Page 34 of I'm Yours

We share a laugh and he pulls out two plates from the cupboard. He doesn’t have to ask if he can have some and I don’t have to ask if he wants any. I load up two portions on one plate and pop it in the microwave while he fills two glasses with chocolate milk. Growing up, milk, whether chocolate or white, was a luxury item that we only got at school. Even though we’re older, both of us still feel like we’re practically sipping gold when we drink milk. It’s little things that are hard habits to break no matter how far away you are from the situation.

He guzzles down the entire glass and pours himself another then places the gallon jug back into the fridge. After the microwave beeps, we add a smaller portion to my plate and sit down at the table to dive in.

Samuel shovels two huge forkfuls into his mouth and moans in appreciation. No matter how old he gets, how successful, he’s so thankful for all his meals. I get it, though. It’s hard to forget the hunger pains that accompanied us night after night when we’d go to sleep. There were many days that our only meals came from the free school lunch program offered through the state.

Growing up well below the poverty line and surviving on food stamps is something that settles deep in your soul. Samuel and I account for every penny we spend, which is very little if we can help it. For a long time I was embarrassed by our financial situation. It took me realizing that what someone had in their bank account didn’t translate to who they were as human beings.

“So, what’cha doing here, Sammy?” I grin, knowing how much he hates it when I call him Sammy. Samuel. Sam. Those are okay.

“If this lasagna wasn’t so unbelievable, I’d give you a noogy.”

I gasp. “You’d do no such thing.”

He raises an eyebrow at me but continues to eat, mumbling a “Try me.”

We finish our meal and he leans back in his seat, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks for lunch.”

I look at the clock on the microwave. It’s close to two o’clock which is later than he normally breaks for lunch. “Late lunch today, huh?”

“Yeah. I had a job I wanted to finish up with and didn’t want to quit.”

“Such a loyal little worker bee.”

“I know. They’re lucky to have me, huh?”

“They are,” I tell him, completely serious.

The time registers with me and while normally going over to Mom’s at two is usually a good time to be there, when I have classes in the evenings, I try to go earlier. Groaning, I stand up and start clearing our plates. I’d really hoped to take a shower and maybe even lie down for a short nap. “I still need to head over to Mom’s before tonight’s classes.”

“I’ll go. I need to check in with her anyway and since I finished that truck, I have a slower afternoon.”

“You sure?”

He shrugs and meets me at the sink, helping me load the plates in the dishwasher. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. I just feel guilty.”

“Because you’re usually the one who does it?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Share some responsibility, big sister. It’s allowed.”

I lean over and give him a hug. He smells of grease and sweat with a hint of diesel fuel and I breathe in his comforting scent. He’s been the one single constant in my life over the last twelve years and is my best friend.

He hovers close after we separate. I’m packing up some containers for supper since I end up staying through the dinner hours at the studio and can feel him staring at me.

“What?” I glance up at him from where I’m filling a small container with baby carrots. The expression on his face betrays him. I should have known. “Damn small town,” I grumble, tying a twist tie around the bag and putting the remainder of them back into the fridge.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” I ask, trying not to think about the fact that Reed is in town. I mean, more than I already do. Which is an unfortunate amount of time, if you ask me.

“Nice try.”

“I don’t know, Sam. Probably because I didn’t want you to ask me how I was doing or think about it.”

“Like you haven’t been thinking about the fact that Reed’s back in town every second you’re awake?”

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