Unless we decided to date . . . in secret? Lord knows I can’t keep a secret to save my life. That would last a day then everyone at the school would know.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says, waiting patiently.
I take a beat. “I’m thinking I feel the same way. I like you.” Her smile stretches across her face in response. “I don’t know how else to put into words what I’m thinking.”
“Just try thinking out loud.”
I stare at her, unable to form words at her statement. A phrase my mom told me growing up anytime I was unable to communicate—think out loud, Bayani. She would sit beside me, and wait as her seven-year-old son would fumble over his thoughts and emotions, not making sense, backtracking, and second guessing his feelings, until finally making sense of what was going on in his brain. The simple task of just saying exactly what was crossing my mindout loud. And it always worked.
Except now, of course.
Now I was stunned over what Eleanor just said—what my momused to say. My feelings are tangled like wires and I don’t know which one to pull at to start untying them.
“I don’t think I can,” I say looking down at our hands gripping the other’s.
“Do you want to try?”
Clearing my throat. “My mom used to say that . . . ‘Think out loud.’” I pause and Ellie watches me, no pressure, no ulterior motive, just listening. There’s a reason she’s good at her job, but in this moment, I know she’s not viewing me like one of her students or someone sharing their dirty secrets. She’s here forme, letting me be heard. It’s been a long time since anyone has seemed even a tiny bit interested in hearing me talk—people usually like to hear themselves talk. I’ve grown to accept that I have this reputation of being a good listener, the one everyone goes to when they need reassurance or affirmation. I don’t mind doing it, but over time you can’t help but hope for someone to be that for you.
After I lost my parents, Patsy was my listener. Patsy was there for everything. Until last year when she planned her retirement and I took on more responsibilities. I don’t blame her, it’s not her job to make me feel better about myself. But there is only so much a person can give of themselves without anything in return, before they start to feel empty and hollow. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized I’ve been hollowed out. Words evade me again as this awareness clouds my brain.
“Tell me about your mom and dad, what were they like?” she says after a beat. Her eyes are genuine, and without pity. Saving a man’s dignity as she asks him about his dead parents.
“They died when I was thirteen.” I clear my throat, my eyes feel blurry. “I haven’t talked about them in a long time.”
I pause, words gone . . . again.
She squeezes my hands, drawing circles with her thumbs.
“Think out loud,” I whisper, chuckling at myself.
“Well . . .” She pauses, letting go of my hands and I feel an ache at the emptiness it leaves. “I know sharing feelings can be difficult and I don’t want you to feel pressured to share with me. But Iamhere and ready to listen . . . whatever your thoughts may be.”
“I just don’t know who to share those with anymore. Who tothink out loudwith.” I look up at the stars, knowing my mom is there, waiting patiently for me to share.
“I understand.” She hooks her arm around mine. “You have to find your people. The ones who give more than they take. The people who bring you joy when you can’t seem to find it on your own”—she leans her head on my shoulder—“The ones youknowwill accept that we are all human, with a complex brain full of thoughts and emotions that need to be worked through without judgment. I guess . . . those are the ones who matter . . . the people you can think out loud in front of.”
I take a deep breath as we sit there. Her words swarming in my head.
I wonder if she knows that she’s someone I want to think out loud in front of, that she’s someone who matters to me.
Chapter sixteen
Ellie
“Soyou’retellingmesomethinghappened between you two, but you don’t know what?”
Kate paces in her living room as we dissect my conversation with Benny from a few nights ago. She is animated and frustrated as we talk, and Dolly Parton, her Golden Retriever, is resting her head on my lap.
“I don’t know. We glazed over the topic for a moment then got a little side tracked.” I smile, reminiscing on the time I spent with him.
The vulnerability he had with me was more than I expected and the fact that I couldn’t get enough of him and his life story was bewildering to me. I always try to be attentive when someone is sharing their story with me—it’s literally my job. So, whether it’s boring or exciting, I’m inclined to be fully present and responsive.
But with Benny, it was more than that . . . it was enthralling.
And it’s not like he has this crazy life story or anything, he hasn’t been to a foreign country other than his family home in the Philippines, he hasn’t solved some medical mystery, no famous cousins he can brag about, just Benny. Simple, sweet Benny who lost his parents at a young age. Benny, who was average in school, but still tried. The guy who showed me his shuffle dancing abilities without any embarrassment. A guy who hasn’t touched alcohol since he was twenty-two and caused an accident.
He was the tipsy designated driver for his belligerent friends. He was taking them home late after a party, and turned to tell them to calm down in the backseat, before losing control and hitting another car head on. Everyone walked away with minor injuries, but Benny still feels the burden of it.
