“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my nose. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. Probably didn’t want to spend your Sunday morning listening to my family drama.”
“I’m glad you called. I mean it.”
“Thanks, Iris,” I say. “Really, for listening.”
“I’ll always listen.”
I let out a breath, lighter than before despite the situation. “You got a way of making things feel less heavy, you know that?”
“I’m glad,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
I glance at the back door, my chest still tight but not as much as before. “I should go check on Alex. I’ll text you later? And see you on Monday?”
“I’d like that.”
“Me too. Take care, Darlin’.”
I hang up, staring at the phone a second longer.
The house still feels heavy. Alex is still hurting, but maybe I’m not completely alone in this.
I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt like that.
After we say goodbye, I sit on the porch for a minute, myphone still warm in my hand. Talking to Iris helped, but now, I gotta get it together and try to help Alex.
The kitchen still smells like coffee and the beginning of a good morning before everything went to shit, but I don’t linger on it. Instead, I set the mug in the sink and roll up my sleeves.
If I can’t get Alex to talk, I can at least try to get him to eat.
While the eggs are cooking, I put some of those pancakes Alex loves so much in the microwave and throw it all on a plate.
I even drizzle some syrup over the combination, even though it damn near makes me gag to think about.
I pause at the entrance to the hall, balancing the plate in one hand as my throat goes tight again. Used to be, I didn’t have to wonder if he’d open the door.
“Hey, bud. Brought you something to eat,” I call from outside, tapping on his bedroom door.
There’s no answer.
I almost walk away, but then the doorknob turns.
Alex doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me. But he opens the door enough for me to pass him the plate.
“Thanks.”
“Try to eat, okay? I made it how you like it.” He gives me a small nod, his eyes staring past me.
But I let him be, because I don’t know what else to do.
Iris
I still feel like I’m floating when I arrive at school early on Monday morning. The sun has only begun to come out, and the room is still dark, but I breathe in that familiar smell of paint and pencil, taking comfort in the one place in the school that belongs to me.
I get here early every day to do some painting before class, but last night I fell asleep wrapped up in Nate’s hoodie, and when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t get myself to get up.
I’m rushing to get everything ready in time for my first class, arranging the trays of watercolor paint for today’s assignment, when I hear a light knock on my door and the sound of it opening.
“Ms. Patel?”
