Page 12 of When He Saved Me
Fuck. I should probably let it go. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested. Called me a rich pretty boy. But I thought there was more to it than that. I wanted to respect his boundaries—he certainly had a right to turn me down—but I’d also caught the way he acted sort of jittery, like maybe he was nervous or something, and I wondered if his prickly exterior was just a front.
Christ. I swiped my free hand over my face, rubbing my gritty eyes. Or maybe he just really didn’t like me, and I needed to get over it.
“I can hear you thinking.” I looked up to find Mom’s green eyes, so like mine, assessing me. She squeezed my hand. “What’s put that frown on your face, sweet boy?”
I smiled at the term of endearment, then sighed. “There’s this guy,” I started.
“Mm-hmm.” She drew the word out in that way mothers do, like she was settling in for some good gossip.
“Do you remember when we got George?” George was our dog who’d been with us from the time I was ten until I was about sixteen. He was a hound mix of some sort who’d been abandoned and taken to the shelter we’d rescued him from not long after Dad died. Mom had thought taking care of a dog might be good for me, that it might help with the grieving process.
“Of course,” she said, her tone indicating she wasn’t sure where I was going with this change of topic.
“Well, remember when we went to the shelter to pick him out? He was cowering in the back of his crate, but as soon as we got near him, he became aggressive. His fur stood up on his back and he growled at us. Even snapped a couple of times. I wanted him, but you were afraid he wouldn’t be safe.”
“I’d almost forgotten he was like that when we first met him. He was always such a sweet boy.” She smiled fondly at the memory. My heart ached at the loss of him, even all these years later. I’d never even asked for another dog because none would ever be as good as George had been.
“That’s the thing though. He wasn’talwayssweet. I spent that whole summer watching training videos and working with him until he eventually learned to trust me.”
“That’s right,” she said, smiling. “He actually trusted you before he trusted me. You were so gentle and patient with him.”
“I just knew he needed to be loved. Even at the shelter, when he was growling and barking at us, something in his eyes made me think he was more afraid than anything else.”
“Is that why you begged for him? I always wondered why it was him you wanted so badly.” She pushed a loose strand of hair back off her face. “Honestly, I was pretty set against him. I didn’t know how I could handle him without your father being there to help. But you looked at me with those big green eyes of yours, and after everything you’d lost, I couldn’t say no.”
“Yeah. I just…I felt so alone after Dad died, and I was sad and scared and so…angry, and I looked at George, and I thought all his snapping and growling—well, that was how I sometimes felt on the inside, so maybe he was feeling the same. Maybe he was just scared and lonely like me.”
“Oh, sweet boy,” she said, tears forming.
“It’s okay, Mom. It was a long time ago and it’s not really the point, or at least it’s not the entire point.” I took her hand in mine, trying to reassure her I really was fine. “The point is, when I look at Finn—he’s the guy I’m interested in—he has that same look in his eye. He’s grumpy and prickly and snarky, but I think it’s just a front. I think, inside, he’s scared.”
Her face softened as she realized what I was getting at. “You always have had the gift of looking past the surface-level stuff that most people show the world.” She paused for a moment to sip her water. I helped her take a drink before placing the water on the tray table next to her. “So, did something happen today?” she continued. “Something in particular that made you upset with this boy?”
“I asked him out, and he turned me down.” I didn’t know if I had it in me to repeat the whole story, so I gave her the basics. “He works at the coffee shop by campus, and I’ve flirted a little, but he’s never been real responsive. Something about him was different today. He seemed…I don’t know…nervous?” I yanked the hair tie out of my bun, mostly for something to do with my hands, and with quick, jerky movements, put my hair back up. “I don’t know. Maybe I just read him wrong.”
“Or maybe you read him exactly right, and he’s just not ready.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. How am I going to know when heisready? Kind of feels like the right thing to do at this point is to just respect his wishes and back off.”
“Definitely makes sense to do that. But perhaps he just needs a friend. You don’t have to ask him out again, and maybe skip the flirty stuff, but you could try just being friendly. Let him get more comfortable with you.”
Unsure how to respond, I lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. We sat quietly for a moment while I pondered her words. I honestly didn’t know what the right answer was. I wanted to respect his wishes, but my gut said there was something there, some spark that was just waiting to be ignited.
Sensing that maybe it was best to table the topic of Finn for now, she patted my hand and mustered a bright smile. “Why don’t you tell me about the rest of your day. Are you keeping up with your classes?”
We spoke about my day and speculated about how soon she would be released from the hospital. We talked about Aunt Cathy’s kids—my cousins—and what was new with them. We avoided the topic of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. I didn’t think either of us wanted to contemplate the possibility of her spending it in the hospital. After about forty-five minutes, her eyes started to droop, and it was clear she needed to rest.
I stayed for hours just watching her sleep, savoring the feel of her small hand in mine. When I could no longer keep my own eyes open, I decided it might be best to head home and try to catch a few hours of sleep before stopping by in the morning before my first class.
I stood from my seat, pulled the blankets up, making sure not to catch on her IV line, gently kissed her forehead, and left.
As I started my car and waited for it to warm up, I let the tears fall. The impossible reality that I might lose her washed over me, but in the midst of my despair, I felt grateful.
Grateful that I’d had that last hour with her. To discuss the ordinary, the mundane, the day-to-day moments that made up a life. Grateful that I’d held her hand, kissed her forehead, and been washed in the sound of her voice one more time.
Grateful that I’d felt her love.
CHAPTER7
