I nod, a small grin tugging at my lips. “I can’t help it. She makes everything better just by being around. I just want to return the favor sometimes.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but I know she gets it. I finish steeping the tea and mash the raspberries in, stirring carefully. The scent of tea and berries fills the kitchen, a warm, familiar comfort.
The drive to the Feely house feels like it takes hours. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, but I can’t seem to loosen my hold. My thoughts keep racing ahead of me. All I can think about is Kenna, curled up in her bed, sick, upset, or both. I want to know why she’s like this. I want to help her, but I don’t even know where to begin.
Every red light feels like a lifetime, and every second the engine hums under me is a reminder that I’m running out of time to do something right. I catch myself glancing at my phone, hoping for a message from her. A sign that she’s okay. But there’s nothing. Just silence.
I’d told myself I wouldn’t let it get to me, but it’s not working. Every time I try to shake off the worry, I just picture her crying, her face pressed into the pillows, her shoulders shaking. I have to remind myself to focus, to breathe. I can’t mess this up. She needs me, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.
I try to think about something else. Anything else. The math test I flunked last week, the stupid argument with my mom—but none of it sticks. It’s like Kenna’s pain is a shadow that’s wrapped around me, tugging me back to the same place: her room, her tears.
I park in the driveway and sit for a moment before I even get out of the car. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my mind is a swirl of concern and guilt. Why didn’t I notice sooner that she wasn’t here? That something was off? Why do I always have to play catch-up with Kenna? I want to do more than just show up with a care package. I want tofixthings for her, but I don’t even know what’s wrong. It makes me feel powerless, and I hate it.
I stare out the windshield at the quiet street, trying to steadymyself. The basket beside me feels heavy, like a promise I’m not sure I can keep. What if she pushes me away? What if I’m too late?
But as I grab the basket from the passenger seat, the weight of it in my hands somehow grounds me. This is something I can do. Maybe it’s small, maybe it’s not enough, but it’s something. I can be there for her. I can be the one thing in her life that stays constant, no matter what.
I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. This isn’t just about snacks or care packages. It’s about showing her she’s not alone, even when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
I walk up to the front door, the sound of my footsteps muffled on the porch. I take a deep breath and knock softly, my heart thumping in my ears. Claire answers almost immediately, her face lighting up in surprise when she sees me standing there.
“Oh, Cole,” she says, her voice kind but cautious. “What brings you by?”
I hold up the basket, a little sheepish. “Kenna’s not feeling great, and I thought I’d bring her something. I wasn’t sure what she’d want, but I figured...I don’t know. Something to cheer her up.”
Claire’s eyes soften, the concern clear on her face. “That’s sweet of you. She could use some cheering up. Kenna’s in her room. Even though she’s not feeling well, I’m certain she will still appreciate the gesture.”
“Thanks, Claire,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice steady. I’m scared to ask how long Kenna’s been like this, scared of the answer.
The smell of home hits me as I walk through the door, familiar and comforting in a way that I didn’t realize I needed. The house feels warm, lived-in. I glance around the hallway, my mind flickering back to memories of sitting in the living room, Kenna curled up beside me with a blanket, her hair falling over her face, that soft, content smile she gets when she’s not worried about anything. I haven’t seen that smile in a while.
I feel like I’ve been a stranger in her life for too long, and iteats at me every damn day. But maybe today I can fix that. Maybe today, I can be the one to take care of her, even if it’s just for a little while.
I make my way up the stairs, the house eerily quiet. It feels too still. Normally, the noise of her older brothers and sisters moving about would fill the space. But today, it’s almost like the air itself is holding its breath.
The wooden steps creak softly under my feet, a lonely sound in the heavy silence. I pause halfway up, listening for any sounds coming from her room like laughter, music, or footsteps, but there’s nothing. Just the steady beat of my heart, and the faint hum of the heater.
I stop in front of her door. The weight of the moment settles in, heavy on my shoulders.
I knock gently. “Kenna?” My voice is low, uncertain. “It’s me.”
There’s a pause, and then I hear a faint shuffle of movement inside. She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear her shift under the blankets, a soft sigh escaping her lips. I push the door open a little, just enough to peek inside, and my heart drops into my stomach.
She’s curled up in a ball, her back facing me, her knees tucked up against her chest, her shoulders shaking in time with her quiet sobs. The sight of her like this hits me harder than anything else I’ve ever seen. I’ve always known Kenna to be strong. Stronger than anyone I know. Right now she looks small, fragile, like she’s barely holding it together. And it breaks me.
I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling like I want to disappear and hold her at the same time. I’ve never seen her like this. The Kenna who laughs too loud, who challenges everyone, who never backs down. Where did she go?
I step into the room, my voice soft, almost a whisper. “Sunshine, please tell me how I can help you.”
She doesn’t immediately look up. For a moment, I stand there, unsure what to do. Her breathing is shaky, uneven, like she’s trying to keep herself together, but it’s not working. Mychest tightens with every sound she makes, the quiet sobs breaking me a little more with each one.
I want to say something smart, something that’ll fix this. But all I can do is stand there, feeling the weight of her pain fill the small room.
When she finally lifts her head, her eyes are red and swollen from crying. There’s a rawness to her expression, something fragile and vulnerable that I’m not used to seeing. And even though I’ve always known Kenna to be strong, I can’t deny how much it hurts to see her like this. She’s never been one to ask for help, to show weakness, but here she is—showing me everything she’s been hiding.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice rough. “Just hold me. Don’t leave.”
A hard swallow tightens my throat, and my heart aches for her. Whatever’s going on in her head is a mystery to me. I wish I could take it all away, wish I could fix whatever this is, but I know I can’t. If all I can do is hold her, that’s what I do.
