Milàn #4
“Who’s taking up a new hobby?” Another guy appears on screen.
He’s got a smile on his face, and his deep blue eyes shine with laughter.
He’s also shirtless, and it takes me a moment to register that his whole upper body seems to be covered in scars.
“Who’s that?” the guy asks, glancing toward Sutton.
“Jordan’s new project,” Sutton says.
“Christ,” Jordan mutters, throwing me a quick, apologetic look. “Those are not my words.”
I’m not even going to pretend I understand anything about that interaction.
“Milàn wants to bribe Rory with art supplies,” Jordan tells Wren. “Point out what he needs to buy that’ll be irresistible for a thirteen-year-old with a sketchbook permanently attached to his hands.”
Wren tilts his head to the side. “What does he do?”
I don’t understand the question, and it must show on my face, because he chuckles softly. Not unkindly, though.
“Does he draw? Paint? Sculpt? Pencils? Ink? Watercolors? Acrylics? Oils? I could keep going, but you’re turning a bit pale, and you have that same overwhelmed look Sutton gets when I start talking about work.”
Sutton tugs at Wren’s earlobe, but he does it with the kind of adoring look that leaves no doubt about their relationship.
“I… He has a sketchbook,” I say. I’m overwhelmed as fuck, so he’s got me there.
Wren sends me a pitying look and then transforms that pitying look into taking pity on me.
“Right. Well that’s something we can use, for sure.
How about we start with pencils? Every artist needs a good set of pencils.
A set from 2H to 6B is a good starting point.
You can easily add more grades later. You can probably find a set, but you can also buy them individually, and if you do pick a very hard one and a light one.
Then take one soft and one dark and pick a few between those.
You should also consider the type of line you want to achieve.
Hard and bold or light and soft? Do you want to be able to smear or blend?
Also, keep in mind the ease of erasing or drawing over. ”
I start to pat down my pockets for my phone, because I need to take notes.
Meanwhile, Jordan is looking around the store. His gaze catches on something, and he gets the kind of alert posture that shows he’s found what he’s looking for.
“An HB pencil for sketching and a 6B for shading,” Wren says in the meantime.
“Wren, shut up for a sec,” Jordan tells him, then he starts to walk, tugging me along after him until we reach a wall of pencils.
“There. What do I get from this stuff?” Jordan turns the screen so it faces the pencils.
Wren makes some kind of thoughtful noise.
“Wait. I have to go get one of those baskets.” Jordan looks around.
“I’ll get it.” I grab one, and we spend the next thirty minutes following Wren’s instructions as he picks out what he thinks would be a good choice for Rory, which translates into a bunch of pencils, paper, and a number of other things Wren deems essential.
“Thank you,” I tell Wren once we’re done and standing outside the store. “I would’ve been very much lost without you.”
He shrugs and smiles. “No big deal. Have fun with the bribing.”
Jordan hangs up, and we stand in front of the store. Jordan glances at his watch and then at me.
“I have to get going. It’s my turn to make dinner. I’ll see you on Saturday for practice?”
I nod, feeling lighter than I have in months.
“We’ll be there.”
I have no idea if I can keep that promise, but I don’t say that out loud.
The front door opens with a quiet snick. Everything that follows happens so silently that I wouldn’t honestly be surprised if Rory realized he could become a burglar. The potential is there.
I clear my throat when he tries to sneak past the living room, and he jumps.
“Shit!” he says.
“Language.”
His shoulders tighten, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, then slowly turns to face me.
“What?” There’s an impressive amount of defiance and challenge packed into that one word.
We’re three months into this shitshow, and with shame, I admit that this is the first true look I’ve taken at him. The first time I’m admitting to myself that I’ve been an asshole. Did I want to upend my life like this? Not even a little bit.
Is it Rory’s fault?
No.
I made the decision to be here, but I haven’t really shown up until now because I’ve been too busy feeling resentful.
It’s time to do better, and the key to doing better is this scrawny boy in jeans, dirty sneakers, and a hoodie, his floppy curls in serious need of a trim.
I push the chair on the other side of the table out with my foot.
“Take a seat.”
“I’m fine,” he says through clenched teeth.
“It wasn’t an offer. Sit down.”
I stare at Rory, and Rory stares at me. He gives in first, making sure to roll his eyes at me before he stiffly plants himself in the chair.
I’m not going to lie, the attitude is familiar.
It’s the kind of thing I would’ve done had I ever been in his situation.
Fuck, I probably would’ve made sure to be worse.
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I take a sip of the coffee I’ve been nursing for the past thirty minutes.
I would love to have something stronger, but Aiden got fed up with my inability to get groceries, so now all the shelves are stocked with a variety of healthy, nutritious options. Whiskey didn’t make the cut.
What the hell am I supposed to say?
“You hungry?” I ask.
The question seems to take him by surprise.
Exactly how shit have I been at this job?
“I ate,” he says, eyeing me warily with a furrowed brow. I’m thinking he expected this to evolve into our usual shouting match, so at least I’ve got the element of surprise on my side.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
He looks away. His shoulder jerks, almost involuntarily. He looks just a bit lost before he catches himself and goes back to glaring at me.
“You kicking me out or something?” He clutches the side of his chair so hard his knuckles go white. It’s amazing how much you notice when you take a break from wallowing in self-pity.
“Because I couldn’t give a fuck.” He lifts his chin higher. “I have options.”
I forgo wagging my finger about the cursing. It doesn’t feel like the time for that.
“Yeah?” I say calmly and wait.
“I don’t know what you or Aiden want to tell yourself, but I’m not exactly helpless. I’m tall for my age. I can get a job. I know how to do lots of things. This place is shit anyway. I’ll get out of here.”
I lean back, casually crossing my ankles. “Where are you headed?”
He folds his arms over his chest and scoffs before he rolls his eyes and looks away.
“Without a roof over your head, winter would pose some difficulties. So, somewhere warm?”
I don’t mean anything by it, but based on Rory’s reaction I’m also missing something. His jaw clenches, and he looks away.
“I’m not going there,” he blurts.
“Where?”
“There. To him. I’m not going.”
He pushes his chair back, the legs screech when they drag backward on the floor. His whole body is tight with something that looks like a mix of anger and fear he tries so hard to hide.
“Him?” I ask.
“To Reno. With Dallas. You want to send me back? Well, fuck you. I’m not going, and fuck you if you think you can make me.”
He gets up.
“Sit down,” I say sharply.
His jaw clenches, and he hovers, torn between taking a step back and staying in place. I’ve never seen such a visceral representation of fight or flight.
“We’re not sending you anywhere,” I say.
He scoffs, but stays put for now.
I figure that’s a win.
I take the pencils and slide them toward him over the table. He eyes them suspiciously before he glances at me. I keep the pencils in place and tap my fingers on them. He approaches slowly, like a wild animal, an inch at a time, curious but wary, lured in by the pencils.
“Sit down,” I say. “Please.”
He looks at me for a long time before he takes a seat again. Once again, he crosses his arms over his chest.
He nods at the pencils. “What’s that?”
I pick up one of the pencils and roll it to him across the table. He picks it up and inspects it.
“You like to draw,” I say.
He stares at me for the longest time.
And then he’s suddenly up.
Credit where credit is due. He’s fast.
I’ve barely blinked before he’s out the door. The only reason he doesn’t take off into the night is that he runs straight into Aiden at the front door, costing him the few valuable seconds I need to catch up with him.
I grab his forearm to stop him from fleeing, and he fucking loses it. It’s like trying to restrain a feral animal.
“What the fuck?!” Aiden snaps.
“Let go of me. Get your fucking hands off! I will fucking kill you!” the kid rages. He slams his elbow into my jaw before I manage to push him against the wall.
I’d call the behavior unhinged if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes are wide with fear, and he’s practically trembling with terror he’s clearly trying to suppress.
“Milàn?” Aiden sounds alarmed. “The fuck is happening?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I’m breathing harshly from the effort of keeping him still.
I let him go the moment he stops struggling and stumble backward, leaning against the front door. Rory has his back pressed against the wall opposite me, his eyes darting between me and Aiden and the walls as if looking for an escape route.
“Okay,” Aiden says faintly. “Okay. Let’s just all…”
His voice dies. Neither of us is equipped to deal with this, and we’re both still startled about the over the top reaction.
“No one is going to hurt you here,” Aiden says, locking his gaze with Rory’s. His tone is impressively calm. My hands are shaking when I drag them through my hair.
Rory scoffs.
“Can we all just go and sit down in the living room?” Aiden asks.
I draw in a deep breath and nod, pushing myself off the door.
Rory’s eyes flick to the door.
“You’re not trapped here,” I say. “Just… give us a moment. If you don’t like what we have to say, we’ll figure out some other arrangement for you.”