Page 40 of The Way I Am Now
She releases a short laugh. Then she reaches around me to turn off the light switch at the wall. The overhead light goes out, and her desk lamp casts a kind of yellow glow around the room. “There, that’s better,” she says. “Not so bright.”
“Yeah,” I agree, watching her as she stands in front of me in the dim light now, looking even more . . .captivating, is the word that keeps flashing through my mind.
“I’ve never had anyone in here. I mean, Mara, obviously. But I’ve never had aboy,” she whispers through cupped hands, “in my room like this. Before.” She inhales deeply and says, “Sorry, that was supposed to be cute or funny or something.”
“No, it was,” I tell her, but really, I’m thinking aboutSteve. Was he really never here, and what does that mean?
“Um. Do you wanna sit or, oh, do you want something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “It’s okay.”
She says, “Okay,” but she’s still twirling her fingers around the drawstrings of her hoodie, which she clearly threw on over her pajamas right before I got here. And something about that sends my mind off in the wrong direction again. I have to look away.
“Should we start over?” I ask. “Proper hug?”
She nods.
“Yeah? Okay. Come here.” I hold my hands out, and she takes them, moves toward me, and clasps her arms around my waist. I let my arms fold around her and rest my chin on top of her hair, which smells amazing as usual. She presses her face against my chest and holds on so tight. She keeps taking these slow, deliberately deep breaths like she’s trying to calm down. Part of me wants to ask if she’s okay, but it’s pretty clear she isn’t, so I try to breathe with her, try to calm myself down too. Gradually, her grip loosens, and we back away from each other.
“Sorry, I’ve just been—it’s just been a lot lately, but I’m glad you’re here. I always like talking to you in person better.”
She hadn’t mentioned anything in our textsbeing a lot lately, but I guess I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about my stuff either. We sit on her bed, facing each other, the same way we’d sat on that picnic table.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I’m asking, just as she’s saying, “Why are you home?” As usual, we talk over each other.
“Sorry, you first,” I tell her.
“Okay, so why are you home right now?” she repeats.
“It’s my dad. He’s six months sober this weekend. There’s a ceremony, and then we’re doing a family celebration sort of thing.”
“Oh. Wow, six months. That’s a big deal, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve seen him get his six-month chip quite a few times before, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I’ll probably regret saying this, but something does feel a little different with him this time.”
“Good,” she says, with this slow blink, like she really means it.
“I don’t know, I’m being cautiously optimistic, I guess.”
“I’m really glad, Josh. You deserve that.”
“Ido?” I ask.
“Yeah, you deserve to have your dad healthy and . . . and there for you. I mean, I know how much this has hurt you over the years.” She reaches out and takes my hand, inching closer to me, and I catch this sheen falling over her eyes. “I just”—she pauses to close her eyes for a moment—“I want it to be different for you this time too.”
I reach out and take her other hand now, thinking I may finally understand something important about her that I’m not sure I’ve fully realized before. She spent so much of our relationship hiding her emotions becausethisis how she feels things—deeply, completely. That and this: she really has always cared.
“Eden,” I begin, but I don’t have anything else to say, so I settle on “thank you.”
“I’m sorry about the phone call,” she says. “I was just surprised that you didn’t mention you’d be here. It’s not like youhaveto tell me every time you’re going to be in town.”
“No, I wanted to tell you.” I move a little closer to her now too. “But things have felt . . .” I try to find the right word. “Strained. Since last time. Or maybe it’s just me, I don’t know.”
“It’s not just you.”
