Mrs. Jackson is solid as she speaks only to him. Steady enoughfor the both of them. “They always did think they had us fooled,” she says simply.
Then she raises their interlocked hands to kiss his weathered flesh. And I know, just now, I’ve watched her choose this version of her husband, all over again.
—
Ro’s parents leave in a rush. An easy morning turned dark, and Ro’s mood turned right along with it. He hardly said a word as he helped them into their car. Speaking only enough to promise his mom he’d be by later to check in.
When it’s just the two of us upstairs again, I leave space for him the same way he’s done for me so many times. He’s folded onto the edge of the couch, elbows at his knees, palms steepled around his nose and mouth like an oxygen mask.
I should leave too. He never asked me to come in the first place, and he certainly hasn’t asked me to stay. But I can’t find the words to suggest it, and I can’t make my body move from this spot beside him.
Ro’s hands scrub at his face, until the pads of both palms settle over his eyes. And though he’s not making a sound, I know he’s crying.
“This is his,” he says finally, pinching back tears he never let fall. “All of it. This apartment, this garage.”
Ro’s long legs sprawl wide as he sinks deeper into the couch cushions.
“When I was little, we couldn’t get him outta here. That’s where Sunday brunch came from. Pops would work straight through the weekend if my mom didn’t force him to stop for a meal.”
A small laugh escapes at a passing memory, but just as quickly as it comes, it’s gone again.
“Now when he’s here, I gotta damn near babysit so he doesn’t get hurt. Or hurt somebody else. How fucked-up is that?”
For the first time since he started speaking, Ro looks at me, and the pain on his beautiful face is so out of place, so wrong, I can hardly make sense of it. I have to stop myself from turning away.
I hate seeing him like this. But I won’t abandon him.
His arms fall wide onto the back of the couch, and though he’s not touching me, I feel the heat of his arm at my back.
“Dementia?” I ask, finally speaking the word that’s been running through my mind for the past hour.
Ro nods. “It’s better when he’s working. Keeping his hands busy, being in the garage. It helps, I think.” His lips press into a harsh line like he’s trying to hold himself together when he says, “Fifty-six years old.”
I want to yell about how unfair it is—about how none of them deserve any of this, but I’m too busy putting the pieces in place.
“That’s why you came back.”
It’s not a question, it’s an understanding. Ro didn’t have to do it. He has a whole life in the city—I’ve seen it—but his family needed him home. So he came.
Ro’s fingers draw a lazy path along the length of my neck. Barely skimming my curls, before returning to the fabric at my back. I stifle my shiver, but can’t calm the goosebumps that bloom in his wake.
“Just till we get somebody to help out full-time. It’s too much for my mom to manage the garage and him. But even with their insurance, home care is expensive as hell. And he’s not ready to have somebody in his business like that anyway.” Ro’s smile is sad when he looks at me. I can feel how mucheffort the gesture requires. “How’s he supposed to go from being everybody’sPopsto being…”
“I get it,” I say, to save him from having to say it out loud. If only I could save him from having to live it. “I can’t even imagine.”
My words don’t begin to express what I feel for Ro, for this family that deserves so much better. I want to tell Ro that it’s okay, that itwillbe okay, but those words are even emptier. They’re lies. And I won’t lie to him now—not after he trusted me with his truth.
My hand finds Ro’s leg, and I mean for it to be a show of support, of comfort, but this is also the first time we’ve been alone since last night. The first time we’ve touched since our kiss. And it’s the first time I’ve felt brave enough to lean into Ro and kiss him again.
Last night, we’d been hurried. Greedy. Now, when our lips touch, it’s feather-light, but it’s everything. All the things we haven’t said, all the times we didn’t touch, all the promises we haven’t made. Everything’s here now. Another question awaiting its answer.
23
My lips sweep against Ro’s.Tender and teasing until his lavish mouth awakens, parting wide against mine. Heavy with dormant want. Our tongues entangle and desire shoots down my core. Tearing through me like a flaming wick—igniting my body and singeing every nerve ending in its path. Exposing me till there’s nothing left butfeeling.Nothing left but Ro.
Heat and electricity thrum in my veins and spark in the air between us. I exhale Ro’s name into our kiss and he buries his fingers in my hair to deepen our connection. The pads of his thumbs massage the supple skin at my temples before Ro breaks away to study me.
I rest my head in his strong hand, turning to press a kiss into his palm for safe keeping. When I face him again, we’re bound only by the tips of our noses and the whisper of each panting breath as our heaving chests find air. A moan escapes with my contented sigh, and when a single finger grazes my mouth, my eyes flutter closed. Ro traces my lips, plump from pressure and glistening in anticipation. He’s mapping me the way I did with him last night. I would’ve expected to be embarrassed by the tenderness, but I can’t be. Not with him.
