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So I should focus on that, then. Ellie’s age. The fact she’s not mature enough to choose to spend the rest of her life with me. That’s what it will come to eventually. That’s what I’ll need from her.
I return to the porch. Ben and Kelly are sitting side by side. They’re holding hands, Kelly’s eyes red, her body shuddering as sweat pours from her. “I said sorry.” She smiles hazily at me. “I said some awful stuff, but I said sorry. It just hurts so bad.”
“You’re almost over the worst of it now,” Ben says, looking almost desperately at me like he wants me to make it true somehow.
“You’re strong, Kelly,” I tell her. “You’ve always been strong.”
“Not since I hurt my knee.”
“Even after that. Some people would’ve completely lost hope, but you keep trying.”
She blinks, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Thanks, Max.”
Petey whines, and I carry him onto the porch, placing him in Kelly’s lap. He curls into a ball and starts snoring softly.
“He always loved me. No matter how bad it got in there.”
“Did they…” Ben cuts himself off. “I’m sorry.”
“I…” Kelly swallows, shudders all over. “It was payment for the pills. The medicine.”
Ben scowls. “It wasn’t medicine. It’s fucking poison.”
“I know, Dad.”
I leave them to it, ignoring an ugly voice inside of me. It’s so cruel. Ben’s wife died. Kelly got injured. Now there’s a voice inside my head that wasn’t there before, one of fatherhood, one intent on doing the right thing. Ben should’ve stopped her from ever going down this road. He should’ve held her prisoner if that’s what it took, but that’s not fair. I’ve never been a father.
Well, sort of. Once. A long time ago. I’m not sure it counts. It was the only thing before Ellie that brought me true hope. A shred of light that told me I might be something, someone significant. I might feel something. Still, I’m not sure it counts. I don’t know what that says about me.
Later, I’m lying in bed, my body nice and sore from a workout. Petey is curled in a ball next to my feet. Every time I move, he grumbles and peels one eye open, staring at me to remain in place. The little guy’s becoming attached to me quickly. I need to decide about keeping him soon. It would already be cruel if I gave him away. Could I do that now that I’ve spent time with him? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m not a heartless prick after all. Of course, Kelly might want to keep him, but I’m not sure she’s in any state to take care of the little pup.
My phone vibrates. It’s Ellie. Are you having a good evening, Professor? I smirk—knowing it’s wrong, always knowing that—and grab my phone. I call her again.
“Don’t you know how to text?” she says, with a teasing, sassy note in her voice.
“I told you. We’re different generations.”
She sighs, seeming really not to like it when I point out the difference in our ages. “Maybe I don’t like my generation or many members of it. Maybe I think many of us are herd-minded fuckwits who are, frankly, cruel and hollow.”
I chuckle. “That’s quite the indictment.”
“I’m not joking, either.”
I sit up at the sharpness in her voice. “Are you okay, Ellie?”
“I’m… yeah, fine, fine. You know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted. Maybe it’s me being immature.”
“Are you going to sulk on me?”
“You’re so good at teasing.”
“If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
I mean it, though it’s the last thing I should say, the last thing which should be true, talking with a student like this.
“It’s nothing, except I moved from the West Coast a while ago. Somebody from the West Coast came to the restaurant where I work last night.”
“I take it you weren’t happy to see him?”
I sit up, causing Petey to turn and glare at me. There’s an edge to my voice as I think about somebody intimidating my Ellie or making her life worse in any way possible.
“He was a bully. I guess you could call him that. I don’t know. I never talk about this.”
“You don’t have to,” I tell her, “but you can.”
She sighs, then laughs. “You know how crazy this is, right? Us talking like this, Professor?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t talk with students like this all the time, do you?”
I could wriggle out of this. I could gaslight her and state that I’m supporting her in an academic capacity, nothing more. I’m giving her the emotional guidance the college prides itself on, some bullshit like that, but she deserves the truth.
“No, Ellie, I don’t. I’ve never given a student my phone number.”
I wait for her to ask why her. I’m not sure I’d have it in me to lie to her if she did. Instead, she pauses and waits. “Do you really want to know?” she says after the pause.
