“Niall—”
“Or don’t, but I do think you need a healthy outlet. Have you considered talking to a therapist at all?”
“I don’t know. That sounds like a lot.”
“It’s not. I mean, I’ve found my sessions really helpful.”
I stop. “You’ve been seeing a therapist? About Michael?”
Niall gives a sad smile. “No. Well, yes. Kind of? It’s an added element to my sessions. It’s a mix of that, prior dating history, my family. I have a lot of trauma and issues that stem from my family, but that’s not a discussion for now. Or ever.”
“Well, if you need someone you don’t need to pay to talk about your family, the door works both ways.”
We stop outside my apartment building. Now that we’re a bit closer to Temple Bar the hum of noise is coming back in.
“I keep having nightmares about Michael.”
Niall takes that in. “Never a good dream? Always a nightmare?”
I nod. “It’s never quite the same, but elements are consistent. I’m always in the condo. And, in the end, Michael is there. Bloodied. Dying.”
“Jesus.”
“And,” I sniffle, “I think what’s really fucked up is that my brain’s imagining him like this. I wasn’t at the scene. I didn’t see him after the accident. My brain is just stuck in this constant loop of guilting me for not being there for him.”
“Stop,” Niall says sternly. He closes the gap between us. “It’s not your fault what happened. You couldn’t control what that driver did, or where Michael was at that moment.”
“Then why can’t I stop feeling like this.”
Niall leans in and wraps his arms around me. My arms slowly criss cross against his back.
“Do you want me to come up and keep you company for a bit? I don’t mind. But also, completely get it if you need some time alone.”
“Thanks, but I definitely could use some alone time to decompress. How about I bring lunch to the shop tomorrow?”
“If you want,” Niall says.
We stand there in the street, holding onto each other. What seems to be each other’s lighthouse on this island of loneliness.
22
The next day I stop by Books and Brews, the store surprisingly the quietest I’ve seen it. Niall’s face lights up as I cross to the counter, and slap down two takeaway containers of Doom Slice.
“My savior,” he says, opening the box in front of him. “How’d you know I was craving…wow, okay. I was literally thinking about the buffalo chicken slice like twenty minutes ago.”
“I just went with one that we haven’t had together yet.”
We move to one of the high-top tables close to the register, in case Niall has to jump up and help a customer.
He eyes my pizza, which is the weekly special. Niall had failed to mention they switch out a slice each week. This is a pickle pizza, which also has pickled red onions and ranch.
“Would you like to halfsies?”
“Yes please.”
Niall talks about the morning as we eat, about how he was slammed for the first two hours and then it’s been quiet. But that he doesn’t mind, as he had a bit of a hangover this morning and most of the bakery case sold out early.
“Are you feeling better this morning? If I’m being an asshole for asking about it, feel free to tell me so.”
