type.”
“He’s cute,” Dallas says later, while we’re priming the walls, and I know he’s talking about Oliver, so I make a grunting, annoyed sound that makes him laugh. My eyes sweep over to Micah, who doesn’t comment.
“I’m just saying, I would totally do him,” Dallas adds.
“He would probably do you too if he swung your way. You’re older, kind of good looking with your nerdy boy glasses and your bow tie . . . yeah, I think he would.” My words make him smile and roll his eyes.
“What did he want to talk about?” Micah asks, and my heart starts thumping in my ears. His tone is always nonchalant, so I can’t read him properly, and that kills me.
“Just stuff.”
“You dating him?” he asks. I suck in a breath. In a sense, I feel like Micah is the string telephone between Wyatt and me, and as soon as I feel like I’m cutting the string, he tightens the knot so I can’t.
“No, I’m not dating him! I’m not dating anybody.”
Micah sighs heavily and puts the roller down before turning to face me. “He’s not coming back, you know? He’s not on one of his trips around the world where he’ll be back next week. You have every right to move on.”
“I’m not ready,” I say, my voice cracking as I pick up a roller back and continue painting. I hear the metal roller handle he’s holding clatter to the floor, followed by approaching footsteps. I know he’s behind me, but I refuse to turn around. I know if I do, I’ll cry. I know if he keeps talking, I’ll cry. I don’t want to cry in here. I want this project to be about hope and life, not pain and loss.
“That wall,” Micah says, standing beside me as he points at the wall. “That wall is your life, Elle. The blue isn’t ugly, and it’s not sad, but we’re painting over it because its time is over. The nurses who walk in here won’t forget how it looked. The kids who stare at these walls all day won’t forget, and maybe they’ll miss it sometimes, but we have to give them something that makes them happy to look at. Life is short, and brutal, and painful, and it takes loved ones away from us as quickly as it brings them into our lives, but it’s also beautiful. Wyatt would want you to move on and be happy. Date, get married, have kids, travel . . . do whatever makes you feel alive. The longer you mourn, the less you live, and you know how short our time here can be.”
Imaginary fingers curl around my throat and squeeze so tightly that I can’t even respond. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Micah pulls me into his chest, and a loud, wet sob escapes me. I hear something drop on the other side of the room and feel Dallas’ arms wrap around us so that we’re standing there, all three of us crying for the missing pair of arms that would’ve covered us all. I call it a night shortly after that, because I can’t look at the wall without crying. As I head out, I see Oliver leaning his elbows on the counter with his face buried in his hands. I wonder if he’s tired or if one of his patients isn’t doing well.
I keep thinking about the damn blue wall, and even though I have reasons not to, I want to comfort him. Sorting through the negative memories in the past, I focus on the good ones and cling to those. Without further hesitation, I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his middle, laying my cheek over his back. His body stiffens.
“We go out as friends. No date,” I say against him, and feel him let out a long breath. I drop my hands when he straightens and turns to face me, his eyebrows furrowing as he scans my face. “Okay?” I ask in a whisper. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he brings one of his hands up to cup my cheek. I shiver, as he runs the pad of his thumb over it slowly.
“Okay. A friends date,” he responds. He holds my gaze as dips his head. I start to lose composure. Oliver knows my date rules include no kissing, and we’re not even on a date, friends or otherwise. But, when his
“He’s cute,” Dallas says later, while we’re priming the walls, and I know he’s talking about Oliver, so I make a grunting, annoyed sound that makes him laugh. My eyes sweep over to Micah, who doesn’t comment.
“I’m just saying, I would totally do him,” Dallas adds.
“He would probably do you too if he swung your way. You’re older, kind of good looking with your nerdy boy glasses and your bow tie . . . yeah, I think he would.” My words make him smile and roll his eyes.
“What did he want to talk about?” Micah asks, and my heart starts thumping in my ears. His tone is always nonchalant, so I can’t read him properly, and that kills me.
“Just stuff.”
“You dating him?” he asks. I suck in a breath. In a sense, I feel like Micah is the string telephone between Wyatt and me, and as soon as I feel like I’m cutting the string, he tightens the knot so I can’t.
“No, I’m not dating him! I’m not dating anybody.”
Micah sighs heavily and puts the roller down before turning to face me. “He’s not coming back, you know? He’s not on one of his trips around the world where he’ll be back next week. You have every right to move on.”
“I’m not ready,” I say, my voice cracking as I pick up a roller back and continue painting. I hear the metal roller handle he’s holding clatter to the floor, followed by approaching footsteps. I know he’s behind me, but I refuse to turn around. I know if I do, I’ll cry. I know if he keeps talking, I’ll cry. I don’t want to cry in here. I want this project to be about hope and life, not pain and loss.
“That wall,” Micah says, standing beside me as he points at the wall. “That wall is your life, Elle. The blue isn’t ugly, and it’s not sad, but we’re painting over it because its time is over. The nurses who walk in here won’t forget how it looked. The kids who stare at these walls all day won’t forget, and maybe they’ll miss it sometimes, but we have to give them something that makes them happy to look at. Life is short, and brutal, and painful, and it takes loved ones away from us as quickly as it brings them into our lives, but it’s also beautiful. Wyatt would want you to move on and be happy. Date, get married, have kids, travel . . . do whatever makes you feel alive. The longer you mourn, the less you live, and you know how short our time here can be.”
Imaginary fingers curl around my throat and squeeze so tightly that I can’t even respond. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Micah pulls me into his chest, and a loud, wet sob escapes me. I hear something drop on the other side of the room and feel Dallas’ arms wrap around us so that we’re standing there, all three of us crying for the missing pair of arms that would’ve covered us all. I call it a night shortly after that, because I can’t look at the wall without crying. As I head out, I see Oliver leaning his elbows on the counter with his face buried in his hands. I wonder if he’s tired or if one of his patients isn’t doing well.
I keep thinking about the damn blue wall, and even though I have reasons not to, I want to comfort him. Sorting through the negative memories in the past, I focus on the good ones and cling to those. Without further hesitation, I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his middle, laying my cheek over his back. His body stiffens.
“We go out as friends. No date,” I say against him, and feel him let out a long breath. I drop my hands when he straightens and turns to face me, his eyebrows furrowing as he scans my face. “Okay?” I ask in a whisper. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he brings one of his hands up to cup my cheek. I shiver, as he runs the pad of his thumb over it slowly.
“Okay. A friends date,” he responds. He holds my gaze as dips his head. I start to lose composure. Oliver knows my date rules include no kissing, and we’re not even on a date, friends or otherwise. But, when his
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