Page 95 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“To move their bodywith intention?” I ask, unable to help myself.
Grant snaps his fingers, pointing at me. “Yes! Oh, that is a great way of putting it. Yeah!How awesome it is to move their body with intention,” he echoes.
I doodle the phrasing for him on another scrap of cardstock, angling the pen for a flourish. I push it to him over the table, and he picks it up, still beaming.
“Rad.”
“So he really wasn’t…” My first thought isbutthurt, but I go with “Put out?”
“Nah. I mean, it’s notthatdifferent, you know? And he understands my motivation. He relates to that. He’s just thinking ahead, to me, dealing with parents and school districts and even getting a job in the first place. But he said I’d be good at it.” He sits taller. “He’s stoked on the kids’ classes for the gym, too. He’s going to look over my notes and stuff, but he thought it was a great idea. He said he was proud of me for figuring all this out, and my commitment to it. That was cool.”
“I’m glad.”
He turns the little card over. “It’s so crazy that I stressed about telling him for so long.”
I shake my head. “He’s your big brother. You look up to him, and don’t want to disappoint him. And there was a chance that not following in his footsteps would come across as rejection, and no one wants to be responsible for that kind of hurt.”
I’d know.
“Um…” He worries his bottom lip, and I concede to the obvious follow-up. “I haven’t asked Ian, but what happened with you two?”
“We… didn’t work.”
Grant sits back in his chair, brow furrowed again. “He’s been in a real dick mood since you stopped coming in,” he adds. “That’s part of why I talked to him. Figured, he was already grumpy, might as well just get it over with.”
“Bold strategy.”
He nods, the motion more a reflex than sign of agreement. “It’s just a bummer. I hoped that being with him would mean you’d stick around longer.”
This tugs at my heartstrings. “Oh, you guys are fine. You hardly need me.”
“We don’t need you for stuff,” he counters. It stings, literally stings, like an actual punch to my chest, and it’s a struggle to keep my face placid. “Not that it isn’t awesome. Your eggs are still better than Diego’s. But we like having you around, just, like,beingyou. It’s cool, coming home and knowing you’re here, seeing your stuff around. It’s cozy.” He grins. “You’recozy.”
The word wraps around my aching heart. “I likecozy. Thank you.”
Grant’s smile broadens, then wavers. “I liked that for Ian, too. Andyou. This one time—” he falters. “This is gonna sound like some real creeper shit, but I swear, I just happened to look at you two. You were on the couch in the lobby, and he was out, like old man–style, head back, mouth open—” He drops his head back, mouth agape, to demonstrate, and I laugh. I have absolutely caught Ian in that position.
Grant lifts his head and catches my smile. “Anyway, the way you looked at him…You smiled all soft, like it was the best thing ever to be on some shitty pleather couch with my brother. And you cuddled into him, and I think you fell asleep, too. And you were smiling.Cozy,” he emphasizes. “Like, how having you heremakes the house cozy, but for you, being with Ian made youfeelcozy. And the same for him.”
Anything I might say in response is lodged among the tangle of emotions in my throat. Cozy is right. Cozy is what I felt, among so many other things.
Grant excuses himself to go shower, and I nod, keeping my eyes on the table as he stands, hoping that he doesn’t see the tears in my eyes.
A sharpyip!echoes in the hall. “Jesus, Alistair! You scared the shit outta me!” I look up to spot roommate number two entering the room from the hallway. Grant’s voice grows faint with distance as he grumbles, “Lurking in the dark like a fucking weirdo.”
I cock my head as Alistair takes Grant’s seat.“Alistair,”I chide. “Were you lurking in the dark like a fucking weirdo?”
Alistair doesn’t say anything, but he’s angled himself slightly toward the hall. A door closes, and the bathroom fan switches on. He lifts his chin at me. “Is it MS? The diagnosis you’re waiting out,” he clarifies, like he hadn’t slapped me with the initial question.
Ice prickles over my shoulders. My silence probably answers for me, but I nod. How the hell does he know?
“Fuck.”The expletive draws out as Alistair falls back into the chair. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve been noodling on it since I overheard you talking to Mark and Heather when you moved in. It wasn’t until the eye thing that it clicked for me. But you never brought it up, and I figured that meant you didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t blame you. Thatsucks.”
“Thank you,” I say, not quite grasping how we’re having this exchange; I was still settling intocozy.
“What do you know about the condition?”
“Generalities. Loss of mobility and feeling. Exhaustion. I—” I suck in a breath. I feel winded every time I try to approach this. “I’ve avoided researching because I know that once I go down that rabbit hole, I’ll never come out again.”
