Page 77 of New Growth
“Thank you,” he said, quieter now.
I watched him as he took a spoonful of jam, paused, then reluctantly shoved it into his mouth with a slight cringe.
I watched him quietly. I didn’t know much about diabetes—only what he’d told me or I picked up in passing—but maybe it was time I learned. If he was going to keep showing up in my life like this, I needed to be ready.
“I could save the jar for you,” I offered, nudging the fridge door shut with my hip. “You know, in case you need it when you visit again.”
That earned me a smirk. “You’re gonna let me visit again?”
I shrugged, lips twitching. “I don’t mind the company.”
And I’ve grown to appreciate the warmth you’ve provided my bed.
He chuckled, but the smile didn’t last. It faltered as he scooped another spoonful of jam and forced it into his mouth, his expression twisting with a full-on cringe. I could see the fight in his eyes—not with me, but with his body. Like he was tired of having to justify what it needed just to keep functioning.
“Feel a little better?” I asked.
He didn’t respond right away, just closed his eyes and let the sugar settle into his system. Then he leaned back against the counter, the spoon still in his hand.
“You know…” he said, voice low, almost like he was thinking out loud. “I don’t even fucking like sugar. I hate sweet things. Always have. Even before I got diagnosed, I tried to avoid it. And now I have to eat it just to stay conscious.”
I didn’t know what to say at first. His tone wasn’t bitter. It was something softer—tired, maybe.
“I like salty stuff, though,” he went on. “Especially if it’s crunchy. But because of this fucking illness, I still gotta limit my sodium.” he paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even get to enjoy the little things anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“You don’t have to be.”
“I know. And I’m not trying to pity you or make you feel like there’s anything wrong with you because there isn’t.” I reached out and gently rubbed his arm. “I’m just… sorry that you can’t enjoy what you want to the fullest extent. You deserve that.”
He looked down at me. God, was he handsome, especially in this lighting as the morning peeked through the kitchen curtains. His strange eyes gleamed as the corners of them wrinkled when he gave me a crooked smile.
“There are a few sweet things I can still enjoy,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes and shoved his chest lightly. “Such a flirt.”
His laughter was soft, and then he glanced at the clock on the stove. His smile faltered a bit.
“I should get going.”
I followed his gaze—7:04 a.m.
“Yeah, I should start getting ready myself.”
He nodded slowly, then looked back at me. Something unspoken passed between us—words I couldn’t quite say, things he wasn’t sure he should voice. This was all so new to both of us.
“Thank you, Ellie. For last night. For letting me crash here. For this.” He held up the jar. “For everything.”
“Of course.”
He lingered for another moment, eyes still on mine.
“Walk me out?”
I nodded and followed him to the door. He stopped just before stepping outside and turned toward me one last time.
“I’ll call you later today. If that’s okay.”
