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I walk into a room that is less pink than mine but still has pink accents here and there. I never particularly loved pink, but I always liked anything that made my grandfather wince. The walls in this room are a bright sea-foam green, and I bought colorful print art to put on the wall. A couple tasteful vases with high-end fake flowers perch on end tables here and in the foyer. All the rooms in my wing are like this. Sabra and I went through a decorating phase when we were fifteen.
An overstuffed couch and a bed with a thick white duvet finish out the room.
“It’s nice in here,” Layden says, looking around.
I nod, satisfied. No one else has been here besides Sabra and me.
“Did you ever see your mother again? Or your father?”
Any happy feelings the colorful space briefly inspires quickly sour at his question.
“No.” I walk over to the little half-kitchenette that’s really just a sink, a half-fridge, and a microwave and wash my hands. “But I imagine them out there happy wherever they are.”
“They were good to you when you lived with them.”
“Yes.” I scrub at my hands even though they’re not really that dirty. Washing my hands at the hand pump with a rough little bar of soap back at the cabin might have been annoying, but it had done the job.
“Do you miss them?”
I dry my hands on the little hanging towel more vigorously than might be strictly necessary before swinging around to look at Layden. “Does it matter? They’re out there, wherever they are, and I’m here. They’re safe; that’s what matters.”
Layden just stares at me.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asks.
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like you’re sorry for me.”
“That is not what I was thinking at all.”
“Then what are you thinking?”
“That it must have been wonderful to have a mother and father that you cared for and who cared for you. You love them. They love you. And I’m sure they are not happy wherever they are because you are not there.”
He says all this, so matter of fact. I love them, and they love me. I hadn’t thought about all these things in so long, but being back here after I briefly hoped I might be free of it, even briefly—
I burst into stupid tears.
Layden immediately comes closer, and I turn away from him. I never cry.
“What is happening? Are you hurt? Did I do something wrong?”
I cry harder and wrench away from him when he puts a hand on my shoulder. I don’t cry. Why the fuck am I crying?
“Phoenix,” he says, and I hear his pain and confusion in the word.
I spin and throw myself against his chest. He just stands frozen for a long moment. But then his arms come around me. I melt against him, sobbing, and he holds me tighter.
How long has it been since anyone held me like this? I mean, sometimes Sabra and I hug hello, but it’s not like this. This absolute enveloping clench of safety while I just totally lose my shit. I continue sobbing, and Layden’s arms are so strong and sure as he holds me close, his chin notching over my head until I feel all but swallowed up in his embrace.
For the first time in forever, I feel safe. I realize the last time I felt this way was when I was a child and my mother hugged me when I was sick. Which only makes me sob harder.
Layden rubs my back and makes soothing noises until finally, hiccupping, my crying calms down.
