Milán
Rory comes home on Monday evening with a streak of mud on his cheek, sopping wet from the rain, so I send him straight to the shower. He wanders into the kitchen twenty minutes later, his hair flying around his head in a mess of damp waves and curls.
I glance up from the laptop where I’m trying to chew my way through Gerard’s life. What’s left of it. Files. Documents.
“Hey, kid,” I say tiredly and rub my fingers over my eyes.
He looks like a startled rabbit, staying completely still like he’s convinced that way nobody can see him.
“What?” I look around, trying to figure out what the hell gave him that wide-eyed look. That flicker of unguarded stillness.
He glances away, then back. “I’m hungry.”
I nod and push my chair back. “Okay. Want a sandwich?”
“I can do it myself,” he mumbles, already heading to the fridge.
I’m up already, though, so now we’re awkwardly hovering at the counter with the fridge between us.
He fixes me with an unblinking stare, and I feel the urge to apologize, even though I’m not sure what exactly I’ve done that needs me to remedy it. There’s probably a huge array of stuff, even if I’m having difficulty right now pinpointing the exact wrongdoing.
Rory sighs, rolls his eyes, and looks away.
“You can sit. I was just… It was small talk, okay?”
I stare at him dumbly. “Oh.”
He huffs out a breath, and a flush creeps up his neck.
“Never mind.” He turns on his heel, ready to flee.
“We can make Sloppy Joes,” I offer.
He turns back slowly. I have never ever wanted anybody to get a hankering for Sloppy Joes more than I do at this moment.
He stays put. Slinks to the chair at the table.
I start taking out what I need, quickly chop an onion and a bell pepper while the ground beef is cooking, then mix it all together and after a little while add the rest of the ingredients.
It’s one of the few foolproof things I know how to cook relatively well.
Once I’m done, I slide the plate in front of Rory and settle in opposite with my own.
“How was your practice with Theo?”
“Fine.”
“And school?”
He shrugs, eyes on his plate. “The usual.”
“Anything interesting going on?”
He’s silent for a long time, methodically chewing and swallowing.
I wait.
“Same old,” he eventually says.
More silence follows. Rory finishes his sandwich and leans back in his seat. I expected him to take off as soon as he was done eating, but he doesn’t.
“We’re doing logarithmic functions in math,” he says.
I raise my brows at him. “Isn’t that something they usually teach in high school?”
At least I’m pretty sure that’s when normal people endure that torture.
Rory just shrugs in reply.
He’s still here, though, so I push for more.
“You like math?” I ask.
“It’s fine.”
“What’s your favorite, then?”
He hesitates again.
I wait.
“Art,” he finally says.
“Should’ve figured,” I say with a self-deprecating smile.
He nods. He picks up the fork and toys with it.
“History, too,” he adds.
“Yeah?”
“It’s stories,” he finally says. “Only it happened with real people.” His gaze moves over the kitchen, stops on the window, and stays there. “The teacher is good. In my old school they made it seem like everything happens, like, one after the other.”
“Linear.”
He nods. “But they don’t. It’s more like a web of events, and they intersect and intertwine. I like seeing the connections. How one event is connected to something completely different.”
He stops speaking and looks like he’s already regretting saying too much.
“How a choice somebody makes can alter something else,” I say. His eyes snap to mine, and I shrug. “I always liked history, too.”
He holds my gaze for a couple of beats before he pushes his chair away from the table and gets up.
And for a moment, the disappointment is loud.
“I have to finish my homework,” he says.
“If you need any help, I’m here.”
He stares.
“I’ll do my best,” I amend. “If you need it.”
“Okay?” he says slowly. The whole way out of the kitchen, he keeps sending me looks over his shoulder, like he suspects I’m up to something, but he just can’t figure out what the play is.
He’s almost in the doorway when he stops, turns around, and comes back. He picks up his plate and fork and quickly puts them in the dishwasher. A second later he’s gone again.
I purse my lips for a moment before I take the laptop and open it again with renewed determination.
Whatever happens once my year here is over, I’m gonna give this kid a home. Somehow.
I smile when I see Jordan at the side of the field. He’s wearing a baseball cap backward and a hoodie.
He grins when he notices me approaching.
I ignore the way my soul lights up at his proximity. All of this—everything—is getting out of hand.
I lean my elbows on the railing, shoulder to shoulder with Jordan.
Rory comes out last, as always, but then Theo is waiting at the gate that leads to the field, and they walk over to the others side by side.
My shoulders refuse to relax as I watch Rory. I’m not really expecting anything to go wrong, I’m just an uptight motherfucker now when it comes to that kid.
“Breathe,” Jordan murmurs from his spot next to me.
I turn my head to look at him.
He smiles and shrugs.
“Just breathe.”
I take the advice.
Aiden is out like a light, snoring softly. It’s well past midnight, and sometime in the last half hour, it started to rain.
I’m flicking through the channels, feet on the coffee table, too awake to go to bed, but too tired to do anything else other than sit here and mindlessly watch nothing in particular.
There’s a shuffling noise from the hallway, and when I look to the side, I find Rory standing in the doorway.
I raise my brows at him.
“You should be sleeping,” I say quietly, so I don’t accidentally wake Aiden, even if I’m not entirely sure it’s possible in his current state.
Rory’s eyes move over Aiden and me. He doesn’t say anything, just fidgets, his gaze jumping all over the place. There’s a nervous edge to the air surrounding him. An anxious restlessness that seeps into everything.
“Just getting water,” he mutters, but instead of doing that, he starts to turn around to leave.
“You’ve ever seen this?” I pointing at the TV.
He hesitates. “No.”
“It’s really good.”
It’s an action movie from the eighties. Not one of the classics. One of those that went straight to video even back then.
Rory frowns at the screen but steps closer. He comes to the couch and sinks down on the edge of it, eyes on the screen. He stays very still, so after a bit, I get up and go get him that glass of water.
He looks even more startled when I hold it out for him.
“Thanks?” he says, looking between me and the glass several times before he finally takes it.
I settle back in and throw him a blanket. “You know you can lean against the backrest? It won’t fall off.”
He scrunches his nose but scooches backward until he’s slouching like a normal person. It takes a few more minutes for him to unfold the blanket and burrow under it.
We watch the movie without speaking. It’s crap. We watch it anyway. Rory falls asleep right before it ends.
I sit between my brothers, and I feel content in a way that is so foreign it takes me a while to recognize what it even is that makes me stay put and absorb the calm of this moment.
I wake up with a crick in my neck, groggy and disoriented. The couch is empty, and the apartment is quiet.
I rub sleep out of my eyes as I get up, stretch and yawn, then I drag my ass to the bathroom. I pass Rory’s room on my way back to the living area after my shower.
There’s stuff lying around on the kitchen island, and I’m about to roll my eyes, but… There’s a box of cereal. And next to it, a clean bowl and a spoon. I look at it, head tilted to the side.
I don’t eat cereal, and Aiden knows it. Which means this spread? It’s Rory. Making me breakfast.
I absently touch the end of the spoon with my fingertips.
The world narrows to the bowl and the box of cereal in front of me. I don’t know what to do with it, this gesture of trust aimed at me. I don’t deserve it. But I also want it.
Mostly, I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore, but the voice that always reminds me that I’m leaving as soon as I can is suspiciously quiet today.