“The soup won’t be done for a while. But I made some other stuff.”
Wow, what time did he get up this morning? The other stuff turns out to be a cheese and fruit plate, simple but I can see how much time he devoted to this. We sit down on his old couch and dig in. Shane’s telling me about a music college that he heard about, and I can hardly keep from asking how far it is from Maine. I hate that this won’t last forever.
But nothing does, right? I should just be happy now.
Shane breaks off what he’s saying with a faint frown. “You okay?”
“Of course. Why?”
“You looked really sad there for a minute.” He glances around the trailer, hardly recognizable the way he’s decorated it, like the setting is the reason I’m unhappy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but—”
“No,” I cut in. “This is perfect. I was just thinking about college … and how we might not end up at the same one. So if I’m sad, it’s at the thought of saying good-bye to you.”
“Oh.” His expression softens and he cups my cheek in his palm, feathering long fingers down my jaw. “I can’t promise we’ll always be together like this, and long-distance relationships suck. But I’ll always want you in my life. So … if it doesn’t work out at university, I’ll be texting you and sending stupid e-mails. I’m sure I’ll have a laptop by then, and we can Skype.”
“That helps.”
“Hey, let’s not talk about breaking up on Valentine’s Day. That’s a long way off. Who knows what will happen between now and then?”
“You make a good point.” Making an effort not to be too dark today, of all days, I say, “So I’ve been wondering … you don’t have much stuff. What happened to it?”
Most people have a few toys, but when we met he didn’t have an iPod or a phone, no laptop, and he only has the iPad because of school. But he has no Wi-Fi out here to check his e-mail on.
He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Everything I had before my mom got sick, we pawned to pay off her medical bills. Dying is expensive.”
Damn. This is my second conversational gambit that has turned down a depressing path. Maybe I can change that. “What was your favorite thing about her?”
“Her hugs,” he says right away. “You know how, after a while, some people will pat you a couple of times to let you know they’ve got better things to do? She never did. She’d just stand there hugging, like there was nothing more important in the world.”
“I bet she didn’t think there was.” I wish I’d met Shane’s mom.
“I miss her,” he confesses in a raw voice.
I can’t fix this; only time can. But I wrap my arms around him anyway, trying to live up to world-class hugging. He whispers into my neck, “You know when you held me before, that first trip out here, it was first time anybody did since she died?”
“I had no idea.”
“Everyone was afraid to get near me, afraid of setting me off. And then you just showed up with soup and started hugging me. Is it weird that I thought maybe my mom sent you?”
I smile at him. “I hope that’s true.”
“Sometimes when I’m feeling guilty that I’m happy, I imagine her telling me that it’s okay … I’m allowed to have a life even if she doesn’t anymore.”
“That’s how I feel about my dad. Sometimes I’ll go weeks without thinking about him at all … and then I’m, like, this is the guy who pushed you on the swings for two solid hours.”
“It’s such a relief to talk about her. Most people can’t handle this. They get weird and they don’t know what to say.” He pauses. “I have some pictures, if you want to see them.”
“I’d like that.”