just had something about him, something magical and kind, as if he understood things long before they happened, as if he knew when someone needed an extra smile or a tighter hug.
He must have known it now, because he held on to me for the longest time while I clung to him.
“Nah,” he mumbled softly, “I’m just bored out of my mind. I don’t have anything better to do, so sleep it is.”
I winced, knowing it was only half the truth. On the phone this morning, Mom had told me his last round of chemo had really knocked him flat, zapping him of all his energy, and he’d either been sick in the bathroom or curled up in bed for the last three days.
He released me, and I edged away, but not far enough away that I couldn’t cup his cheek. I searched his face. “How are you feeling? I mean, really feeling? Not what you tell your doctor and Mom and everyone else you don’t want fretting over you.”
A short chuckle rocked from him, and for a second, his blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “Like shit.”
“Hey, watch your mouth,” I warned through a giggle.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, trying not to laugh outright. “What? You asked for the truth, and the truth is that I feel like shit. There’s no other word for it.”
I knew I sheltered him too much, treated him as if he were years younger than his seventeen. But it was so hard to let that little boy go, because he’d missed so much of his childhood that it seemed impossible he was almost eighteen.
“We need to get you past that, don’t we?”
His face fell a little, flattening into something too bleak for my taste. “Hope so.”
I forced a bigger smile. “Know so,” I promised.
He reached up and squeezed my hand, which was still on his face, a silent conversation transpiring between the two of us. I knew he was scared and just all around sick of being sick, but he also didn’t want to waste his days complaining about it. We both smiled knowing smiles, before we seemed to let go of a heavy breath, putting all of this aside.
Which would have been a whole lot easier for me if I wasn’t still reeling from what had happened last night. If I wasn’t feeling raw and wrong and completely unsettled. Inhaling, I made a valiant attempt at tucking all of those unbearable thoughts into the quiet corners of my mind. Because this was Stewart’s time, and I didn’t want to waste it on my stupidity and foolishness, on that reckless and impulsive move I’d made that set me on a collision course with a man I would have done well to have long forgotten.
I gestured to the greasy bags sitting on his desk. “Are you hungry?”
He shrugged. “Maybe later. Mom made me drink one of those milk shake things a couple hours ago. Not sure I can force anything else down right now.”
I nodded, though I hated to hear it.
He rested his elbows on his knees, his legs crisscrossed in front of him. “So tell me something… anything… I need gossip… drama. I’m about to lose my mind here. It’s pretty sad when I have to live vicariously through my twenty-three-year-old sister, who acts more like a forty-seven-year-old crazy cat lady.”
My mouth puckered in offense, and his deep laughter ricocheted around his room.
“You are such a punk,” I accused through a tease, before I went for a look of sophisticated arrogance. “I’ll have you know I went to the store three times this week. And I drank an entire bottle of wine.
By myself.
”
Did I leave out all the stuff about Aly? About Christopher? About how incredibly pathetic and sad and heartbroken the whole situation made me feel? Yes. Yes. And yes.
I wasn’t about to go there with him. It wasn’t prudent and it most definitely wasn’t important.
Or at least that’s what I was trying to convince myself.
“Really… three whole trips to the store, huh? You are such a rebel.” He considered me when I fidgeted, and his blue eyes narrowed. “You sure there isn’t something more exciting you want to
He must have known it now, because he held on to me for the longest time while I clung to him.
“Nah,” he mumbled softly, “I’m just bored out of my mind. I don’t have anything better to do, so sleep it is.”
I winced, knowing it was only half the truth. On the phone this morning, Mom had told me his last round of chemo had really knocked him flat, zapping him of all his energy, and he’d either been sick in the bathroom or curled up in bed for the last three days.
He released me, and I edged away, but not far enough away that I couldn’t cup his cheek. I searched his face. “How are you feeling? I mean, really feeling? Not what you tell your doctor and Mom and everyone else you don’t want fretting over you.”
A short chuckle rocked from him, and for a second, his blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “Like shit.”
“Hey, watch your mouth,” I warned through a giggle.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, trying not to laugh outright. “What? You asked for the truth, and the truth is that I feel like shit. There’s no other word for it.”
I knew I sheltered him too much, treated him as if he were years younger than his seventeen. But it was so hard to let that little boy go, because he’d missed so much of his childhood that it seemed impossible he was almost eighteen.
“We need to get you past that, don’t we?”
His face fell a little, flattening into something too bleak for my taste. “Hope so.”
I forced a bigger smile. “Know so,” I promised.
He reached up and squeezed my hand, which was still on his face, a silent conversation transpiring between the two of us. I knew he was scared and just all around sick of being sick, but he also didn’t want to waste his days complaining about it. We both smiled knowing smiles, before we seemed to let go of a heavy breath, putting all of this aside.
Which would have been a whole lot easier for me if I wasn’t still reeling from what had happened last night. If I wasn’t feeling raw and wrong and completely unsettled. Inhaling, I made a valiant attempt at tucking all of those unbearable thoughts into the quiet corners of my mind. Because this was Stewart’s time, and I didn’t want to waste it on my stupidity and foolishness, on that reckless and impulsive move I’d made that set me on a collision course with a man I would have done well to have long forgotten.
I gestured to the greasy bags sitting on his desk. “Are you hungry?”
He shrugged. “Maybe later. Mom made me drink one of those milk shake things a couple hours ago. Not sure I can force anything else down right now.”
I nodded, though I hated to hear it.
He rested his elbows on his knees, his legs crisscrossed in front of him. “So tell me something… anything… I need gossip… drama. I’m about to lose my mind here. It’s pretty sad when I have to live vicariously through my twenty-three-year-old sister, who acts more like a forty-seven-year-old crazy cat lady.”
My mouth puckered in offense, and his deep laughter ricocheted around his room.
“You are such a punk,” I accused through a tease, before I went for a look of sophisticated arrogance. “I’ll have you know I went to the store three times this week. And I drank an entire bottle of wine.
By myself.
”
Did I leave out all the stuff about Aly? About Christopher? About how incredibly pathetic and sad and heartbroken the whole situation made me feel? Yes. Yes. And yes.
I wasn’t about to go there with him. It wasn’t prudent and it most definitely wasn’t important.
Or at least that’s what I was trying to convince myself.
“Really… three whole trips to the store, huh? You are such a rebel.” He considered me when I fidgeted, and his blue eyes narrowed. “You sure there isn’t something more exciting you want to
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