Michael
“What are you doing for parents’ weekend?” Freddie asked me, three days later.
It was a simple question. A normal question for one roommate to ask another.
Yet, the impact of his words made me stumble. I dropped the glass I was drying into the sink, a loud clunk echoing in our place. “Shit.”
The glass broke, and I picked up the pieces and started carrying them to our trash. My heart thudded against my ribcage, and each foot felt a million pounds heavier. He had no idea about my past. Why would he? I kept that shit locked up.
“Dude, you alright?” He stood from the couch and entered the small kitchen. Our unit was simple with two sides of the place that we each took up—our own bathroom and room—then a shared living room and kitchen area. Comfortable. Clean. It reflected the life I imagined here, free of the messes I left back home.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, my muscles tensing as I braced for him to ask the question again. I hated how I struggled with an answer. The truth wasn’t complicated, but saying it out loud felt personal. Too personal. The line I drew around myself to keep out emotions got blurry. Mainly due to Naomi, who still hadn’t called me, but I shoved the uncomfortable feelings about her away.
If I was going to ride the hot mess express today, I only wanted to deal with one issue at a time. “Slipped from my fingers,” I said, picking up the final pieces and rinsing off a little blood. “Hope that didn’t have sentimental value.”
“It was a hand-me-down from my sister when she went to school here. Zero value.” Freddie leaned against the kitchen wall and crossed his arms. “You okay?”
“Sure, it was a minor cut,” I said, forcing my face to relax. His lowered brows told me he saw right through my façade, and I barked out a laugh. “Thanks for checking on me though.”
“No, I meant about parents’ weekend. I don’t want to pry—”
“I’m fine,” I said, way too quickly. He raised his dark brows and pushed off the wall. He was the same height as me, just a little leaner, and I wasn’t sure if his proximity was supposed to make me feel caged in, but it did.
He held up his hands. “You have anyone coming into town?”
“My parents are dead.”
I did it again. The tone. The absolute talent of making the entire room fill with sadness and discomfort. Ryann had a gift of being able to talk about our past without alienating herself. I preferred being on the ice and the protection of the team, a shield from the emotions. Something I didn’t have any more. But Freddie’s reaction was like all the others. He paled, shifted his weight, and frowned.
The next question would be how, so I answered without being prompted, “From a car accident about four years ago.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his face. “That’s horrible.”
“Yeah.”
“You want to attend any events with me and my folks? My dad is extra as hell. Has a full matching outfit with school colors and even dyes his hair.”
It felt like a hand reached into my chest and squeezed my heart hard. My voice stopped working, and he backtracked.
“If you want,” he said. “No pressure.”
I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the invite. I didn’t realize it was next weekend.”
I had a unique talent of blocking out anything that reminded me of home, my family, and their death. Now that he mentioned it, flyers around campus came to mind, but my brain protected me and blurred the words. Now it made sense. The extra energy around campus, the older people slowly showing up everywhere.
“Yeah, with the hockey game and the football team both at home, a lot of parents will be there in their orange and blue. They draw a bunch of fans,” Freddie said, clearly uncomfortable if his fidgeting and hand movements were any indication.
My face heated, and I focused on the ground, annoyed that I wasn’t like my sister. She brought out the best in people when she shared her grief while I brought out the cringey-awkward part.
“I should—” I said, gripping the back of my neck hard just as Freddie cleared his throat. “Go,” I finished.
He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave me a long look that reminded me of my old coach. Like he saw right through my bullshit and was going to raise the stakes. “I want to respect your walls, Michael, but you don’t have to shoulder all of this alone. I know we’re roommates, but I view you as a friend. If you want to chat, I’m here.”
Fuck, my throat got weird. I nodded. His face relaxed, and he pushed off the wall, leaving the silence not as uncomfortable as it was before. The idea of opening up to him about everything made me break out in hives, but the fact he knew now felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. A boulder-sized weight.
I finished picking up the pieces of glass and got a text from Coach—he wanted to grab a drink that night to discuss my classes. I responded right away and instantly thought about his dinner with Naomi. Did they have a good time? Was she happy about it? Did she talk with Cami yet?
I needed to run, to work out the feelings manifesting inside me. I grabbed headphones, put on running shorts, and headed out. It was still warm for an October day, part of the weather holding onto that summer humidity, and I took my shirt off after the first mile.
