Page 18 of I'm Sorry

She’s done a great job and has kept me in good spirits despite my family being incredibly overbearing. My toes are now a neon orange color, my heels freshly scraped and softened, and my muscles are definitely relaxed for once. I’m sitting back in one of our fluffy recliners, my feet propped up on the footrest as I doze in and out. The television is quiet in the background.

“Hey, kiddo.” Dad stops to run his hand over the top of my head, careful not to go too far and graze my stitches. I have one of those airplane neck pillows that works perfectly to hold my head up and avoid me having to rest it on my wound. I open my eyes to find him standing over me and doing his best to mask the anguish in his eyes. It isn’t working well.

“Hey, Daddy,” I whisper, throat tight, chest heavy and aching.

“You need to rest, but I just wanted to check in and say hi, see if you needed anything.” I place my hand on his forearm and force the smile I feel like he needs.

“I’m good. They’ve got me covered well.” A sort-of smile forms on his tired face.

“Are they smothering you?”

“Is that even a question?” This gets me a chuckle that warms my heart a bit. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he is okay and to let him know he doesn’t need to feel guilty, but he speaks before I can, then marches off.

“Tell them to chill out. Don’t be afraid to tell them what you need, okay?”

I’m left slightly speechless and blinking my eyes in confusion. His absence hangs heavy in the air, his guilt clouding me to the point I get up and make my way to the bathroom to avoid it. When I get back, my mothers and sister have bowls of popcorn scattered throughout the room. I shuffle-step over to my chair, bend at the waist, and gingerly place my ass on the edge of my recliner. When there, I scoot back, moving at the pace of what I’d imagine a ninety-year-old would. Curious and cautious eyes watch me, but they let me do what I need to do without butting in. When I’m settled and looking toward the television, they act like they weren’t watching me and chat with one another while Junie surfs the Netflix log for something.

I’m making it through the movie just fine, no one having said a word, when a scene shows up that has me wincing. The main character is getting his ass handed to him by a group of assholes that belong to a gang who’ve been following him and threatening him. It hits a little close to home, but I try not to let it get to me. The attack happened, but it’s over and I’m safe. For now.

It’s all becoming a tad too much. “Can we watch something else? Maybe something a little happier?”

Junie visibly stiffens and Mama Mallory discreetly wipes tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Lenny. I didn’t know that’s what this movie was about.”

“No, it’s okay. I just… it’s just too much right now.” The mood grows somber, the attack becoming a cloud hanging over an otherwise merry group of people. I can’t take it. “Let’s turn on an animated film or something like that. And smile. Please, for the love of all that is holy, you guys need to smile. I’m fine. I’m alive and I will be okay.”

“You’re right, sweetheart. It’s just hard on all of us. We almost lost you, and we aren’t sure how to deal with that without absolutely smothering you. Our lives are also changing. Now we have more security.” Junie groans and so does Mama Mallory.

“And it’s all your fault,” Junie grumbles.

“Asshole.” I laugh and toss a decorative pillow at my sister. The pain in my ribs objects and it falls flat on the floor. My yelp is so loud I’m covering my mouth with my hand, the other wrapping around my ribs to hold them together.

“You dumbass!” my sister manages to get out between giggles.

“Hey, maybe you can tell Daddy to find you a handsome driver that’s not Thompson.” Junie’s dark blue eyes light up with mischief at my statement. She taps her chin with her pointer finger.

“The bodyguard trope. I like it.” She waggles her brows.

“I didn’t tell you to fall in love with him. Just some eye candy.”

“Oh, I’m totally going to fall in love with him,” she swoons, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and fluttering her lashes.Moron.

“Drivers are not for loving. They have a job to do, young lady. To keep you safe.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure most drivers are meant to drive you, not keep you safe. That would be a bodyguard. But you two, our mothers, along with us, are too stubborn to let Daddy hire bodyguards, so I will fall in love with my driver,who also happens to be my somewhat bodyguard.”

Shaking my head, I say, “You’re an idiot.”

“But it works, and it’s smart.” Her finger moves to tap the side of her head this time. “And it’ll be hot as hell.”

“Don’t tell Daddy this plan because he’ll make sure you have a troll driving you around,” I warn.

“That is an excellent point,” Mama Mallory adds. “I will be sure to tell him.” Junie gasps.

“You wouldn’t!”

“She totally would,” Ma says.

“Your father is taking this seriously, girls. He wants you to be safe. It isn’t a joke.”Ugh.Clearly, this day isn’t meant to have light and playful conversation.

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