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I’m too anxious to hang around outside his room, so I start to wander a little. I need to get rid of this nervous energy. Besides, being around so many people who don’t really understand what went down between us isn’t helping anything. I can’t really relate to how they’re feeling when it’s much more complex for me.
At the end of the hall, there’s a bank of vending machines – and standing in front of them is one person who gets it.
Fuck, I want to hold her. I might even want her to hold me. I’m so screwed up inside. I can’t stop remembering how it felt to stand there as one awful second after another ticked by without Ash moving. Wondering if he was dead. Knowing it could easily have been me.
She notices my reflection in the glass and turns around. “Hi.”
It feels kind of hollow when there’s so much more I want to say, but it’s as good a place to start as any. “Hey. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. I’m not the one in a hospital bed.”
“Yeah. It’s… pretty fucked up.”
“You’re a real poet.” But she’s smiling a little, and that’s a good thing. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Doc. No need to shrink me.”
“I wasn’t trying to.” She looks and sounds wounded, and I wish I hadn’t said it.
“That was an awkward joke. Sorry. I don’t know how to be.”
“I understand.” All at once, her eyes light up. “So what’s this with your foster brother? I wanted to ask about him. How did that happen?”
I guess it’s a safe subject, and I’ll talk about anything so long as it means being able to stand here with her. “He’s a good kid, but he’s messed up. Not in any, you know, permanent kind of way. He’s got a chip on his shoulder.”
Her lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile. “Now who does that remind me of?”
“I guess that’s why I’ve always been able to get through to him, because I understand him. Only right now…”
I lean against one of the machines with a sigh. It feels good, getting this off my chest, even if it feels strange to be talking about it when it’s Ash we’re here for. “I just don’t know if I have it in me to be, like, a father figure or whatever he needs. I don’t have the first clue. It’s one thing when you’re sharing a house and you have foster parents with you, and it’s another thing to talk on the phone when you’re on the other side of the country. But now, he’s at my house, and I have to set the rules, and I don’t have the first idea what the hell I’m doing.”
“I don’t know. From what I saw at the store, you were doing a good job. Making sure he has what he needs.”
“That’s nothing.”
“That’s not true. Everybody needs to feel like somebody cares enough to go out of their way to provide for them. Just one person, that’s all it takes. And you’re his person.”
I see what she means. But… “I don’t know if I’ll be a good influence. I don’t know if I’ll end up helping him, or screwing him up.”
“I’ve never had kids of my own, obviously, but I can tell you no parent knows if they’re going to do a good job. They can only do their best.” She laughs softly and shakes her head. “I’ve been telling myself to be more understanding of my parents for pretty much my entire life, don’t forget. The best I can do is tell myself they’re trying.”
“I guess I see what you mean.”
“He’s lucky to have somebody in his life who cares as much as you do.”
“We’ll see if he feels lucky once I start setting down ground rules.”
“Nobody wants to be the bad guy.”
“Exactly.”
“You’ll be just fine.” She reaches out and touches my arm and for one crazy second I want to tell her everything. How much I miss her. How I want her back. How there are nights when all I can do is lie in bed and crave her. Not just sexually, but in general. Even something as simple and innocent as this conversation reminds me of everything I’m missing without her in my life. Her quiet, constant support. The warmth of her smile. Her solid advice. I miss… her.
But telling her that now would be pointless, not to mention pathetic. I don’t want to make it look like I’m taking advantage of a shit situation.
“Thank you,” I murmur instead, which means leaving everything I’m thinking and feeling unspoken. The last thing she needs is to handle my bullshit.
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