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Shannonturns away to cough.Heblows through a handful of tissues, shoving it all aside to hang his head with closed eyes.
Thefront door swings open.Tysteps in with a bag and a white foam cup in his hands.
“Whothe hell eatspickleswithice creamand shaved ice?” he questions in horror as he leans over to hand me the cup.Heunbags the rest of the snacks, taking out lidded plastic shot glasses filled with greenish ice. “Andfrozen pickle juice?”
IpatShannon’sshoulder to tell him to sit up beforeIreach for the pickle pops. “Onlythe most hardcore ofTexasgirls.What’dyou get?”
“Churros, like a normal person.”
“Bro, there’s no way this—”Shannonwaves a finger around in a circle as he holds an opened pickle pop, “—is ever gonna be a thing.Justaccept it.”
Ty’sbrows knit. “Andwhy’s that?”
Wedown our pops at the same time, making funny faces at the cold sourness sliding down our throats.
“Homeboy, you ain’t even in the same race.”
Ishove my shoulder against his. “Quitbein’ an ass.”
Thebag ofHotCheetoscrinkles in his hands as he tears into it.Sufficientlydistracted by munchies, my gaze reluctantly wanders toTy.
Myhands are occupied, but he finds a way to touch me, hooking his leg underneath mine and playing a little game of footsie.Iignore it, shoveling piccadilly into my mouth.Sweetnessof tiger’s blood syrup, sourness of pickles andTajin, and the freezing temperature of the shaved ice and ice cream explode on my tongue. “Omigod,Iforgot how fucking delicious this shit is.”
“Mm,”Shannonsounds above the loud crunch ofCheetos. “Where’sthe queso, dude?”
“Oh, sorry, they said they ran out and it’d be a little while before more would be ready.”
Shannon’sabout to shove another handful of fiery redCheetosdown his throat until he stops, staring at them poking through his fingers.
Hisred-crusted bottom lip trembles.Anexcruciating wail follows. “Kriswould get queso!”
Iset down my piccadilly to hugShannontightly, letting him get spicy cheesy crust all over my hair and shoulder as he wails. “Shh, don’t worry.We’llget queso.”
Shannonhowls louder.Thebag ofCheetoscrinkles in his arms.
Tyhightails it to the front door. “I’llgo find some.”
Mylips purse when the door slams behind him, but the growing frustration dissipates whenShannondrops the bag.Isnatch it up and toss it onto the coffee table beforeCheetosspill everywhere.
Aftera while, his cries die down into sniffles. “Ican’t be here,Steph,” he whispers. “Ican’t be in this house without her.”
“I’lltake y’all to your mom’s in the morning, okay?IbetOmawould love some granddaughter time.”
Henods, sniffs, and reclines over the other side of the couch.Hishead lolls over the edge with his swollen eyes closed.
Iwet some paper towels in the kitchen to wipe the crust fromShannon’slips and fingers.Sittingon the hard floor beside the couch isn’t the comfiest spot, but it keeps the high teasing the edges of my mind away a minute longer.
Shannonresituates himself.Hebreathes in deeply, snoring from all the snot clogging up his throat.Ipull the blanket over him.
Poorguy is knocked out cold.Or, at leastIthink he is untilIgo to push myself up and he grabs my hand.
Istop, sitting down on the wooden floor to watch him slip away, going mimis in the midst of his world being torn to shreds and turned upside down.
Myface crumples, hand covering my mouth to capture a small sob and the hot tears rolling down my cheeks.Theache in my chest is both hollow and full of scorching lava, that weird mixture of relief and knowing that things could’ve been so much worse ifIhad waited even a minute longer to respond.
Icould’ve lost my best friend tonight.Icame this close to losing him.
Thetight grip on my hand as he slumbers reminds me he’s still here—he reached out before making that permanent, irreversible decision.Eventhough my own life is a royal mess, he trusted me to come running when he needed it most because he knewI’dbe here.
