Page 52 of Every Broken Thing

An exceptionally long pause followed my text, but eventually he responded.

Ben: Maybe I just want the comfort of believing there’s a place where my mom still exists.

My heart shuddered at the reminder of his mom’s death, and I floundered for what to say. My mother left of her own choice, but Ben’s mother was stolen from him. There was a tragedy to his experience that didn’t exist in mine. I wanted to lighten the sad atmosphere, but I didn’t want to dismiss his pain, especially when I couldn’t understand the depth of it.

Silas: I guess we won’t know until we die. If there is a heaven, I probably won’t see it since I’ll be burning in hell for liking guys.

Ben sent a laughing emoji, and I grinned, watching the bubbles on my screen as my stomach flip-flopped.

Ben: For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you’re going to hell.

Silas: Whew! I was worried there for a second.

Ben: Smartass.

Silas: Always.

I wasn’t sure what to say next, but Ben beat me to the punch.

Ben: Well I’m off to bed. Have a good Thanksgiving.

Silas: K. You too.

Ben: Goodnight.

Silas: Goodnight.

I waited for him to say something else, but when my phone stayed silent, I clicked off the screen and placed my phone on my side table with a sigh.

Curling onto my side, I closed my eyes and drifted toward sleep. I was on the precipice when my phone buzzed on my nightstand, and I jerked into full awareness. My heart leapt into my throat, and my belly swarmed with winged insects as I hurried to check Ben’s message.

Except it wasn’t Ben. I didn’t want to analyze why that disappointed me so much.

Glaring at the empty text message from some unknown contact, I cursed whatever glitch in the system that had caused the teasing hope. Fuck you, Unknown, getting my hopes up for nothing. Stupid cell service.

I deleted the mistaken text and returned my phone to my side table. Punching my pillow, I snuggled into my blankets and closed my eyes.

Go to sleep, Silas, and for fuck’s sake, do not dream about Ben!

But my subconscious must have hated me because, as my mind spun into unconsciousness, my dreams filled with blue eyes, blond curls, and dimples. I tossed and turned in a restless sleep full of the ghosts of spring soap and spearmint.

16

Rainbow Tennis Shoes

Thanksgiving was spent togetherat my Uncle Rick’s house. I wore the loosest pair of jeans I owned to guarantee I had enough room in the waistband area to expand. Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. It was the one day no one judged me for my food babies.

My cousin Sadie and her husband Dan did most of the cooking while her younger sister Anna and I babysat Lily. I was two years older than Anna and three younger than Sadie, but they were the sisters I never had growing up. When I was a kid, Dad and Uncle Rick were nearly inseparable, but ever since my aunt passed away from a brain aneurysm when I was nine, their relationship grew strained.

Uncle Rick was a mess without his wife and jumped off the deep end for a few years, binge drinking and gambling. Dad tried to help, but then Mom left, and he was stuck raising two boys alone. Of course, Lily’s arrival changed everything.

Lily was myBFF, a new term she’d recently learned, and somehow, I found myself sitting in their living room as the four-year-old decorated my hair with clips and bows as I awaited the delicious Thanksgiving feast. Anna and Sadie never failed to encourage Lily to “do Silas’s hair” whenever we came together.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I whisper-yelled at Anna, who sat beside me laughing unabashedly as her niece added a tiny ponytail on the crest of my head.

“You have no idea.” She cackled as her short, dark hair fell into her espresso-colored eyes.

She held up her phone and snapped a few pictures, and I glared hotly as I flipped both her and the camera off. “Bite me.”

---