Page 12 of Outspoken

After swallowing, he says in a weak voice, “I’m sorry. Is my flirting making you uncomfortable?”

What was with that reaction?It's making my heart race. Does he flirt with all women? If not, does flirting with me mean…?

I’m struggling to piece together how that makes me feel. Mostly, it feels stressful, and I can’t do stress now. After dinner, I should thank Miguel for everything he's done and then politely ask him to stop messaging. No need to come over again unless it’s to visit Brody. We're getting too comfortable with each other.

“It’s just Brody,” I respond. “And I’m barely out of rehab. We should tone it down.”

He picks at his food, keeping his head down. “You’re right. Sorry. I’ll stop.”

The word 'stop' rings in my ears. I’m suddenly sad about it. I chug water like I'm trying to drown any strange urges or feelings rising inside me.

Miguel senses my mood shift and switches subjects, returning to his peppy self. “How’s your neighbor? I noticed he was home.”

I nod. Over text, I finally told Miguel about what happened to Brody and updated him about everyone’s current situation. “Frank is good,” I say. “He came back a few days ago. After sorting through police BS, he needed time with his family. He stayed with his daughter and grandkids for a few weeks. I think trauma just does that. It makes you think about what you really value.”

Miguel doesn't respond right away, so I glance up from my plate. He nods silently, staring at me with tense eyes. “The ones you love are important. You should always make time for them and cherish what you have.”

I gulp down more water, then give him a weak smile. “When Brody gets out, I need to do more of that.”

“Never too late to start.”

Ireallyneed our conversation to shift. I'm learning that Miguel is an open guy, which is too raw for me. I know I'm supposed to be working on dealing with more of my emotions, but it feels better to bottle everything up so I don't have to feel.

“How are you always so upbeat?” I ask.

“Practice.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Maybe not just practice,” he says as he takes a small bite of food. “Guess I got it from my mom. She's been through some shit, but she always keeps a positive attitude and finds blessings in everything. I think her positivity has rubbed off on me.”

Suddenly, my heart aches. “Sounds like how my mom was. I'd like to think that with age comes wisdom, but some people are born wiser and stronger, like our moms. I wish mine was still around to help me make better choices. I only get dumber as I age.”

“Don't say that.”

I shake my head.Definitely need a topic change.“Um, how was work today?”

He smirks and says, “Well, I got an interesting request from a new client.”

He tells me about the shy college student who asked him for advice about a Tinder profile. Miguel told him he doesn’t use dating apps, so he had no clue. I’m a little skeptical. Though I'm sure Miguel can pick up plenty of women in real life, dating apps are convenient. He could have a date every day of the week. That's what a player would do.

Brody's stories and what I've actually seen of Miguel conflict with each other, so I'm still not sure what to believe.

Next, I update him on Paige and the advocacy group I’ve been talking to. There's hope for getting her out of the guardianship. Since Paige’s mom is currently in rehab and facing prosecution, it’s clear she’s been an unfit guardian. The group wants to work with a lawyer to build a case around Paige being completely capable of taking care of herself, which she is. She’s more adult and competent than I am, but society looks down on her simply because she's labeled ‘autistic’.

Makes me want to punch society.

I hope they can free her from the group home soon. Ineedher back here living with us, and I know she's desperate for that too.

After dinner, Miguel starts cleaning the dishes and I lack the energy to protest. Besides my brother, I’ve never known a man so caring and eager to help. Guess that’s why they’re friends—like attracts like.

As I watch him soap a sponge with too much enthusiasm, my stomach sinks. Miguel and I are complete opposites—opposites repel each other.

Though it's warm outside, I’m suddenly feeling chilly, so I grab my leather jacket from my room. Maybe I just need its comfort. Then I return to the table to sit and wait because I know he'll refuse to let me help him, saying it's only a few dishes.

“Thank you for doing the dishes,” I say to Miguel’s back.

“No problem. I’m free the rest of the evening if you want to hang out and watch a movie. There’s also dessert hiding in the fridge.” He scrubs a plate with the soapy green sponge. “Lots and lots of chocolate.”

---