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Oh. I hadn’t let myself dwell on that, not ever, and lord, his words sliced deep. My chest ached like the air inside my lungs was turning as icy as the rest of me. “I wasn’t a kid.”
“Barely. And you held it all together for Brandon for so many years. That’s something to be proud of. You raised him well. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t suck for you.”
“I miss them.” Some of that ice around my soul cracked off.
“I know.” Gideon didn’t say he was sorry, but he put an arm around me, and somehow, I was a little less chilled, a little less alone. I neither wanted nor needed his pity, but his understanding and his strength were unexpected gifts. I slumped against him.
“I tried never to show any sadness around him. Couldn’t let him see me down. Never talked money either. If he needed something for school, I made it happen.” The admissions were coming faster now as Gideon and his quiet comfort chipped away at years of staying quiet.
“You’re good at getting things done.” He squeezed me closer. The traffic had thinned out to nothing, just him and me out here holding down the dark. “There wasn’t insurance?”
“Nope. My folks always rented, and they were too broke for renter’s insurance. Life insurance had lapsed. Brandon got survivor’s benefits, but that went to his education much as I could manage it.”
“And now he’s what? An actual rocket scientist?” Gideon’s expression was soft and proud. I was proud of Brandon too, so much that the pride was what had often kept me going. “You did good.”
Wait. Gideon’s pride was for me. I had to swallow hard, force a rusty laugh.
“He says he’s not a rocket scientist. Physicist. He’s better at explaining his specialty than me.” An uncomfortable thought strode through my head, made me groan. “Oh fuck. What if we have nothing to talk about anymore? I don’t speak fancy science well.”
“You have football. Let’s move your TV upstairs.” Gideon was nothing if not quick with the practical solution. “You can put on a game of some kind if it gets awkward.”
“Won’t that fuck with your decorating scheme?”
“I’ll work it in.” Out came his phone again, but he had a small smile as he made the note.
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.” I kissed his cheek, and he made a surprised, happy noise. “What?”
“You called me friend. Not neighbor.”
Geez. If he thought that was a step up, we really did need to have that talk. We’d passed neighbors weeks ago.
“Well, yeah, Gideon, I—”
Honk. A waiting car at the donation box cut me off.
“Just a sec. Let me take their donation.”
I nodded. He was so much more than a neighbor or even friend. Friend was someone you watched a game or had an after-work beer with. Gideon was…special. He’d laugh if I called him that though, wave away the praise. I needed better words, the right ones, words that he’d take seriously. He deserved that.
Chapter Twenty
Need a last-minute gift? Crocheted hats! Twenty each, but make me an offer! Might take payment in fudge! ~Molly Reed posted to the What’s Up Neighbor app
Gideon
One more touch. I’d been thinking of last little details for Paul for days now, and I could hear my grandmother, who had taught art history part-time at the same college where I now worked, laughing about how an artist’s work was never done. There was always one more thing to fix, something to add, elements to tweak. And honestly, I was happy for it. Each small adjustment meant another trip to Paul’s place, another excuse to hang out.
He could undoubtedly be entrusted to run a load of sheets and make the guest bed himself, but why should he have to when doing it together was so much more fun? Even cleaning the guest bath this morning had shown the power of teamwork. He scrubbed, and I hung three small art prints, fluffed towels, and took care of other last-minute presentation things.
“Fancy soap.” Paul touched the small basket I’d set next to the sink. Nestled inside were three wrapped soaps shaped like a snowman, a tree, and a wreath. “I never would have thought of that. And it matches the towels.”
“You noticed.” I’d discovered the holiday-themed hand towels among my own unused seasonal decor, some impulse purchase that hadn’t yet found a purpose. The soap had been a lucky find at the Christmas market with Paul. That seemed so long ago. We hadn’t even kissed then, and now I craved his taste more than any other seasonal treat. This had been the fastest, best December of my life, and I wasn’t at all ready for Christmas to be two days away. I swapped the position of the snowman and tree soaps and straightened the washcloth. “I guess this is done.”
I hoped I didn’t sound too reluctant. In a couple of hours, Paul would head to the airport, and I would return home, job well done. And if I peeked out the window when he came back with his guests, well, that was my own business.
“Brandon’s going to be impressed.” Paul clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I’m still using the same basic brand of soap I did the whole time he was with me.”
“I like your usual brand just fine,” I reassured him, soaking up these last minutes of his nearness.
