Not in a suffocating way. Not like he’s policing me.
Just…quietly.
He’ll put a plate in front of me and sit down with his own like it’s normal. Like we’re just two people having dinner and not two people trying to survive a disaster.
And when I pick at my food, he doesn’t tell me I need to eat.
He says, “You want to trade?” like it’s a joke.
Or he’ll slide my favorite crackers onto my side of the table without looking at me, like it’s casual.
Or he’ll take one bite of his own food and go, “Okay, this is disgusting. You have to try it so I’m not suffering alone.”
And somehow…I end up chewing.
Swallowing.
Keeping my body alive even when my brain isn’t sure it wants to be.
I hate that I need him for that.
I hate it almost as much as I love it.
Because the truth is, without Logan, the silence in the house would’ve swallowed me whole.
Cameron is trying. I can feel it. I can see it in the way he lingers in doorways, in the way he keeps asking if I want something from the store even when he doesn’t actually want to go anywhere.
But Cameron grieves like he fights—tight-jawed, forward-facing, built for impact. He disappears into the gym. He goes for drives. He comes home and stares at the TV like it owes him answers.
He’s here, but he’s…not.
And Logan?
Logan is present in a way that’s almost unbearable.
He’ll sit on the floor beside the couch even when the couch has plenty of room. He’ll lean his shoulder against my knee and scroll his phone like he’s relaxed, like this is normal.
He’ll say something stupid under his breath just to see if it drags a reaction out of me.
Sometimes it does.
Sometimes it doesn’t.
He stays anyway.
And I’m starting to realize something that scares me more than grief:
I’m starting to lean.
Not in a dramatic, falling kind of way.
But in a quiet one.
A slow shift of weight I don’t even notice until I’m already relying on him to hold me up.
My steps slow as I reach the end of the block. There’s a tiny park up ahead—more of a patch of grass with a bench and a tired-looking tree than an actual park, but it’s quiet.
I head toward it because quiet is what I need.
