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I want to say no, but the pain is too much, and so I nod, let him gently wipe my tears. He exhales harshly, his breath hitting my face. Then he shakes his head, his eyes on mine. I know what he’s saying without saying a word. The offer still stands. And I look away, unable to give him what he needs. Then I glance up, find my mother in front of the stove, a spatula in her hand. The smell of bacon fills the room, then the sound of her singing, humming. She stares out the window. “It looks like the sun’s going to grace us today.”
* * *
Mom sits at the kitchen table, a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of her. Peter stands in the doorway between the kitchen and living room while the paramedics make their way inside. I sit on the couch, covered in wet dish towels to alleviate the pain and any blistering.
The house is silent bar Mom’s continuous, joyous singing.
I feel dead inside.
Dead, dead, dead.
One of the paramedics crouches down in front of me, offers me a smile that does nothing for me. “Hi,” he says, his voice soft. He glances behind him at Peter and his partner while Peter explains what he thinks happened. I still haven’t found my voice or my courage to tell him.
The man in front of me says, “My name’s Corey. And you’re Ava, right?”
I nod, even though I don’t recall Peter mentioning my name, but most people around here know who I am, or at least know of us and where we live. It’s a stigma we carry that I wish would just fuck the hell off.
The man—Corey—smiles again. “I uh… I actually live next door,” he tells me. “I’m Connor’s dad.”
“Oh.”
Oh, God, no.
“I’m just going to peel these off and see what we’re working with, okay?”
I nod, lift my chin for him to gain better access, and wince when he starts to remove the towel. “I know it hurts, and I’m sorry. I’m going to try to make this as painless as possible for you, okay, Ava?” He has the same gentle tone as Connor, the same blue-blue eyes, too.
“You have his eyes,” I murmur.
“What’s that?”
“Connor. You have his eyes.”
His lips form a line. “I think Connor got them from me if we’re being technical…”
I stare at my mom, who’s still blissfully unaware.
“Do you want to tell me what happened here, Ava?” Corey asks.
A single tear rolls down my cheek. My heart beats, but there’s no life inside me. “I like them,” I whisper.
“Like what?”
“His eyes. Connor’s. And his heart.”
Corey’s hands freeze mid-movement. “His heart?”
My eyes drift shut, melancholy melting inside me. “His heart is full of magic.”
* * *
“If you need to sedate her, do it,” I hear Peter tell the crisis workers. They’re from the same agency as Krystal, but they're better trained for moments like these. They arrived a few minutes before the paramedics left, but I was already in my room with liquid sorrow staining my pillows.
A knock on my door and Peter appears, not waiting for a response. He sits on the edge of my bed, his shoulders hunched. He lets his face fall into his hands, a quiet moan escaping him. It’s not the first time he’s experienced Mom on a negative day but never this extreme and never directed at me. He looks over at me, his eyes filled with pity. “How are you feeling?”
I blink. I don’t know how to respond, what answer to give him that’ll alleviate his concern.
Peter sighs. “You look tired, Ava.”
