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With that, everyone filed off, leaving me to finally get to make my way back toward Ama’s apartment, stopping off to grab some mints and some cheap cologne to cover up the smell of cigarettes, as well as grabbing her another chocolate bar.
“Shh, man,” Eddie said, coming into the hallway, his finger to his lips. “Heard you pulling in, so I came out to tell you she’s passed out.”
“Good. She needs sleep,” I said, nodding. “What?” I asked, seeing a strange look on Eddie’s face. That and he was shuffling his feet. Nervous about something, clearly.
“Nothing, man. Just… in case she mentions something, we had a talk about some philosophical stuff is all. And she got to thinking and maybe got herself a little stressed, but she was calm and back to herself by the time she fell asleep.”
“What kind of philosophical stuff?” I asked, exhaling hard.
I was having a hard enough time keeping things civil with Ama. I didn’t need Eddie’s help in complicating shit.
“Nah, just some life stuff, man. It’s fine. I just didn’t want her to say something without me saying something first, is all.”
“Alright,” I said, figuring that I would get it out of Ama. She’d never had a filter with me. “Thanks for staying with her tonight, man. And cooking for her. I appreciate you.”
“Happy to do it. And for what it’s worth, man, I really like her,” he said. “And I’m not just saying that because she promised me a pillow fight some day,” he added, giving me a smile. “‘Night, Seel.”
“‘Night,” I said, moving into the apartment, and closing and locking the door.
I expected to find her passed out when I came in, but as soon as I turned, she was climbing off of the couch with an intense look on her face.
Figuring I was going to get some shit about whatever she and Eddie discussed, I felt myself tensing.
“Ama…”
But then what did she do?
Walk right up to me, wrap her arms around me, then as best she could with her cast, giving me a tight squeeze as she rested her head on my chest.
I was frozen for all of two fucking seconds.
Because, the fact of the matter was, if this woman wanted a hug from me, she was going to fucking get it.
My arms went down around her, squeezing her tight, like I never wanted to let go. Despite all the years and the heartache, that was still true.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her words muffled by my shirt.
“Sorry for what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I have everything to be sorry for,” she insisted, her voice sounding close to breaking.
“Hey, I don’t know what bullshit Eddie might have put into your head, but—“
“He didn’t. He just asked me a question,” she said, squeezing me a little tighter.
“What kind of question?”
“About the kinds of things I maybe said to you when we were kids still.”
“Christ, Ama. You had me worried for a minute there,” I said, exhaling hard. “You never said anything to me that you have to be sorry for.”
“You were always so good to me.”
“Honey, you were good to me too,” I reminded her.
Though, objectively, maybe I never told her how much. What can I say? Growing up with my abusive, stunted parents, I hadn’t exactly been given great communication skills. Opening up felt akin to danger when you lived with people who seemed to sustain themselves on your unhappiness.
That said, I wasn’t a fucking kid anymore. I wasn’t living under their thumb. I’d cultivated connections and relationships and learned that there was safety in being vulnerable with the right people.
