my shoes. And he keeps holding me as I start talking quietly. I tell him how exhausting work was and how awful my mom was on the phone. I tell him how I’m worried I might lose my phone number and how everything feels so hopeless sometimes, like I don’t even know which way is up or how to move forward from here.
He just listens and keeps holding me, and when I’m done, hetakes a long breath. His voice is filled with that same softness I might have been imagining earlier as he promises me I’m not alone and that he’s here for me. Then he quietly suggests that if I’m not feeling like I can or want to socialize tonight, he can bring some dinner up.
But I’m too tired to eat, even. I feel him frown when I tell him that, and I quickly walk it back. Maybe I can manage, I say. And when he asks if I’m sure, I nod and say “yeah.”
I can try, anyway. I can try and pretend for a little bit longer. For him.
Dinnerisfuckinghorrible.I mean, not the food, although I’m really not hungry enough to enjoy it, and I only eat most of what’s on my plate because I know Alex is watching. But the conversation is hard to be around. Alex’s cousins seem nice enough, but they’re all drinking, and it’s kinda noisy and high-energy. It’s not bad, really.
It’s just me.
I can’t handle things, like loud, lively conversation with people I don’t know. Especially tonight. I’m on edge the whole time. Pretending hard. Pretending not to flinch every time someone laughs too loudly. Pretending to be engaged. Pretending not to be sick to my stomach.
