Right Where You Left Me

stay for a bit

The sun wakes me up the next morning. I stretch and sit up in my bed, absently reaching for the wire-frame glasses on my nightstand.

Once my glasses are on, I grab the book next to me. Looking for Alaska. I spend my morning reading.

Nancy knocks on my door at around noon. She comes in and perches on the edge of my bed.

"So," she sighs. "Nate's back. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Something fills her eyes, an emotion I've never seen her have before. Betrayal.

"I'm sorry," I say, which is a pretty half-assed apology. "He wanted to tell you himself, and I didn't want to interfere."

She pats my leg and gives me a sad, forgiving smile. "He's sorry too, you know. And I really think he wants to stay and work things out with you. I think he wants to get better."

"I know," I say, but I avoid her eyes. I'm scared that if I look at her, her hopeful expression, the lump in my throat will turn into tears in my eyes.

"You're hurt," she observes. "And upset. Rightfully so. But Adya? I'm just asking you to give him a chance."

I nod. "I know," I repeat. My voice breaks a little.

Nancy leaves, and a few minutes later, I hear the car pull out of the driveway. I don't go back to my book, though. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, for a long time.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

I finally decide to get out of bed as the sun begins to dip low in the sky, casting soft golden rays across my empty sad bedroom. I swing my legs off the bed, hearing a satisfying crack in my back as I stand up. My limbs are the creaking wheels of an old wheelbarrow, desperately needing oil to run smoothly again. I head to the kitchen for a snack.

I stop by the bathroom to quickly assess my appearance. Although the mirror is often my worst enemy, the makeup products on the counter are my best friend. I curl my lashes and apply a little vaseline to my lips so that I don't completely look like a zombie.

As I approach the door that leads to the kitchen, I stop in my tracks. There are voices coming from behind the door. Maybe it's just my imagination.

I lighten my footsteps and warily approach the door, pressing my ear to it. Sure enough, I can make out the sweaty laughter of several boys in the kitchen. In my kitchen.

Nate must have invited friends over.

I peek over my shoulder at the front door. Theoretically, I could just leave right now and grab food at Jagged Edge. Unless Kit is with Nate in the kitchen, which means there probably isn't a chef at the diner right now. I could stop by a Timmies instead.

I decide that's what I'll do, but when I go to grab my phone from the front table where I thought left it last night, I realize I left it on the kitchen counter.

Shit.

I take a deep breath and steel myself. Talking to boys isn't particularly a challenge for me, but it's definitely not my strong suit either. Before I can hesitate any longer, I push open the door and walk with purpose across the kitchen to the counter, where I can see my phone.

Then I make the mistake of turning my head to glance at the table, and my heart drops to my stomach at the sight of eight shirtless boys lounging in the chairs, laughing and smoking and playing cards. My head quickly turns to the other side of the room, where the kitchen is. Both Kit and Nate are chilling at the counter.

My anxiety instantly increases, shooting so high I am surprised I'm still standing on two fucking feet.

Nate grins at me from the kitchen, cigarette dangling from his wicked lips, card between two fingers. "Hey Adya," he says.

"Hi," I mutter, glancing away from him and willing my cheeks to calm down. Thank god I'm brown and my skin is too dark to notice any flustered blush.

I hate to admit it, but Nate's attractive. They're all attractive. Tall, muscular boys with faces that are nice to look at. I snatch my phone from the counter and turn around to leave.

Kit, making something on the stove, turns to greet me. "Stay for dinner," he tells me. "I'm making mushroom soup, your favorite."

Something about that is kind of funny. Eight attractive, intimidating boys who smoke and drink are going to eat mushroom soup for dinner. My mouth tweaks into a small smile before I remember where I am and I quickly let my face fall down into a comfortable frown again. "No thanks," I say, turning to leave.

"Won't you stay for a bit?" Nate asks. I glance at him, but I don't turn fully towards him. I just shake my head and mutter something about errands.

He catches my wrist gently, lowering his voice. "Hey," he says softly. "What's wrong?"

For some reason, this makes me angry. He can't leave and then pretend that we're besties. He can't act like he knows me if he's been gone for three years.

I shake my hand out of his grip and grit my teeth. "Nothing's wrong," I say, stalking towards the door and sliding it open. "Have fun with your friends."

I don't turn around as I slip on my shoes and open the front door to leave. I don't turn around as I step outside into the evening air and shut the door behind me. But something tells me he stays standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me leave, hands hanging uselessly at his sides.