Wow.
I shook my head to clear it of thoughts that were not helping me be useful. I opened the second drawer, full of thin socks, and set out to find thicker ones. Something rattled, and I pulled it out. The orange bottle had a white sticker with Milo’s name on it, the name of a doctor, and instructions on how to take the antidepressants inside.
I paused. Why were those hidden?
It was none of my business. Milo could tell me anything he wanted, but he didn’t owe me any explanations either. I shoved the pills back where I’d found them and continued digging.
“Which socks?” I yelled.
“Baby blue fluffy ones,” came Milo’s reply.
“With apples on them?”
“Those are good, too.”
With my findings in hand, I returned to him, knelt in front of the couch, and pulled the socks onto Milo’s feet.
“Thanks.” He cupped his face with both hands. “I feel like Cinderella.”
“Well, these fit, so you’re definitely my princess.”
He giggled, then his smile fell. “I’m an orphan too…Sorry, the pain meds are making me moody, I think.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about them? Your parents?” I took a seat and reached out for him, letting him decide if he wanted to be close.
He curled up under my arm and rested his head on my pec.
“My parents were great. My dad loved the smell of books and classic rock albums on vinyl, even if he already had a solid cassette collection. He could sit in his favorite armchair and read or listen to music with his eyes closed. Mom always said he looked so cute when he played air drums when in the zone. He would sit me on the couch and ask me what instruments I could hear. Then we would watch black and white era movies because those were his mom’s favorite too.” Milo pointed to the bookshelf with framed photographs in front of the books. “That’s them when I was five.”
The frame held a snapshot of a child with a pale man with hair similar to Milo’s and a brown-skinned woman with glorious long dark braid. Several more were sprinkled on the shelves, but none of them with Milo as an adult with his parents. Only with two women, one of whom was definitely a younger Ethel.
“My mom loved the outdoors and the hum of trees in the forest. She taught me how to drive too. I asked her to teach me when I could reach the pedals, and I was twelve when I was tall enough. But before that, she told me the itty bitty things about cars, including how to check oil and stuff.” Milo reached for a frame on the end table. “I love this picture. She took me mushroom-picking. I slid on the mud and, in an attempt to keep me from falling, she held onto me, and I ended up pulling her with me. We both looked like pigs when we came home. Dad was still laughing while making us mushroom soup. It was a great day.”
“Your parents sound amazing.” I stroked his shoulder gently, remembering how bruised he was all over.
“They were so different, but looking back, I think that was what made them so perfect for each other. When someone is passionate about one thing, you can understand it if you have your own passion too. Sometimes I wish they would advise me on what to do with the cafe. But having them here to support me would be great.” Milo sniffled and wiped his face on my T-shirt.
His pain permeated my chest, as if I could feel a fraction of his anguish. “How old were you when they passed?”
“I was about to turn thirteen. They were driving back from a concert downtown and a drunk driver…” Milo picked up the remote. “The drugs are making me talk a lot. Sorry. I’ll put the movie on.”
“You can tell me anything. Or nothing at all.” A car accident? Was that why Milo didn’t drive?
“Thanks. Just hold me.”
I pulled him onto my lap and tightened the blankets around him. “Anything you want.”
Author's notes:
Ugh, I broke my ankle, so this is coming a day late. I need a Rowan to take care of me, but instead I’m lonely and miserable. But a day off will get you the next chapter sooner *muahaha*
Also, if you know medical stuff: no you don’t :PEdit: Now the medical stuff was looked over by my fandom friend and a professional IRL @thepersianslipper <3 Thank you! Now go read her fics!
Milo
Rowan had stayed with me over the weekend, treating me like a porcelain doll and waiting on me hand and foot. At first, I’d thought he’d felt guilty, but he seemed to genuinely want to be around me. It was a new experience for me. He’d made breakfast, we’d order lunch and groceries, then talk about shows we liked, and watch a favorite movie of mine he hadn’t seen, then one of his.
In between all that, I was in constant contact with Sophia, who’d taken over Operation Cafe as much as she could with the help of extra staff. Thankfully, I was able to go through all orders and bills without getting off the couch. I’d gone through the paperwork with Rowan and told him about my ideas for upgrading the cafe, for approaching small local suppliers, andthe new stove we needed for the kitchen. I’d taken him up on the offer of helping me with my math coursework and learned that he had the patience of a saint when it came to statistics, business calculus, and financial mathematics-resistant students.
