Page 70 of On the Edge

“Learning a lot?”

“Yes! There are many things I did not know that happen behind the scenes. I am only wishing it was the regular season, so I could be a part of it.”

“Well, I’ve got an inbox full of nothing but compliments about you, so if you’re looking for a job after you graduate, I’d say this would be a good place to start.”

My chest burns like it’s on fire at that, and I sit up a little straighter. “Thank you.”

Sam clears his throat, fiddling with a pen sitting on his desk.

“Now, I’m not trying to overstep here, but I’m wondering if everything is going okay for you otherwise? Outside of here, I mean.”

“You mean at home? At Carter’s house?” I’m surprised by this. I would never gossip or complain while I am at work, and certainly not about Carter and Zeke. I would not have anything to complain about, even if I wanted to do so.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I guess I’m just asking if you’re all right. You come to work on time every day and you work hard—harder, in fact, than many of theactualemployees. You don’t complain, and you take direction with a smile on your face. But”—he pauses, fingers teasing the end of the pen again and sending it spinning—“the guy I met almost a year ago seemed a lot happier than the guy sitting in front of me. I just want to make sure there isn’t anything I can do for you, that’s all.”

There is something a little shocking about kindness offered in such a straightforward fashion. I sit there in silence, listening to him speak as my throat slowly closes and my head fills with pressure. I can’t even remember the last time I cried, and yet I worry I might start right now. All I can think about is Atlas and how last year Iwashappier than I am now. It seems incredible to me that Sam—who knows me only from these past three weeks of work—was able to pick up on that.

“Oh,” I reply, because it’s the only English word I’m able to wrap my tongue around at the moment.

“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that I know it can be hard to be so far away from family, and although I’m sure Carter Morgan is an excellent friend, I somehow doubt he’s the best guy to bounce emotions off of.”

We share a smile at that. I haven’t really talked to anyone about what happened with Atlas, yet. I’ve never been one of those people who talks about themselves—I’m far morecomfortable listening and offering advice to others than asking for it. But I’m also not presented with an opportunity to do so very often. I always try and project an air of competence, which occasionally backfires as it then gives people the impression that I don’t need help, even when I do.

“I am not uncomfortable,” I tell him, even though I am a little bit. Not because of him, though. Rather, because being the center of this type of attention makes me shy. “I, uhm, I do not wish to complain, and I am sorry if I have been in a rotten mood.”

Mouth twisting, he runs a hand over his face and sighs. “Henri, that isnotwhat I was trying to say. I only want to convey my willingness to listen in the event you needed someone to talk to.”

“I am thinking you will laugh at me, when you hear that I am sad because of relationship problems,” I tell him, trying for a joke and failing spectacularly. Sam doesn’t laugh; doesn’t even crack a smile.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says seriously. All of a sudden, I can hardly wait to keep speaking. The words I’d tucked carefully away all summer pile up in my throat, desperate for air.

“Yes. I thought things were fine, but I was wrong because he has broken up with me.” If Sam is surprised to hear my significant other was a man, he doesn’t let on. I suppose the most surprising thing about this conversation is that I had a significant other at all. “Atlas—that is his name—is very hard to get to know. He is…what is it, when you are thinking only the bad things will happen? Cyclical?”

“Cynical,” Sam corrects quietly, and I nod in agreement.

“Yes, he is cynical. He thinks I will break up with him, so he breaks up with me.” There really isn’t anything more tosay than that. I could tell him that I’ve barely been able to sleep these past few weeks, and that my hearthurts. Nobody warned me that heartbreak was a physical ailment, beyond just the emotional. I miss Atlas so much, my body aches with it.

“That’s difficult, especially for someone your age.”

I nod, because I’ve thought this exact thing. Atlas is too young to be so angry about the world.

“Yes, I agree. I have had an easy life, though, and I think perhaps I am not understanding Atlas because of that.”

Sam cocks his head to the side, surveying me. “Have you tried reaching out?”

“No. I am too nervous,” I admit.

“But you want to?” he prompts.

“Yes, I want to. I want to do better at convincing him to keep me around. I was surprised before, and I did not say any of the things I wanted to say. If he spoke German, I would have done much better.”

Sam chuckles. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t see you being much of an arguer in any language.”

“Well, no. But you are thinking I should call him, yes?” I fidget a little in my seat, eyes trained on Sam. This isn’t how I saw this conversation going, but I mean to see it through, now. I really do want advice.

“I think you could check in; let him know you’re thinking about him. Sometimes things don’t work out, though, no matter how hard we try.”

“I would be happy if he only wanted to be my friend. I only need him around to be happy,” I tell him, and earn myself a soft smile.

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