Page 14 of College Town

Movement and a blur of pale blue to his left signals Dana’s arrival. She perches on the edge of the coffee table amidst a cloud of her usual floral perfume. A comforting smell, normally, but now it punches at his gag reflex, and he presses a clammy hand to his lips.

“Good morning,” she says pleasantly, “don’t blow chunks on my sofa.”

Lawson groans and sits – slowly – back on his heels. Blinks a little more, and tugs at his lower eyelids with his fingertips, and the room comes mostly into focus, though the dried-out contacts burn his eyes like a bitch. While he tries to keep his gorge down, he sees that Dana is dressed in sweats and her fluffy blue bathrobe, which means it’s still early enough that she isn’t ready for work. She holds two steaming mugs, and holds one out to him.

“Coffee?”

His stomach churns sourly, but he doesn’t think he can drive without it. “Thanks.” The heat of the mug bleeds into his palms, and the sharp scent of French roast with only a dash of cream, no sugar, shaves the finest edges off his hangover.

“I’m making bagels,” she says, and gets to her feet.

“Mm. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t I know it.”

He shifts around so he can press his bare toes into the rug, and takes careful sips of coffee. It helps. Not with the shame – there’s no fixing that. He’s fairly certain, though the details are fuzzy, that he spilled far more details about his past with Tommy Cattaneo than Leo wanted or asked for. He knows he cried at some point, can remember the pitiful sound of his own little choked-back sobs.

Ugh. He’s a fucking mess.

Leo’s not here now, thankfully, to give him any more sympathetic looks that he can’t handle. He sips more coffee, and listens to Dana putter around the kitchen, and winces against the first pale fingers of sunlight spilling across the floorboards…

Sunlight.

Morning.

Nancy the night nurse always sees to getting Dad bathed and in bed, but she doesn’t spend the night, which means Dad is Lawson’s responsibility the next morning.

A morning which is now, and in which he’s not at home.

“Fuck!” He bolts to his feet, slopping hot coffee over his hand – “shit, shit” – and onto the table, which he stoops hastily to wipe with the tail of his shirt.

“What? What’s wrong?” Dana comes to the doorway, wielding a knife frosted with cream cheese.

Lawson pats frantically at his jeans pockets, searching for his phone, his keys, neither of which he finds. “Shit. My dad – I’m supposed to–”

“It’s okay. Hey,” Dana says, walking toward him when he starts flipping couch cushions. “Law.Stop.”

He does, but only because she grips his arm. He’s breathing hard, and flop-sweating, and the sun’s already up, and Mom has work, and Dad is – Dad is–

“Breathe,” Dana says, not unkindly. She squeezes his forearm. “Leo headed over to your place about an hour ago, and he texted me when he got there. Your dad’s fine. Your mom was gonna make Leo breakfast as a thank you.”

Brain both sluggish and panicked, it takes him a beat before the words sink in. When they do, his eyes burn for a whole new reason, and he squeezes them shut before he sinks back down to the couch. “Fuck,” he says again, with feeling.

Dana rakes her nails through his hair, and despite his headache and skin sensitivity, the rasp against his scalp feels nice, the perfect degree of pressure. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he chokes out, wiping at his eyes. “No, it’s really not.”

“Hey.” She sits down across from him on the table, so their knees are pressed together, and taps at his chin until he cracks his eyes open. When he does, he finds her head tipped to one side, her eyes impossibly soft, softer than she ever shows the world outside of him and, hopefully, Leo. They’ve known one another their whole lives, and so she doesn’t need to give voice to everything her gaze says, but she does anyway, because she knows him inside and out, and knows that words are his trade, his love language, and that sometimes he needs them terribly. Like now.

She smiles when she has his attention, a meaningful, scrappy smile straight from the sandbox, from the playground, from under the bleachers when he bawled his eyes out over Tommy’s rejection twenty years ago. Thatwe’re in this togethersmile.Me and you against the world. “You can’t be on top of everything all the time. That’s a fast track to crazy.”

“You are.”

“Nope, I’m absolutely not, I just” – she tosses her ponytail, so he’ll grin – “make it look like I am. All smoke and mirrors, babe.”

“I fucked up.”

“Nope.” She grows soft and serious again. “You had a shitty surprise, and you came to commiserate with your friends over a glass – or six or seven – of wine. Now we have to prioritize. The priorities are: you didn’t drive while drunk, which you didn’t. That you slept somewhere safe, which you did. And that your dad got helped out of bed, and into his chair, which he did. And” – she holds up a hand when he starts to protest, throat sticky with shame and tears – “Leo was happy to do it, because he loves you, and you don’t owe him anything,becausehe loves you.”

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