When class was over, my heart leapt as he spoke my name. “Miss Harris, could you stay behind a moment?”
I stilled, waiting for the other students to give me shocked glances or disapproving looks, but none came my way. I slowly packed up my belongings and as the last students left the room, I made my way to the front of the classroom.
“Hey,” he said, smiling an unrestrained smile I hadn’t seen in days.
“Hi,” I answered, smile equally as broad, even though I made myself stop a few feet from him, keeping an appropriate distance between us. “How are you?” Every part of me ached to go to him, even if it was just to lay a hand on his arm. I wanted to feel him, to remind myself that our connection was real.
His smile faded at my question. “Last night was rough for my mom.” He let out a sigh and then moved his hand absently to his forehead, looking as though he’d forgotten his hair was pulled back, trying to push his hand through it. “She’s having a lot of nightmares and the sleeping pills aren’t working. I called her doctor this morning and they want to see her this afternoon, so I’m taking her as soon as I leave here.”
“What can I do?” My question was asked with a helplessness I’d never felt before.
“Nothing, really.” He sighed. “Although I’m hoping they’ll give her something strong and she’ll be able to sleep. I was also hoping you’d come over later.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth my heart was back to somersaulting, but it all came crashing down with the sound of the door opening and Mr. White returning.
“If you need any help with the material, just let me know. I could suggest a study partner.” Hayes’s cover was expertly executed, but his eyes were wide with worry.
“Uh, thanks Mr. Wallace. I’ll see you tomorrow.” My response was entirely panicked. I left the classroom quickly, hiking the strap of my messenger bag further onto my shoulder. I had to practically run to make it to the bus before it left. The entire ride home I felt ill.
At dinner that evening I listened to my mom and dad discuss Mrs. Wallace and her problems, and as bad as I felt for her, knowing she was dealing with something I couldn’t even comprehend, in that moment I was upset for my mother. Watching her best friend deteriorate, watching her crumble and succumb to grief was tearing my mother apart. That I could understand. I understood her need and want to help, only to be left helpless and unable to make a difference.
No one could help Mrs. Wallace with her pain. All we could do was be there for her and Hayes, help them through it, watch them suffer. It didn’t seem like enough.
My mother took a moment to compose herself, taking a sip from the wine glass I had noticed she was drinking from more often, then turned her eyes to me.
“You’ve been pretty quiet lately, Kenzie. How are you holding up?”
I froze, fork midair, halfway to my mouth. I forced my hand to move the fork to my mouth, hoping the bite would give me some time to sort my thoughts. How was I holding up? I hadn’t given it much thought lately. There was so much else going on in my brain, it was hard to focus on the sad things, easier to hone in on other people’s grief.
Finally, I shrugged. “I don’t really know, Mom. I’m just kind of taking each day as it comes.”
“Is it getting easier to be at school?”
“I don’t think it’s easier to live life without Cory, I just think I’m getting used to it. I still miss him. I can still feel his absence.” And that was the truest thing I’d said in days. His absence was ever-present. When I got a good grade on my math quiz, I wanted to tell Cory—he’d helped me in math since seventh grade, always the person to explain the parts I couldn’t grasp on my own. When the latch on my locker had stuck the day before, I’d immediately had a rush of anger, cursing Cory under my breath for the time earlier that year when his orange juice spilled inside and jammed up the lock when it dried sticky. The anger was quickly followed by a sharp pang, wishing he had been there for me to yell at.
I forced a sad, small smile. “But I think it’s getting better.”
I didn’t tell them that I missed my best friend, but not so much my boyfriend. I didn’t think they’d understand that, and, honestly, I wasn’t sure I quite did either.
“I just want to make sure you know you can talk to us when you feel sad. Or anytime. About anything.” My mother was reaching out figuratively, not wanting me to slip away on a wave of depression.
“I know, Mom.”
She smiled at me and took another sip of her wine and I watched as my dad reached over and placed his hand over her free one.
An hour later, as I sat on my bed trying to concentrate on my English Lit homework, I heard my phone ping.
**Can you come over?**
A text from Hayes. My pulse raced.