“It’s Theo.”
That doesn’t surprise her. “I figured it was. He’s a nice man.”
He is. He’s also sad. Soul-crushingly sad, and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to help him—or if I even can. My fingers itch to pull my phone back out of my pocket to check and see if he’s messaged me. To call him if he hasn’t.
“He is. I’m not in love with him, though.”
I could be, but that’s not the same as actually being. I live for our texts and our calls, and especially our FaceTime sessions. Even when he’s tired. Even when the light in his eyes is so dim you almost can’t see it.
Especially then, maybe. Because instead of hiding away from me, he’s still here. Still calling. Still texting. Still showing up and fighting, even when it’s hard. Still letting me into his world.
“Maybe not yet,” Mom says, basically reading my thoughts. I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Maybe not yet,” I concede.
“Is he gonna come back for a visit soon?”
I sure hope so. I should call him and invite him to come stay with us for a bit.
“He doesn’t even have to pay this time,” Mom says, lips quirking up.
I smile back at her. “I’ll let him know.”
Afteranotherthreehoursof not hearing from Theo, I step into my bedroom and close the door before calling him.
It rings and rings, and just when I’m sure he isn’t going to pick up, his voice comes over the line, scratchy and dull. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I say softly. “Did I wake you?”
He hums. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though a lead weight sinks into my stomach.
“S’okay. Time is it?”
“Just after noon.”
There’s silence for so long that I worry he might have fallen asleep again, and then, “Wow.”
“Wow?” I sit down at my desk, drumming my fingers on the table. “Whywow?”
“I think I fell asleep at this time yesterday. Hang on. Gotta pee.”
There’s shuffling and then nothing as he—I’m assuming—lays the phone down.
What does he mean he fell asleep at this time yesterday? Has he been asleep for twenty-four hours?
Before I have too much time to spiral, there’s more shuffling, and then my phone dings with an incoming FaceTime call.
I accept, and my heart nearly jumps into my throat. “Are you okay?” I ask without a chance of stopping it.
“Fine,” Theo says, looking anything but.
His normally tanned skin is pale. His eyes are sunken with black bags under them, his waterlines red and irritated like he’s been crying. His cheeks are gaunt. He didn’t look this bad the last time we FaceTimed.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“If you’re going to interrogate me, I’m going to hang up. I’m fine.”
