Page 121 of The Comeback Summer

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry about your mom.”

His shoulders start to shake with silent tears. My heart is aching—for him and his entire family. Josh and his mother have a special bond, one I’ve always envied. Memories of them together fill my mind: making chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday mornings; Jeannie taking dozens of pictures at every school event; Jeannie clipping Josh’s hair in the kitchen, asking me for my opinion on the length.

My chest constricts, and I squeeze Josh tighter. Nothing I say or do will make this better, but I can hold him while he cries. I can run my hands through his hair, and whisper in his ear that I’m here, that he isn’t alone, that this is awful and so unfair.

Eventually, he pulls away, wiping his eyes with one hand. “I kept wanting to tell you,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

I hold his face in my hands, wishing I could transfer love right through my skin to his. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Yes. I do.” He hesitates, motioning behind him. “But maybe not here...”

For the first time, I notice his office and suck in a shocked breath. It’s a hovel of chaos: the floor covered with stacks of paper and folders, his desk piled with Coke Zero cans and takeout boxes, and under his desk, a basket full of tangled yarn and partially completed projects.

“I know it’s bad,” he says, visibly wilting. “But I can’t deal with it. My brain is such a mess lately.”

“I’m sure it’s been overwhelming, helping your parents, trying to focus at work,” I say, then hesitate, hoping this doesn’t offend him. “Would it be helpful if I organized it a little for you? If that’s inappropriate or rude, please let me know, but—”

“I would be so grateful,” he cuts in. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

His shoulders drop in relief. “Thank you.”

Josh takes his afternoon medication, and for the next hour, we work together—returning file folders to his filing cabinet, sorting papers into piles to keep and recycle, filling the garbage can with trash. Josh is right by my side, and as we work, he tells me more about his mom.

His parents were downplaying how challenging it’s been. Jeannie can only walk a few steps, Josh explains, and will be getting a power wheelchair soon. She can’t do her own hair or makeup, so his dad has had to learn, and it’s sweet but sad to watch them struggling together. Sometimes she needs help cutting her food or even bringing her fork to her mouth. She uses a machine at night to keep her lungs clear; eventually, she won’t be able to breathe on her own. She keeps talking about a vacation to Italy next spring, but Josh doesn’t think there’s any way she’ll be able to manage that. The doctor estimates she has two to three years, at the most.

“Your mom seemed happy you moved back home,” I say, winding up a ball of yarn. We’re sitting on the floor with our backs against his desk, our legs stretched out in front of us.

He nods, setting aside a half-finished scarf. “Yeah. I was supposed to do a postdoc fellowship at UCSD, but I wanted to be closer to home.”

His words make me pause. I set the yarn in the basket as worry settles in my chest. Up until my conversation with hisparents, I had this idea that he’d moved back to Chicago for me, because he wanted another chance. But of course he didn’t take a job in a landlocked state to rekindle things with his old girlfriend. Did he reach out to me simply because I happened to be here?

I don’t like where my mind is going, so I force myself to redirect. “So, working here at Shedd isn’t ideal?”

He shakes his head. “No. I mean, I’m happy to be here now. I’d rather regret losing time building my academic career than regret not spending my mom’s last years with her.”

His words knock the wind out of me. It sounds like he has no intention of staying here permanently.

“After your mom...” I hesitate, stumbling over my words. “A few years down the road, do you think you’ll end up back at UCSD?”

I know the answer before he speaks; I can see it on his face. It’s the way he looked when he told me he was going to Australia. Determined; focused. I respect that, I do. But a sharp pain pricks my heart, nonetheless.

He tilts his head as he studies my face, his eyes all gentle concern. “Han—”

“I get it. I understand.” But my eyes fill with tears, and I look away.

He shouldn’t have to consoleme. He’s losing his mother. He’s changed his career plans to be near her. I’m not surprised; this is the kind of person he is, and I’m so damn proud of him for doing it.

But at the same time, I feel so... silly.

I’ve been planning a future for us, but this was all temporary for him. Although—didn’t he imply that he wanted me to move in with him?

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

I shake my head, fighting the emotions tightening my throat. “Nothing. It’s just... I think I got the wrong impression about what’s happening with us.”

“Wait—you don’t think—” He shifts his weight and faces me. “Let me be clear: I would want you to come with me.”

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