He waited, perhaps how the moon waited for the sun.
And I chose to ask more of it-of the ceaseless hope we held in our palms. "Give me tonight, please."
"You've got tonight." It was an effortless sentence. A string of words spelling assurance, settl...
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I SAW DAD'S SMILE GROW OVER THE FEW VISITS EVAN GAVE US. It was the kind of smile that he slipped between his chaotic cooking sessions, or when he was getting on mom's nerves by having inside jokes with just me and Liam. Evan had come over impulsively one day, right after we'd been on a phone call. Dad had greeted him at the door. Liam had talked with him on the couch over some college essay he had been writing.
I was lurking, sitting with my brother and my boyfriend and somehow third wheeling them.
That same day, after Evan had helped me study for finals, dad had asked before he could leave: "Hey, son, could you help me out with this?" He had been building a desk for himself, confident he would DIY it all alone.
Evan had ended up doing all the work. At the end, dad had admired it and said, "Fine taste, am I right?"
Evan had merely glanced at me, amused, and said, "Totally."
It was an oddity, only at first, because of how well he fit right in. It was as if this home of mine had a pre-existing, gaping hole built exactly as tall as him, exactly his stature. One that had been lying dormant, buzzing underneath all these layers of idleness. It had barely taken him two visits to erase the presence of emptiness that had never existed before, but would exist in every future he wasn't around.
It terrified me just as much as it exhilarated me. I'd grown to love this set of misfits (my family) bond with this other misfit I'd found (my boyfriend). It was a feeling similar to when you'd recommend your friends music or give them books you love, hoping they'd love it as much. It was the happiness of finding out they loved them as much, times hundred.
And I knew Evan liked it here, too. After study sessions we took a break on the settee in my room, the one by the window. We sat on opposite ends, knees touching, and just talked. He told me behind the scenes and the process of making music, the good memories of his mom, his usual worries regarding Evelyn. I didn't have many interesting things to say, so I usually just told him about the show I was watching or the book I was reading. I let him know when I saw him on the billboards at the mall. He always made a face.
Once, we had been sitting like this, silent. I loved silence with him, because it was the first time I didn't feel panic surge through my chest in wants to fill it with words. It was the type of silence that made me feel as though I was floating. That nothing mattered enough in the world, not words, not worries about running out of things to talk about, just me, and him: us. Intertwined, by some means—his fingers through mine, my leg under his, his arm draped over me. There was no urgency, only me. It felt as though for once, my presence in itself was enough.
But then he spoke, and I realized maybe silence was terrible when I could have been indulging in a piece of his mind. When I could have anchored myself in his thoughts in an attempt to know him further. "I like it here." He'd said it so softly. My fingers were threaded in his hair before I could fathom. "This sort of normalcy, in a family...it's something I've never had."
