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He steps inside. Presses the door closed with his back. He looks the same as always—jeans, t-shirt, bare feet—but there's something different about him today. An expression. I don't know how else to explain it.
"Kay." He moves to me. Drops to his knees in front of me. His palm presses against my cheek. A tear catches on his thumb. "What's wrong, angel?"
I want to collapse in his arms and tell him everything. Not just Grandma but all the other ugly stuff in my head. Those words are clutching at my throat.
I need someone to know.
I need them to know and to stay.
"Grandma. I don't know. She keeps saying she's okay. That Mom is over-reacting. That she has plenty of time. But I don't know if I believe her."
He takes my hand between his. Rubs the space between my thumb and forefinger with his thumb. "I'm sorry, Kay."
"Thanks." I blink and a tear catches on my lashes. I've been pushing this away for so long. Can I really hit the release valve? I might overflow. "I just... I don't know what to do. Everyone is treating me like a kid. Like they need to protect me from reality. So I don't know how bad it is. If she's dying... how am I supposed to live in the world without her?"
His eyes meet mine. He nods. An I'm listening kind of nod.
I like that he does that.
That he lets me talk.
Okay, I like almost everything about him.
More even.
"She was my first friend," I say. "She taught me so much. And she's still my confidant. As much as Em is. As much as you are."
"I remember her. She was—"
"Weird?"
His laugh is soft. "Yeah. Fun."
"She is. She's bold and strong and alive. How can someone like that be dying?"
He rubs my hand with his thumb. "It happens to all of us. I know that doesn't help. But—"
"I know. I just... I don't want it to be her. She's supposed to be around to read my first novel. To see my college graduation. To see my wedding. To meet my... well, I don't know if I'll have kids. But if I do. Their lives will be so much richer if they can meet her." I blink back another tear. "I'm sorry. You don't... you don't have anything and I'm—"
"It's not a contest."
"But—"
"Even if it was, you love your Grandma. She loves you. My parents—"
"You didn't love them?"
His eyes go to the hardwood floor. "Things were bad for so long. It's hard to remember anything but my mom staring at me like I was toxic."
"You're not."
He reaches up to brush a hair behind my ear. "Everybody hurts, Kay."
"Like the REM song?"
He laughs. "No. Well, yeah. You can tell me. Anything. You never need to apologize for what's in your head."
I hope that's true.
