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“It doesn’t help that he’s self-medicating with booze.”
“No, that doesn’t. I’ll try to catch him sometime this week. I’ll stop by and see how I can help.”
I nodded as the bell rang overhead. I grabbed my backpack and slung it onto my shoulder. “Your office looks good. I like the brighter lights.”
“Right? The past few weeks, it looked pretty awful during the construction phase. Maybe that’s the thing about progress. Maybe it has to look messy for a while before it can look good again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Fred Rogers, slow down. No need for the ’90s sitcom heart-to-heart speech.”
He laughed and stood from his desk. “Give your dad some grace, okay? If I lost my other half, I would forget how to breathe, too. Maybe he needs his son to help remind him that there’s still fresh air to take in.”
“It’s bullshit,” I muttered, feeling a tug of annoyance. “He wasn’t there to help me when I was drowning.”
“Grief doesn’t care about the age of a person. It hits them all differently. I’m not here to back your father up for how he’s been handling things. He should’ve been there for you over the past year more than he had been. But then I think about the shit he’s been through—shit we’d never understand. He was in the military and lost some of his best friends. He was overseas when his parents passed away. He lost the love of his life. That’s a lot of loss on one person’s soul, and it doesn’t get easier. It just gets heavier.”
I hated Weston’s words because I knew they were true. I wanted to resent my father for his grief. I wanted to yell, scream, and shout at how selfish he’d been. But then, sometimes, I’d think back to hearing him sob on the anniversary of Mom’s passing. I’d sometimes see the hurt when he’d choke on his words. His whole body moved as if grief controlled his limbs.
It was clear that our griefs weren’t equally yoked.
I’d lost my mother.
He’d lost his very best friend, the other half of his soul.
That kind of break was the kind that didn’t come with healing.
Maybe showing him grace was the right thing to do. Yet still, it was hard because I wanted him to be there for me when I was drowning, too. That was the issue with life. It never worked in perfect scenarios. If it had, Mom would still be alive.
I brushed my hand on my neck and nodded toward Weston. “I need a late pass for class.”
He agreed and scribbled a note for me. “Here you go. And, Milo?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you.”
I smiled slightly.
His words reminded me of Mom’s.
My days were mostly wrapped around getting to English class to see Starlet. She was the highlight of my days. A few months ago, I didn’t know she existed. Now, I couldn’t imagine her not being around.
Sitting in class, listening to boring Mr. Slade and staring at the beautiful Ms. Evans, I felt an odd sense of peace. Starlet and I had a secret that no one in class could know about, making me feel damn good. The only issue was I couldn’t stop wondering when my mouth would be allowed to find its way to hers again.
“Take out a pencil, everyone. Time for a pop quiz,” Mr. Slade stated. The classroom groaned. I didn’t feel as worried about it. I was officially up to date on knowing my shit.
“Need a pencil?” Savannah asked.
I shook my head and held one in the air. Right at that moment, panic washed over me as everything went black. I gripped my desk's sides as adrenaline rushed through my system. When I say everything went black, I mean everything.
“Shit!” I shouted, going to stand from my desk but tripping over my feet. I rubbed the palms of my hands against my eyes, yet there was nothing there. I could hear everyone around me panicking, too. Savannah’s voice echoed in my ears, along with Mr. Slade’s and Starlet's.
Starlet.
I couldn’t see her.
I couldn’t see anyone.
I couldn’t see.
I can’t see, I can’t see, I can’t see—
“Mr. Corti, stand up at once,” Mr. Slade ordered.
I blinked a few times as my chest tightened, and it returned. It was faint at first, but the more I blinked, the more vision returned to me. There those brown eyes were, standing over me with a look of nothing but straight panic. Starlet held out her hand to help me stand.
“Quite a way to try to get out of a pop quiz, Mr. Corti,” Mr. Slade rudely stated. He returned to passing out the exams, and Starlet kept her eyes on me.
“Are you okay?” she asked, concern soaked in every inch of her expression.
I didn’t answer because I didn’t know.
“What was that?” Starlet asked, leaping up from her chair as I walked into the library later that afternoon.
