I close my eyes. If I could just focus on somethingelse…
Aunt Karen raps her knuckles against the open door.
“You want to talk about it?”
I peel one eye open and wish I hadn’t. I hate seeing the sympathy in hers.
“It’ll never get better, will it?” It’s a rhetorical question more than anything.
She drops onto the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping with our combined weight.
Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, she says, “I’d like to say that it will. But I don’t know. Loss changes people. His was so big that ever since, he hasn’t been able to see more than two feet ahead of him.”
“This isn’t easy for me either,” I argue to the one person who I know won’t disagree with me. “I wanted her to be here too. Get to grow up with a mom who taught me how to braid my hair instead of having to learn it from YouTube. But I’m here. You’re here. Why can’t he see what he still has?”
A tear drifts down my face and she tightens her grip, giving her support in a squeeze.
“He loves you, Hayes. He’s just not great at showing it.”
When she registers that her words don’t make me feel any better, she changes the subject.
“It’s Friday! You know what that means?”
Grenaldough’s. A place filled with families on the weekend, and our Friday night ritual.
“Actually, do you think you could just pick it up this time? I’d like to invite Dean over.”
She bows. “I’ll be right back.”
Present Day
“Forget about him.”
A soft voice pulls me from the trench I’ve been trapped in since I powered on my phone.
Jack’s message was only five words long, but somehow they mirrored the effect of a steel-toed boot connecting with my chest and collapsing my windpipe.
I blink at Reed and shield my phone from him. “Were you reading my texts?”
“It’s a little hard not to when you’ve got it frozen in the air like that.”
I clutch it to my chest.
“For the record,” he continues, “that girl who fell asleep on my shoulder, the one who smiled at my ridiculous song… any guy would be lucky to spend time with her. This Jack guy doesn’t sound like he deserves you.”
If only he knew it was myfatherwho sent it.
“I can’t argue with that,” I say.
A silence settles in the space between us as we watch the rows ahead empty out.
“So, where are you headed next?” he asks.
I tug the strap of my backpack, freeing it from the floor. When the aisle clears, I stand and look down at him.
“You know, we don’t have to do this.”
He stands too fast and smacks his head on the overhead compartment.
