Page 105 of On the Line

“Yum!” she says, squeezing her shoulders up to her chin, in the purest and most wholesome reaction I’ve ever seen. She hums in delight after the first bite, my heart glowing with warmth in response.

Sitting near her, on the edge of the bed, my plate on my lap, I wait until she’s eaten half of her sandwich before addressing the elephant in the room.

“We—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and start again. “We should talk.”

James’ gaze softens when her eyes flit to mine. But I don’t miss the flash of pain she tries to conceal when she looks down at her plate, then back up.

“You first,” she responds, with an assertive nod of her head.

It might not be the right moment, but I feel pridenonetheless. Of the confidence she now carries. It’s how she doesn’t second-guess her actions anymore and the self-assured tone she uses when she speaks. It’s been gradual, but so powerful to notice. And I’m so happy I’ve been there through her metamorphosis.

I take a bite full of brie and apples and slowly chew my food as well as my words.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, although quite tentatively. “It wasn’t fair for me to push you away like I did. You didn’t deserve that.”

She studies me with an open expression, licking her lips and swallowing hard. “So why did you?” The hurt returns, now living somewhere in her voice, and I try, quite unsuccessfully, not to hate myself.

My throat closes at the thought of telling her about my home life. It would be so simple to evade the subject—blame my aloofness on something else, and use humor to deflect.

But she deserves my truth.

And I’m more than willing to give it to her. Even if it hurts like hell to vocalize it.

I let out a defeated sigh and place my half-eaten plate on the bedside table, turning my body so I’m facing James directly.

“I just didn’t know how to …” I look up at the ceiling, grasping at my words, and eventually land on something vague. “Handle everything.” My heart squeezes in my chest, a hard ball forming in my throat.

“Handle what?” James asks gently as she hands me her empty plate.

I drag a hand down my face, delaying the inevitable.

“I told you I was the oldest of four, but that wasn’t really the full picture.”

James cocks her head to the side, signaling me to continue.

After a long exhale, I tell her everything. From my dad being a gambler and a drunk, my mother going to prison when I was twenty-one, to finally, me being the main provider for my younger siblings.

Sometime during all this mess, James reaches over and grabs my hand in hers, staying silent and letting me talk, but squeezing my palm in hers now and again in support.

“And then last week.” My voice cracks again. I clear my throat. “My brother got arrested for trying to rob a liquor store …” I feel empty and miserably vulnerable when it’s finally all out, finding it harder and harder to maintain eye contact with James. “We still don’t know if he’ll be convicted. But shit …” I try to swallow down the hard knot in my throat. “He’s only seventeen. I should’ve been there for him.”

“I’m so sorry,” she rushes out. “I–I can’t imagine how hard this has all been for you.”

“Don’t be,” I tell her, already trying to evade the weight of the pain. Still, I allow her words to soothe some of the ache. It helps to finally feel … heard.

“But,” she says, looking like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “What did that have to do with us?” she asks gently, placing her other hand on top of our joined ones. “I could have been there for you this week, instead of … just … not?” she finishes with a sad smile.

My first reflex is to dismiss her question entirely. Tell her she just wouldn’t get it.

I bite the inside of my cheek instead, trying to formulate a better, and more mature, response.

“I guess I just got scared,” I finally say, looking down at the bed.

“Of what?” Her tone is agonizingly gentle and I’m not sure how to navigate the care I hear in her voice.

I lift my gaze back to hers. She waits patiently for my answer.

“Of ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

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