Page 48 of Keep You Close

“I’m starving,” I admitted, dropping down my things, then walking over to take the plate.

“Good. Because I have some likely very soggy hash browns heating up too,” he said. Then, as if to prove his point, the microwave beeped.

“I’ll—“

“Nope,” he cut me off, pushing against the floor to roll in front of me before I could get in his way. “I got it. Sit. Relax,” he demanded as Samson went over to his already-full bowl, and started to chow down. “How was work?” he asked as I put the cover over the puzzle on the table, so we could eat there.

On a normal day, we would have eaten in the living room. But there was only the couch. And I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for us to be sitting that close again.

So the table it was.

“It was… boring,” I admitted. “It’s hard to stay awake when there isn’t anything to do.”

I forced myself to stay in my place and not rush to help Atlas, reminding myself that he wasn’t going to be pissed off to do things for himself. That wasn’t how it was.

And as he scooted around the kitchen, I had to admit that it was unexpectedly nice to have someone do things for me for a change as he brought the hash browns, then the syrup, and, finally, the carton of orange juice.

“You look flushed,” I said as he finally rolled up to the other side of the table.

“It’s more taxing than I could have realized to only have one foot to move your whole body around with. It’s gonna be nice to get the boot on.”

“Already?” I asked as I cut off a small stack of fluffy pancakes.

“Already?” he asked, shaking his head as he poured syrup on his plate. “It feels like forever.”

It must have to him.

It felt like no time at all to me.

But, I guess, that was because I’d been enjoying having someone to spend my time with.

With his body working against him, racked with pain, and unable to do even the simplest of tasks for himself, it made sense that it felt like much longer to him.

That, and, of course, the fact that he wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long. It must have felt like the days dragged on endlessly, staring at these same walls, not experiencing new sights, new sounds, foods, or cultures.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Atlas said, “It’s not about being here. It’s about not being able to do everything I need to do without assistance. Even shit like driving. It’s not my driving leg,” he said, waving down to his bulky cast. “But because I can’t bend my knee, the seat needs to be so far back, that my right foot can’t reach the pedals.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “And having the cast off will make showering so much easier.”

“Fuck, it would be nice to get in there without having to wrap myself up in plastic wrap again.”

“Do you know yet how much physical therapy you are going to need?”

“I won’t be sure until I actually show up at physical therapy, but my ortho told me to prepare for three months. Part of that in the boot still. And if I don’t progress well enough, it could even be six months.”

“Geez,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m not sweating that. Once I’m able to move around more, I’ll feel better. Can start going places around here again.”

“So you’ll be around for the holidays,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why did that make you all tense?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” I said, gaze falling to my food.

“Um, bullshit,” he said, making me tense. I didn’t even realize his voice was soft until his hand moved across the table, resting over mine. “Did you have plans for Christmas?” he asked.

“Just, you know, decorating,” I admitted.

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