“I don’t know why you didn’t want to show me where you lived,” Beck said as he milled about my “living room”, which was really just a space with my sofa, coffee table, a side table with a collection of mail and magazines, and crap antenna TV. I didn’t turn it on much, since the picture was more static than anything else, and it really just collected dust. “It’s very nice. Very charming.”
“Charming,” I scoffed from where I stood in the entryway, biting my bottom lip. My head felt like it was about to split open, but even though I felt less than 100%, I still invited Beck over. I wanted to bridge the gap between our private spaces ever since he showed me his apartment. Even though mine wasn’t as impressive, I wanted him to see it. To know it. To know me. “More like dated. The heat doesn’t always like to work in the wintertime either, so I’m excited for that.”
Beck didn’t look up as he walked the perimeter of the room, looking at the photos I’d hung on the wall. “You could come stay with me for the winter.”
I bit my lip too hard, tasting blood. “W-What?”
“I was here last winter and my place was very warm. You could stay with me for the season.”
The way he said it had me doing a double-take. So flippant. So easy. Casual. As if him asking me to live with him wasn’t the biggest thing ever. As if our three month relationship wasn’t moving fast. As if—
“I said something wrong,” he went on, and I focused back in to find his eyes on me, dark and thoughtful. “Your face is very pale.”
“Not wrong,” I told him, thankful to God above that my voice was even. “I just don’t feel the best.”
Beck watched me for a moment longer before turning back to the photographs, pressing his fingertip to one of the frames. “Is this your family?”
I took a step into the space and came close enough to see which photograph, exactly, he was looking at. It was the one of my mom, my dad, and me, all posed in front of the tree in the backyard of my childhood home. It was a photograph from when I was younger—probably nine or ten—and it was easily identifiable from Dad’s mustache. I was squished between my two parents, their smiles as bright as twin rays of sunlight. Metal braces hugged my teeth, my hair knotted. All in all, an embarrassing photo, but it was the last one we ever took as a family. After that, we never thought to do it again.
“Yeah,” I said, and the gap between his question and my answer was long enough that my throat went dry. My head throbbed again, worse this time, and I winced. “That’s them.”
Beck’s finger traced the outline of the frame, the surface of the glass in the background, not nearing any of our faces. “You don’t talk about them much.”
“You’re right,” I said, pulling away and moving to the sofa. It crumpled under my weight, the springs long since being supportive. I sank low. “I…I don’t. They’re…well, they’re…”
“I know,” he finished, gentle, turning from the pictures to continue his walk of the small space. “They passed.”
“How did you—”
“It’s a small town,” Beck said. “I was talking with the librarian the other day. Other than you, she’s my only friend.”
I couldn’t help but smile a little at the idea of Beck cuddling up next to the town librarian. She was about as ancient as Grisham Falls. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know, I should’ve, it’s been three months, but I’ve just…I just couldn’t.”
