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The mother waves goodbye one last time before sending me a steely glare. Oh, maybe she could hear me. “Shit.”
A very small huff of a laugh comes out of Noah, who is watching me, his eyes twinkling in the same way our Dad’s once did when he teased us. I smile at him, elated that he laughed. I should probably feel ashamed for yelling at the sweet mother in front of us, but I feel nothing but joy. And maybe a little hope, that we, me and Noah, will eventually be besties again.
He looks away, opening the car door and shuffling out. Right before he closes the door, he turns to look at me. “You owe a dollar to the sassy jar.”
I’d forgotten about the jar. When I first moved here to be with Noah, I realized how much of a potty mouth I was, not used to being around kids. In an attempt to clean up my act, I told him I’d put a dollar in a jar every time I swore, and if it ever filled up, we’d do something extra fun. Like go to a movie… or at the rate I’m going, fly to Paris for a luxury vacation. I’m not sure I can actually afford the sassy jar. Once again, a familiar pang of regret wrenches my gut… had I not moved away, we’d be closer. Had I not moved away, we’d feel more comfortable around each other.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
“Two dollars,” he whispers, just before closing the door. Walking toward the school without even a look, or a smile, back in my direction. But he talked to me, even made a joke.
Despite being two dollars poorer, I drive away feeling like I’ve won the day.
* * *
“You look rough,” my coworker, Ronda, says to me when I slump down into a chair in the tiny break room. It’s almost three and I finally have time to eat my lunch. There’s no need for a large break room for ICU nurses, seeing as we hardly have breaks, anyway.
I look at Ronda, her royal-blue scrubs identical to mine. Her dark eyes that seem to sparkle like starlight against her dark skin, are half teasing and half concerned. She’s twenty years my senior, and yet, my closest friend here in D.C.
I shoot her a small smile, too tired for any witty comebacks.
She tucks a silver-grey curl behind her ear, one that escaped from her neat bun. “How much sleep have you been getting?”
I scoff. “I’m a nurse. I don’t even need sleep!”
Her lips purse, obviously not fooled by my sarcasm. “And when’s the last time you got out of the house for something other than work?”
I look up at the drab hospital ceiling, calculating in my head how long it’s been since I had a good night’s sleep or got together with friends.
“And how about a date?” Ronda’s voice filters through my thoughts. “When’s the last time a man took you to bed, hmm?”
“Ronda!” I gasp, rising from my seat and bringing my hand to my chest.
She sighs heavily, but I know she worries about me. About Noah. “You know I’m always here to watch Noah for you. We live on the same street. All you have to do is ask, Andie.”
I nod, appreciating her kindness, but quickly look away from those dark eyes that seem to pierce through my soul. I make myself busy by closing the distance between myself and the fridge, then remove my pb&j.
Ronda clears her throat, drawing my attention. Her head tilts to the side, gesturing at a Jimmy John’s bag on the table next to her.
I sniff, pretending to cry. Ronda shakes her head, trying not to laugh. “Don’t start.”
It’s too late, I’m already serenading her with my own rendition of an old Rod Stewart song. By the time my solo is finished, I’m smothering her in a hug.
She pushes out of my grasp. “Just hurry up and eat, you have maybe seven and a half minutes to shove that sub down your face.”
“True,” I concede.
Ronda rises from her seat to leave, when she passes me she grabs the pb&j out of my hand and tosses it in the trash on her way out. The break room is quiet now, aside from the beeps and quick footsteps right outside the door. I realize how little time I have to myself to think, and the quiet that once seemed normal, now feels overwhelming. Like instead of sensory overload, it’s the opposite. It feels weird… eerie even. In nine months, I’ve grown accustomed to the small sounds of living with my much younger brother. The ball he tosses against his wall before catching it again, the sound of his footsteps upstairs when I’m in the kitchen, the rustling of papers as he does his homework.
I know I could ask for help, and I do. But Ronda already helps so much, I hate imposing on her just so I can go out and… what, exactly? Pick up men? Get a pedicure? It all feels so shallow and pointless now. Plus, I can’t trust myself to take my eyes off of Noah when I don’t absolutely have to. Which is why I insist on driving him to school, even though he thinks I’m super embarrassing.
My heart thuds inside my chest, the familiar feeling of overwhelming sadness. That cloud fogging up my mind, making it seem like I’ll never see the sun again. I take a deep breath and think of three good things. Noah, my job, a reliable vehicle.
With another breath, I begin eating my lunch quickly, pushing all other thoughts aside.
CHAPTER 3
MITCH
