Page 17 of The Weight of Your Wishes

My mouth falls open, and I rear back. “Depression?” I was not expecting him to say that. I thought this was about laziness. “I’m not… depressed. Growing up, I always preferred to stay in my room.”

His eyes soften. “Well, maybe you’ve been depressed longer than you think. It’s the type of thing that passes you by; you don’t notice until it’s too late, until you’ve lost days and months and even years in a blur. I need you to live in the moment this summer, so we’re going to try to do that. Alright?”

I nod, my mind still reeling. “I promise I’m not lazy or messy or any of that. I just get so lost in my head sometimes.”

He walks over to the railing on the deck, leaning his elbows against the splintered wood. “Come here.”

My mouth goes dry, but I straighten up and walk over on wobbly legs. I make sure to stand at least a solid foot away from him and mimic his pose. But after a moment, he moves. I feel a heavy arm settle around my bare shoulders as he squeezes me to his side. Liquid fire blazes from the point of contact, and goosebumps rise all over my arms. I swallow roughly.

“I don’t know everything that you’ve been through over these past many years, Hendrix. I’m sure a lot of it had to do with Cynthia, and for that, I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve stuck around, but I thought she had changed over time.”

He’s stiff against me, uncomfortable with talking about these kinds of things. “It’s not really a big deal. I don’t think you being there would’ve changed all that much. She was already weighed down with the responsibility of being a single parent, but I never made it easier on her—only added to her stress. Never did very well in school. We argued a lot.”

Grant shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do. You were a child, and it’s not normal for any child to want to hide away in their room every day. She needed more patience and understanding with you.” He sighs. “I never did well in school either. All the kids tried to mess with me. They thought I was dumb. I couldn’t read very well, and my handwriting was barely legible. I sort of stayed quiet because I didn’t feel like I belonged with any of them. What’s the point of talking if they were just going to mock me anyway? My father was as big of a bully as they were, but it was worse because I had to listen. It was important to me to follow in his footsteps and make him proud. My mom always encouraged me to do so, of course. She dealt with his shit, too. Had it worse than I did.”

I take time to process his words, not remembering a time he ever said so much to me.

“I don’t want pity or anything. I’m just trying to tell you that I understand how it feels, and none of it’s your fault. You just need a littlemoreout of people, and so do I.”

He has me pressed against him so tightly that my face is right at his armpit, and it’s killing me how good he smells there. I’m having trouble focusing on his words while trying not to sniff too loudly, but he’s right, I think. I do need a little more from people—more understanding, more patience, more love. Marina is the only one who does that for me.

“I have a best friend named Marina, and she’s really good for me. Our friendship is unconditional.”

He nods his head. “I have your mom… I guess.”

Well, that’s just fucked up. I don’t even want to try to unpack that. “What about Veronica?”

He stiffens even more, taking a moment to respond. “I don’t know, Hendrix. We’re still new, you know?”

“How new?” I respond, side eyeing him.

“Nine months.”

My mouth falls open on a gasp. “That’s not new at all! How could you be with her for so long when you know she’s not the one?”

His arm falls to his side, and he takes off the baseball cap, running his fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s crystal clear to me. You’re only with her because it’s better than being alone.” That earns me a dirty look, but I stand my ground. He shouldn’t have given me this piece of information; I can’t help but run with it.

“I’m not exactly the most eligible bachelor, Hendrix. I’m just a tired, sad, old man now. A bar owner. As if that wins me any points,” he scoffs. “It is what it is. Why am I even talking to you about this?”

“Oh, my God. You’re not even old!” I’m trying but failing to not get worked up.

Here he is, wallowing in self-deprecation, while I’ve been admiring him with stars in my eyes and a hard dick in my shorts. How can he be so blind? “You’re just as worthy of unconditional, real love as I am.”

He doesn’t say a word, only stares into the darkness. After a moment, long enough for me to consider going back inside, he speaks, barely a whisper, “I wish it were that simple.”

As much as I want to tell him that it really could be that simple, I don’t. Instead, I grip his hand firmly in mine and guide him back into the house with me. “Let’s just have a beer and watch a movie,” I say, motioning for him to sit. I come back with two bottles at the ready and plop down on the opposite side of the couch. He puts something on, but I can’t pay any attention to it. My nails pick at the damp label on my beer bottle as our conversation replays over and over again in my head. I chance a glance at him and find that he’s not paying attention either. His eyes are fixed somewhere above the TV, his face set in a hard frown. He lifts the bottle to his lips, and I can’t help but watch the way his throat flexes around the liquid.

All this space between us is buzzing with charged energy. It’s pouring off me in waves. I gulp down the rest of my beer quickly and slam it down on the table with a grimace. Uncle Grant snaps from his daze, looking at me with concern. I open my mouth to say something but shut it quickly. He lifts a brow. “Do you remember when… um—”

“Spit it out, Hendrix.”

I swallow roughly. “Well, remember how I used to lay in your lap? I’d like to, uh… do that again.” My heart slams in my chest painfully, battering my ribs. This is beyond a bad idea.

The lines around his eyes soften. “Come here, kid.”

I curl up with my head on his lap, the rough denim against my cheek, and release a contented sigh. His fingers comb through my hair, just like he used to. Back then, this was my favorite place to be, and I bet it feels the same as it always did for him.

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