Kit nods.
“But I’m apologizing for the four hours of silence afterward while you sat here doing math on how long was too long.”
His face crumples slightly.
“That was mine to manage better.”
“You were busy.”
“I was.”
“With a sick kid.”
“Yes.”
“You probably forgot your phone existed.”
“I did.”
Kit looks at me. I hold his gaze. “Those things explain it. They don’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”
His face disappears into my chest again. I wrap both arms around him. For a while, that is all we do. His body slowly believing what his mind already knows. When his breathing has mostly settled, I reach toward the paper bag on the counter without letting him go. My fingers catch the crinkled edge, and I pull it toward us.
Kit doesn’t lift his head. I open it one-handed. Take out the dusty-blue bunny. Then set it gently into his lap. He finally looks down. His fingers loosen around Duffy. One hand reaches for the bunny. He turns it over slowly, thumb finding the little felt nose and pressing against it. The line of his mouth doesn’t change. But his shoulders do. A little less rigid.
“I saw him while Rue’s prescription was being filled,” I say.
Kit strokes one ear.
“I thought you might like him.”
His throat moves.
“You thought about me?”
The question hurts more than it should.
“Of course I thought about you.”
He stares at the bunny.
“I should’ve thought to check my phone too.” Kit doesn’t answer. I touch his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t.” He pulls the bunny against Duffy and holds both. “I’m sorry I had to go,” I say. “I’m not sorry I went. Rue needed me.”
“I know.”
“But I am sorry I left badly.”
That gets his eyes back on me. He looks at me for a long moment. Then nods. I don’t push for anything else. I know I hurt him, even though there was nothing I could have changed about the leaving itself. Only the leaving well.
Making sure he actually understood.
Checking in once the emergency settled.
Remembering that a promise to come back means more when the person waiting knows what is happening.
I can do better next time.
I will.