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I run my hand through her hair. She lets out a soft moan and presses her eyes closed. She wants more, a quick end to this conversation followed by a thorough distraction, but I can't give that to her.
I'm not going to help her run away from her feelings.
"You've been alone your whole life," I say. "You found a way to get through a hard time. There's nothing pathetic about it."
She nods like she almost sort of believes me.
We sit there until the sky is dark and the stars are bright.
Until I'm sure she believes me.
***
I make dinner. A bland dinner, at Alyssa's request. She's certain the meal will be awkward, that I'm going to stare at her like a guard watching a prisoner.
It's not entirely comfortable. I watch her more closely than I mean to, but she doesn't call me on it. Hell, maybe she appreciates the concern.
After dinner we watch a movie on the couch. The Apartment, one of her favorites, though she's partial to anything directed by Billy Wilder. Sometimes I wonder where she found the time to see so many movies and read so many books. Hell, she's almost as well versed in film as my mother was.
But then I remember that she spent so much of her life alone. Even when she thought she had someone, she was alone. That must be such a deep hurt.
Her mood lightens. She wraps her arms around me, laughing and gasping at all the appropriate parts of the movie.
And then my phone rings.
Alyssa brings her eyes to me. "At this time, it must be her."
"I'll turn it off."
She pushes herself up and moves to the opposite side of the couch. "What if she just attempted suicide again?"
"That's ridiculous."
She folds her arms. "Not that ridiculous."
"I'll text her that I'll call back later. I want to spend my night with you."
A little joy returns to her face, but she doesn't say anything. My phone is on the kitchen table. Missed call from Samantha Brooks. I send her a text.
I'm working late. I'll call you back tomorrow. Is everything okay?
She replies almost instantly. I guess so, but I'd like to talk to you. It's important.
I look over to the couch. Alyssa has her hand pressed against her chin. She's trying to keep her attention on the TV, but she has one eye on me.
Whatever Samantha wants, it will have to wait. I set my phone on the table and move back to the couch.
Alyssa reaches for me. She presses her hand against mine. "I was snooping before you got here."
"Is that a habit?"
She nods. "You have so much of Samantha's stuff in that office." She turns to me, her eyes connecting with mine.
"Do you want the office?"
She swallows. "It seems like a waste of a room."
"What if it was your room?"
