He remains beside me as the bus takes off.
"Here." He shoves something at me. It's a napkin from the hotdog place. I take it and wipe my nose, then use the back of my hand to dry my cheeks.
A few stops later I feel Dean's hand wrap around my arm. "Let's go."
He's going with me? Why? It's still light out. He doesn't need to walk me home.
We get off the bus and walk in silence to my building. I swipe my card over the security panel and open the door. Dean follows me inside.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Do you want me to leave?"
I pause, then shake my head.
"Then let's go." He takes my hand and walks me to the elevator.
My head feels foggy as I stand there waiting for the doors to open, overwhelmed with sadness from seeing that girl and her dad, and confused why Dean is here, and why I asked him to stay.
We ride the elevator up to my floor and walk down the dark narrow hallway to the apartment. We go inside and I head to the bathroom to clean up my face and blow my nose.
When I return to the living room Dean is on the couch, his body taking up almost half of it.
"Want to watch TV?"
"Not really." I stand by the couch. "What are you doing here?"
"You told me to stay."
"But why did you get off at my stop?"
"Because..." He shrugs. "I don't know."
"You're lying." I sit beside him. "Tell me why."
He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I don't like seeing you sad, okay? Just let it go. I don't want to talk about it." He leans forward to the coffee table. "Where's your remote?"
"Forget the TV." I hold onto his arm. "Why does it bother you to see me sad?"
He leans back. "It just does, okay? I don't know why."
"Is it because you might, maybe, think of me as a friend?" I ask, half-smiling.
He stares straight ahead. "Why would I be friends with some girl I have nothing in common with?"
"We have stuff in common."
"Like what?"
"We both have parents who took off."
"Yeah? So? A lot of people have shitty parents."
I really want to know what happened to his parents. When I asked, he just said they took off but he didn't say where. He seemed angry that I asked so I didn't keep prying.
"We both like hotdogs," I say.
"Everyone likes hotdogs. It's just that some people won't admit it."
