Katie
Michael pulls into a parking spot and shuts the engine off, and for a second, everything goes quiet except for the faint tick of the car cooling.
I don’t reach for the handle. I sit there, hands folded in my lap, staring straight ahead.
I could get out. I always do everywhere else, but not with him.
Because I already know, if I touch that door, he’s going to say something, so I wait.
Sure enough, his door opens. A second later mine does too, and I slide out.
The second my feet hit the ground, I look up at the building.
It’s the same as last week and the week before that.
I come here every week. I know exactly what it looks like.
There’s no getting used to it or building up some tolerance where it stops feeling so horrible.
It sits there in my chest. I never get to put down.
I stand there looking at it, letting myself have that pause before I have to walk inside and pretend I’m okay with any of this.
Michael doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t rush me, doesn’t touch me, and doesn’t try to fix it.
He stays there, close enough that I know he’s there if I need him. That’s all I get. That’s all I want.
When I finally move, it’s because I make myself.
I turn and walk toward the doors, each step automatic.
My body already knows the routine even if my head doesn’t want to be here.
The glass doors slide open as we get close, and the air inside is too clean.
It never feels right no matter how many times I walk through it.
Cheryl, the receptionist’s smile settles on me the second we walk in.
“Hi, Katie.”
“Hi,” I say, giving her something back that passes.
Her eyes move past me. To him. There’s a flicker there. Not because I didn’t come alone. I bring Sarah sometimes, but this is different. Her expression shifts slightly, trying to place him before I say anything.
I don’t make her wait.
“This is my boyfriend, Michael,” I say. “Michael, this is Cheryl.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Cheryl says.
Michael steps forward and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you, Cheryl.”
She takes it, smiling, but she’s already filing this away, adding it to whatever version of me she’s built over the past two years. I shift my weight, my focus already pulling down the hallway behind her.
“Can we head back?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “Go ahead.”
I walk down the hall with Michael right next to me.
People say hi as we pass, voices I recognize, faces I’ve seen enough times that they’ve started to stick.
They’re all older. Way older than my mom.
This place was never meant for her. Sixty isn’t old enough for this.
It never will be. I keep my focus straight ahead, refusing to let that thought sit too long.
A few of the women glance at Michael, glance again, not even pretending they’re being subtle.
It almost makes me laugh. Even here, even now, that part of the world works exactly the same.
Her door is open.
I hear her voice, clear, mid-conversation, and my stomach tightens. I don’t let myself get ahead of it. I don’t let myself think anything yet. I step inside, Michael behind me, and Nina is in the recliner, my mom sitting on the edge of the bed.
She looks over. Straight at Michael. There’s confusion there, immediate and obvious, and I feel it hit before it even fully forms. Her eyes move and land on me.
“Katie!” she says. “My baby!”
My breath catches hard, tears hitting my eyes. She knows me. Right now, she knows me.
Michael’s hand settles against my back, and I lean into it.
She’s off the bed before I even take a full step in, moving faster than I’ve seen her move in a long time. She’s right there, her arms around me, pulling me in tight. I fold into her.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she says into my hair.
“I’ve missed you too,” I say, and my voice breaks, the tears already falling.
She pulls back enough to look at me, her hands coming up to my face. “Oh, baby. Why are you crying?”
I shake my head, wiping at them even though they keep coming. “I’m so happy to see you.”
Her smile softens, and for a second, everything feels normal. Then her eyes shift over my shoulder.
“Who is this, Katie?”
I turn, my hand in hers as I look at him.
“Mom, this is Michael,” I say. “My boyfriend.”
Michael steps forward and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Miller.”
Mom looks at me first, then back to him. She takes his hand. “You too,” she says. “I didn’t know my Katie had a boyfriend.”
“It’s new,” I say. “I couldn’t wait for you to meet him.”
I don’t overthink it. It’s true. That’s enough.
“Well,” Mom says, already moving on. “Let’s sit down.”
Nina pushes herself up from the recliner.
“I’m going to get out of your way,” she says, looking at me. “Good to see you, Katie.”
“Yeah. You too, Nina.”
Nina’s older. This place fits her in a way it doesn’t fit my mom, but she’s all there.
She knows exactly who I am every time I walk in, and she sticks around.
Even when my mom doesn’t remember her, Nina doesn’t leave.
She sits with her, listens, and keeps her company through it. On these days, she gets something back.
I settle next to Mom on the bed. Michael sits in the recliner across from us.
“So,” she says, looking at him. “You and Katie. How long has this been going on?”
“Only a few weeks,” I cut in.
It’s a lie.
“That’s nice,” she says, but her eyes stay on him.
“What is it, Mom?” I ask.
She turns Michael. “How old are you?”
Michael doesn’t hesitate. “Thirty-six, ma’am.”
Her attention snaps to me. “But Katie, you’re only eighteen.”
Oh.
One second I’m sitting here, and the next the floor shifts under me. I swallow hard, forcing it down.
“No, Mom,” I say, carefully. “I’m twenty-four. Remember?”
Her eyes widen for a second, and she nods, clicking back into place.
“Oh yes. Of course,” she says. Then she turns to Michael. “Call me Beth.”
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
She smiles, and he smiles back.
For the rest of the visit, it’s there in every little thing.
Mom asks me what I’ve been up to, and ten minutes later asks again.
She tells Michael a story about when I was in high school—laughing, animated, getting the details right—and halfway through she stops, frowns, and looks at me as if she’s trying to figure out how that version of me connects to the one sitting next to her now.
I keep my face the same. I answer everything. I fill in the gaps she doesn’t realize are there. When she loses a word, I give it to her. When she skips something, I smooth it over. I tell myself if I stay ahead of it, it won’t feel as obvious.
Michael carries the rest. He answers her questions about work, about where he’s from, and about how we met. When he tells her he’s a CEO, her hand tightens around mine. She’s so proud. She thinks I brought home something impressive.
We eat lunch in the dining room. She insists I try something off her plate, even though I’ve had it a hundred times. I take a bite anyway. She watches me, and when I tell her it’s good, she smiles.
In the common room, we sit through a movie.
She leans into me halfway through, her head resting against my shoulder, and I go still for a second before letting myself relax into it.
I don’t watch the screen. I watch her hands instead.
The way she fidgets with the edge of her sleeve.
The way she taps her fingers against her leg during quiet parts.
Outside, by the pond, she points out the same duck three times. I react the same way every time.
Michael hangs back a few steps, letting us walk ahead. I don’t look at him, but I’m aware of him the entire time. Of the space he’s giving me. Of the fact that he doesn’t interrupt and doesn’t step in unless I need him to. By the time we get back to her room, my head is pounding.
I hug her tight, pressing my face into her shoulder.
“I’ll see you next week,” I say.
“Okay, baby,” she answers.
She hugs Michael too, and I watch, trying to memorize it without making it obvious. I don’t know if she’ll remember him later. I don’t know if she’ll remember this at all.
When we step out into the hallway, his hand finds mine. That’s what almost breaks me. Not anything she did. That.
“I’m going to go to the restroom before we leave,” I say when we reach the lobby, keeping my voice even.
He squeezes my hand once and lets go, and the second he does, I feel it. Everything I’ve been holding in.
Outside, it’s quiet. Michael opens my door, his hand staying on it until I’m in Then he shuts it carefully. I don’t say anything. I sit there, staring straight ahead.
He gets in, starts the car, turns the AC on, and doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for the gear shift or say anything.
He’s looking at me.
“Doll?”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, holding everything where it is. I’m not letting it come up.
He cups my face, and I let him.
“I’m never going to leave you, okay?”
I shake my head. “You can’t say that. You barely know me.”
“Trust me.”
I swallow. “That’s not how that works.”
“You’re written right here,” he says, tapping his chest.
I look at him. He’s serious. He leans in, and I don’t stop him. My hands come up, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. I kiss him hard, because I don’t have anything else to do with what’s sitting in my chest.
The first fifteen minutes of the drive are quiet. I lean my head against the window, watching nothing, and thinking too much.
Fuck this.
I sit up and reach forward, yanking the aux cord out, and plugging it into my phone.
“What are you feeling?” I ask.
“What?”
“Music,” I say, scrolling already. “What are you in the mood for? Hip-hop? Metal? Country?”
I glance over at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Surprise me, Doll.”
I huff out a breath, already knowing exactly what I’m picking. I scroll, find it, turn the volume up, and hit play. Michael turns his head toward me, but I don’t look at him.
“Something takes a part of me…”
I start nodding along, small at first, but more as the beat kicks in. My fingers tap against my thigh, and my shoulders start moving.
I turn it up.
“What the actual hell is this?” he says over the music.
I ignore him.
Korn fills the car, loud and heavy, and I let it take over. I move with it, no holding back, my head snapping forward as I start headbanging, my hair flying, my whole body into it.
“Holy fuck,” he says.
I still don’t look at him. I keep going.
My phone vibrates in my lap. I stop moving and look down.
Sarah: We are going out tonight. The club. I need to dance.
Yes. I text back immediately.
Me: Michael will be with me.
I wait.
Michael keeps glancing over at me. I know he’s trying to figure out what fucked up version of me he’s getting right now. The music shifts, the heavy bass gone, replaced with Celine Dion filling the car as if I didn’t nearly snap my neck five seconds ago.
Sarah: Good. Because Luca’s coming too. 9 at Voltage.
I send a thumbs up and toss my phone back into my lap, leaning into my seat. Michael keeps stealing looks at me. I don’t acknowledge him. I just lift my hand, reach over, and slide my fingers into the back of his hair, letting them move there. I start singing.
“There were nights when the wind was so cold…”
I don’t hold back. I don’t tone it down. I sing like I’m alone, like I need it out of me, like if I stop I’m going to feel everything I just shoved down back at that place.