Page 44 of Delinquents Turned Fugitives
"Yeah. He'd stay there once in a while, when his pops was in jail. But mine was gone from the start. Left when I was born. She's a sweet lady, you'd like her. Used to try to swat me with a spatula."
"That doesn't sound sweet."
He started to chuckle. "I never told her that I'd move out of the way and back so fast she couldn't even tell. Had to make the smacking noise with my own hands."
I laughed, trying to imagine it. I pictured a kitchen with linoleum floors, a scratched wooden table, and a young Andros being a mouthy shit.He must have been a damn cute kid,I thought, based on what he looked like now. "I don't really know that I can picture you getting spanked."
"Never have been, never will be spanked. Idothe spanking."
My throat grew tight and an entirely different mental image flashed through my head, one with Andros’ hand smacking my ass, completely shoving aside grief for a few seconds.
Andros seemed to realize where he'd taken things. He coughed and immediately apologized. "I didn't mean to go there."
I shook my head. "You're fine. It's distracting me."
He set the bottle of whiskey on the ground, screwing the lid back on. "And I'm done if I'm saying shit like that when I'm supposed to be the one in here comforting you."
"You are. Tell me something else," I demanded, leaning my head on his shoulder before popping right back up. "Shit. Is that okay? I'm just a little, you know--"
"Tipsy?"
"Yeah," I giggled. "But it's better than sad. I hate being sad. I feel like I've been sad forever."
Andros reached out and put his arm around my shoulders, dragging me in so that my head rested on his hard, firm, huge pec. It was sweet, and because I was drunk it didn't even feel awkward.
“Grandma always used to say when she lost grandpa that it felt like she was drowning. The sadness just soaked in. She used to say it was like she was underwater but everyone else around her wasn’t. They’d talk and laugh and it was all just blurry and garbled. She was better at describing it than I ever was. So now I just steal her description.”
“Well, youarea thief.” I made a weak attempt at lightening the mood.
“Yeah. True. That … and more.” His voice took on a dark edge.
I pinched his stomach, making him start and squeal. “Don’t go there. Tonight’s my pity party. We can have yours tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. But if you pinch me again …”
I made my forefinger and thumb open and close like lobster pincers. He wrapped his hand around mine, trapping it and then placed my hand gently on his stomach. I sank back into him, just listening to the beat of his heart. It was slow and steady and comforting. And just as I started to soak up his comfort, another memory creeped up. This time, it was Mom racing the cart through the grocery store, me inside, squealing. It was an old memory, and so utterly random. But it sliced right through me and tears filled my eyes.
“Does the pain ever stop?” I asked, a catch in my breath.
“For me? Some days. Grandma said that for her, eventually it got smaller. Not so overwhelming. You just go more slowly through life afterward. You don’t walk lightly anymore. Because you aren’t walking through air like the innocent, you’re wading through life, weighed down by loss. But every now and again, things get to me. A smell. A laugh that’s kind of similar and makes you turn your head. It can be something tiny. And it’ll suck you right back under.”
“That’s awful.”
“Sometimes, reality is awful.”
“I hate your logic.”
“No. You hate reality.”
“That too. Damn. Shut up already. Now I’m feeling mad.”
He chuckled and my cheek vibrated against his chest which felt like a boulder in an earthquake. "You'd better always work out," tipsy-me told him, yanking my hand from his grip and using my index finger to jab at him. "Otherwise, these awesome things will turn into moobs."
This time his laugh shook my entire head until I had to pull away or risk feeling sick. As soon as I started to clutch my stomach, grief found that chink in my drunken buzz and started to wriggle its way back inside. I had to stop it. "More distractions. Give 'em to me."
Andros cleared his throat. "I don't know what to say."
"Tell me ... a secret," I demanded.
