27. Malcolm
I’m hungover.
At least, that’s how it feels. The pounding in my head feels like someone is shoving my face into a wall while hitting me with a purse full of coins repeatedly. It’s also what I want to do to the gentleman behind the counter.
“Alright,” he says slower than what should be allowed in the human language, “you’re all checked out.” The receptionist hands me my receipt in slow motion. I reach to take it and miss it by a few inches, the room tilting on its axis as I do.
I can’t believe I got a concussion.
“Thank you.” I squeeze my eyes shut, leaving the handful of room keys on the counter. I walk away, the pounding reverberating so hard I lose balance and miss a step. I think I hear him say, “Come again,” but I can’t be sure. I slow my steps, shuffling my boots against the tile to avoid stumbling into the giant palm leaves by the doors.
“Shotgun!” Travis yells over everyone as the valet pulls the shuttle around.
“Coaches get shotgun,” Kate’s soothing voice comes from my left, “especially those with head injuries.” She steps to my side, grabbing my elbow. This time, I can’t tell if it’s my concussion or her touch buckling my knees.
“You good?” She eyes me warily, fingers leaving a trail down the back of my forearm.
I nod, the motion making me nauseated with the pain. Seeing her eases it, but not enough to keep my eyes open. I feel like I haven’t seen her in days. The last thing I remember was seeing her wave from the sidelines, the stadium light shining over her like a spotlight. We’ve been going nonstop, trying to get to the airport this morning to fly back home, and I’ve barely spoken to her. In the midst of the rushed packing this morning, all she’s been able to ask me about yesterday was if I remembered anything. My answer was not what she wanted to hear for some reason.
Bits and pieces of the night come and go.
Steven shining a light in my eyes.
Emma crying like she was at my funeral, which is not that uncommon in her state.
Daniels helping me to the couch.
And Kate. Her fingers in my hair or on my arm. I feel like I dreamt it. Her touches were so intense and focused. It didn’t feel like the soothing touches of a caregiver, which is why I’m confident it was a dream. You can guess my disappointment when I woke up and she wasn’t there—and I had a headache from hell.
If they could weaponize headache-inducing methods, torturing for information would be a lot less messy. And a lot less frowned upon probably.
We file onto the shuttle, and Kate ushers me into the front seat like I’m a crippled grandpa. I grumble in protest but refrain from speaking. Any motion created with my neck or jaw sends a jolt up into my eyes. I glance at the clock, 5:45 a.m., before shutting my eyes. Either everyone is wiped, or Kate has threatened them to stay quiet for my benefit. Either way, I’m grateful for the silence as we head toward the airport.
My gaze flutters open with each turn, the streets still dark with streetlamps guiding our path. No one is on the road either, and it looks abandoned compared to the past few days. No vacationers trotting down to the beach or shop-goers crowding the street corners. Most businesses aren’t open, and the gaudy signs used for marketing aren’t blocking the walkways yet.
We get to the airport quickly, filing off the shuttle in a haphazard fashion. The guys are half asleep, whining about having to carry their bags. The girls are rushing to get checked in so they can get to Starbucks before the line gets too long. And Kate stays at my side like my own personal care assistant. I hate it. But also, I love it. Her concern is evoking emotions in me that I don’t know how to process. Is it her just being a friend? Is it just her kindness? Is it a liability thing, and Benny has instructed her to watch me? The questions roil themselves in my head, pain upticking with each thought.
I try to focus on her arm linked in mine, her hand rubbing smoothly up and down my arm. Focusing on that only worsens the pain as I’m reminded of my thwarted plans from last night.
We were supposed to talk.
But nope. I got distracted and got pummeled for it.
“Alright, everyone,” Kate calls to the group, halting the girls in their tracks on the way to their iced lattes. I sit in the closest seat I can find, dropping my bag with a painful thud at my side. Sounds from all around me throb in my temples—suitcases toppling, doors opening, gate change announcements on the overhead. The sounds overtake one another, sounding more and more like gunfire. And explosions. And helicopter crashes…
I grip the armrests of my chair, my knuckles going white and palms burning from my hold, praying for another black-out episode Steven warned me about. An unnerving lump forms in the back of my throat, blocking the air I’m trying to breathe.
My chest gets tight, and my breaths are ragged. Just when I’m about to bolt for the door, Devon towers over me, handing me a set of headphones.
“They’re noise-canceling.” He smiles and pats me on the shoulder.
Taking the seat next to me, he helps adjust them on my head. Silence surrounds me instantly. Relief washes over me, and I focus on the movement of Kate’s mouth as she talks. She hands out flight tickets and reads aloud from her phone. She drives the girls mad as they attempt to inch away. Pointing at them, she makes them come back. My lips twitch with a smile at their slumped shoulders and eye rolling. The coffee will be there in a few minutes, ladies.
Mid-discussion, something on Kate’s phone draws her attention away from the conversation. Concern mars her face as she steps away to answer it. The girls use this as their moment to race to the tiny, innocent woman manning the coffee shop register. Gray eyes bulge at the stampede of messy buns and clunky slippers. I’m honestly amazed, and slightly disappointed, that none of them ate it in their scurry over. I can sense the tiny woman’s overwhelm from here.
She’s halfway through pouring the second drink when Kate rushes into my view, gripping me by both shoulders. Fear in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I rip the headphones off my head, and a plethora of sounds hit me at once.
“It’s Lola…”
I’m on my feet in an instant. She lets out a terrified sob into my chest. “Stay here,” I say to Devon before guiding Kate toward the ticket counter. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
The woman behind the counter startles from behind her crossword puzzle. “May I—”
“Do you have any earlier flights to OKC?” I set my wallet on the counter, keeping one arm around Kate’s waist, her back rising and falling rapidly as tears soak her face. I squeeze her tight and pull her into my shoulder, letting the tears soak me instead. “Please?” my voice cracks.
The attendant grasps the severity of the situation and begins to move fast on the other side of the counter. I watch as her fingers type on the keyboard rapidly, eyes scanning the screen in a blur. “Yes, we have two seats that leave in twenty minutes.”
“Perfect, we’ll take them.” Handing her my debit card, I pull Kate’s wallet out of her back pocket and hand the woman her license.
“Can you come with me?” she whispers into my shoulder, throat thick with trepidation.
“You won’t go alone,” I whisper back. Over her head, I wave Devon over, who’s been standing watch, worry etched on his face. She’s practically his lola too. When he sidles up next to me, I motion for him to hand over his ID, and the woman books their flights.
In moments, we are at the new gate with the new flight boarding its last group. Devon rushes ahead, carrying his and Kate’s bags. Kate, still clinging to my side like a life raft, squeezes me against her. “What if she—”
“Shhhh, don’t think like that.” I wipe the tears from her cheeks and hug her into my chest. “Hurry.” I give her a double squeeze on her shoulders and turn her toward the boarding door. The smile she leaves me with is both beautiful and excruciating as I see terror settle on her face. It’s almost too much to bear.
A sea of people rush around me as they head to their own destinations as I watch the attendant close the bay door to the plane. I grip my jaw, feeling a lack of control when a small sob breaks through me. Please let Lola be okay.
The flight home is grueling. Not knowing what’s going on and not being with Kate when she needs me feels a thousand times worse than my concussed headache. I welcome the nausea the turbulence causes, giving me something to focus on.
When we land, my phone pings with a message.
Benny: Mild heart attack, they’re taking her to surgery. Kate is with her.
She can’t have any more visitors until after 3 p.m. :(
Benny knew I would hightail it to the hospital the moment we landed if I could. I text Kate, letting her know we made it back, and I will be there as soon as she needs me.
I take the kids back to the school and wait until they all head home, then I lock up the supplies we brought with us and climb into my truck. The orange glistens in the late-morning sun, freshly washed. No sign of life marks its doors, no dirt or grime on the tires. It’s clean and shiny and nothing like how I left it. I fear for how the inside of my house looks after letting Ellie and Benny have my key to keep an eye on things.
As expected, when I get home, I find everything out of place—dishes organized by color, couch cushions fluffed, and a Welcome mat at the front door. Why am I friends with these people? Remind me to get my key back immediately.
Five hours go by before I hear anything else about Lola. Enough time for me to pace my land a hundred times, move the chicken coop out of the sun, and weed around my tomato plants. My hands are caked with dirt when my phone rings in my front pocket.
“Lola is going to be fine,” Kate says on the other line, “for now at least. I’m going to kill her when we get home.”
I hear Lola arguing with someone in the background, probably the doctor, as Kate explains what happened. Lola had a minor heart attack during a fitness class—something she is forbidden to do, according to Kate and Benny, because she gets too competitive and hostile. It”s clear where Kate gets her feistiness from. I bite back a laugh as Lola begins arguing with Kate.
“Do you ladies need anything?”
“You’re a saint. Food and clothes would be perfect.” Kate’s voice sounds lighter on the other end.
“Tell him to bring me some pancit!” Lola yells in the background.
“Absolutely not! Do you know how much salt is in that?”
I listen to them bicker back and forth for a moment, letting their voices still the worry that was building in my chest. Lola is fine—for now, anyway. Apparently, Kate heckled the doctor to force Lola to stay in the hospital through the weekend so they can make arrangements. Babysitters, if we’re being honest.
I rush around, almost forgetting to wash the dirt off my hands, as I get to Kate’s place to collect her things. Something about packing the woman you love’s clothes feels intimate—probably because I felt like a creep tossing certain things into a bag. Who knows what kind of coverage she’s going to have, but I know there are at least five pairs.
The hospital is quiet when I get there, hallways empty and the light of day starting to fade outside the large windows. It’s almost enough to soothe the ache still lingering in the back of my head. A few nurses weave up and down the hall as I make my way to Lola’s room. Kate is leaning against the wall, waiting for me. Her eyes are tired and shoulders pulled down, the stress of the day all over her. But when she sees me, the spark in her eyes is back, and I feel my pathetic, sappy self inflate with hope.
I let out a sigh of relief when she wraps her arms around me, and I feel her shoulders relax with relief as I squeeze her. The bag of food I brought crinkles loudly at her back, which makes her laugh against my shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Just doing my duty.”
“Aye! Katherine Joy, hurry it up!” Lola yells from inside her room. Even from twenty feet away, it’s loud enough to send a pulse of pain down the back of my head. Kate groans pitifully and leads me into the room. Lola is set up in bed, pillows cascading around her in a sheet of white with her blue fluffy robe draped over her tiny frame. Her speckled hair is in two knots on the top of her head. “Malcolm! My apo!” She just about jumps out of the bed to greet me, and I have to rush to her side to keep her feet from hitting the ground.
“Lola, stay,” I urge her and sit on the edge of the bed. My head threatens to burst from the quick motion, but I fight it and focus on her.
“Are you here to rescue me?”
“No, he is not,” Kate snips, sitting in the recliner in the corner of the room.
Lola mumbles in Tagalog under her breath, “You are not the boss of me.”
“Seeing as you had a heart attack, I believe yes, I am the boss of you now. No more absurd fitness classes. No more wandering off by yourself for hours.” She shoves a bite of food in her mouth. “And no more secret handyman boyfriend visits!”
“Handyman boyfriend? What are you— Katherine Stanley! Are you tracking my love life?” Lola gasps and bores her eyes into Kate over my shoulder. The look makes me shudder.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the updates happening at your house. I know you aren’t the one fixing the shingles on your roof.” Kate talks with her mouth half full, taking another bite and wiping the corner of her mouth with a tissue. “Don’t deny it!”
“Uh, Kate—”
“Don’t bother.” Lola rests her hand on my wrist, cutting me off.
I assumed it was obvious that I’m the one fixing up Lola’s house. I wasn’t looking for recognition, but the idea of Lola having a man—friend? partner? whatever a woman her age tends to have—spending their time painting and fixing leaks is absurd. I glance over my shoulder and see Kate eyeing her, a duel happening over my head. Maybe I can let her think what she wants. It’s quite hilarious seeing Kate’s face when she figures out how wrong she is about something.
Last year, she was confident Ross from night school was stealing her pens, seeing as he shares her classroom. She was irate one day that her favorite purple gel pen with a fuzzy cap was gone. Her treasured Secret Santa gift was now missing, and the only possible culprit was Ross, the man who carries one folder to class every evening and grades every piece of parchment with the same black pen since he started years ago. A creature of habit was surely the one who stole her prized possession, right? Wrong. It turned out, Emma’s twins had been making themselves busy during their Saturday morning visits, stashing the pens, paper clips, and crayons they hijacked from the art room in the bottom desk drawer of Kate’s desk—the drawer she refuses to organize. It took me all of two minutes to open it, pull out the junk, and reveal hundreds of pens sitting on the bottom. Kate’s cheeks were red for hours with embarrassment.
“Exactly. Don’t bother.” Kate directs her attention to me. “I’ll figure out who soon enough.”
Our phones buzz and ding simultaneously—a group chat from the faculty.
EJones:Is Lola doing alright? - Emma
The urge to remind Emma that she doesn’t have to sign her messages is strong, but I resist. As I type a response, Benny beats me to it.
BDivata:Yes, should be released tomorrow :)
KStanley:You say released as if she’s a free woman now… WHICH SHE IS NOT
EJones:I won’t ask what that’s about, then. - Emma
EJones:Anyway! URGENT STAFF MEETING IN ONE HOUR! (Minus you, Kate. Stay with Lola) -Emma
MGeer:I’ll fill her in later.
Glancing back at Kate, she gives me a small, grateful smile. The smile doesn’t reach her cheeks. It’s tired and defeated, and something in my chest constricts at the sight of it. Seeing Kate be anything but happy is enough to suffocate me from the inside out.
“Lola, I have to go. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” Leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek, Lola wraps her slender arms around my shoulders and squeezes, restricting the oxygen to my damaged brain. For just having a heart attack, the woman still packs a punch.
“I’ll walk you out. You!”—she directs an accusatory pointer finger at Lola—“Don’t you move a muscle.” Lola mumbles Tagalog insults under her breath as Kate leads me into the hallway. “Thank you for coming by. She loves seeing you.”
“You know…” I say as we walk past the nurses’ station, “I didn’t come just for her.” In front of the opening elevator, I turn to face her and shove my hands in my pockets.
Kate’s eyes flicker to me then to the elevator, then at her shoes, the ceiling, down the hall—everywhere but me. Blowing air through her tight lips, she rests her hands on the top of her hair. Something’s off.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Malcolm…” She halts and begins to chew on her thumbnail—the universal sign that Kate is uncomfortable. Did I make her uncomfortable with what I said? Was it that bad?
“I’m sor—”
Stopping me with a hand in the air between us, she asks, “Do you really not remember?” She drops her hand to her side, waiting. I don’t know what she’s referring to, and her eyes tell me I need to remember whatever it is. I rack my brain, desperate for an answer, but nothing. Her shoulders sink, my silence clear that I don’t know what she’s asking. “You don’t remember what happened last night?” Her gaze hits the floor, and mine follows, her bright-pink shoes stark against the scuffed-up, cream-colored tile.
Bits and pieces of last night have slowly come back over the day: my weird remarks to Steven, me offering a job to Daniels, telling Emma she was glowing like the moon. I acted like a fool, so who knows what I said to Kate to make her so uncomfortable. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, the pounding in my head a dull ache compared to earlier.
Forcing myself to relive memories never goes well.
My throat tightens as painful flashes try to tear their way through my mind. The desert heat, dirt caked to my face, the weight of my gun slung over my shoulder. The dirt residue from this afternoon feels thick on my hands, seeping deep into my knuckles. I scrub them against my jeans and try to shake the crawling sensation moving up my neck at my thoughts.
“Kate, I—I’m sorry.” I scratch my head aggressively, feeling the specks of dirt clinging to my skin like a heavy shadow. “I don’t.” My voice feels thick.
“That’s alright. I just wanted to check. Hey…” She lingers, tugging on the hem of my arm sleeve. “It’s fine. It’s probably for the best anyway.”
“What do you mean?” I look at her.
“I just mean this week was kind of crazy. You know, with seeing Eric, and your concussion…it was just a lot.” Her face is stern, focused. It feels like she’s looking straight through me. “I just want to make sure we’re good.”
I eye her, a thousand questions written on my face. She bites her thumbnail again, clearly questioning if she should continue. I’m not going anywhere until she says what she needs to.
She relents. “Malcolm, you’re my best friend. And I would die if I lost that—if I lost you. I’ve just had a lot of time to think this past week, and I want to make sure we’re good, that you and I will always stay friends, and nothing will change that.” Fear and hope morph her face, the auburn tint of her eyes shifting as she focuses on me.
Stay friends. Just…friends.
It’s a punch to the gut. It’s a harder hit than yesterday.
My behavior led to this. The intentional flirting, the soft touches, the compliments. God, the compliments. I scared her. I tried too hard, and now I’ve ruined my chances.
“Right,” I say, quickly pressing the down button on the elevator. It opens instantly, thank God. “Friends.” Stepping in, I give Kate a wave before the doors shut between us. The fear of reality stings my eyes as I descend to the ground floor.
Embarrassment is a tricky thing. It either grazes past you, barely touching the surface, or it penetrates deep within, reaching every small space that holds you together, nearly pulverizing you down to nothing. And sometimes, it’s a moment with someone who means everything to you that leaves you thinking you might never come back from it.
Lucky for me, I don’t think anything crazy has happened to pulverize me yet—nothing I can remember, anyway. Now, I just have to make Kate forget everything that happened this past week so we can go back to normal. I scoff to myself as I stand outside my truck. Normal. The word feels heavy and disjointed. Nothing about this is normal. Things shifted this week. But if all Kate wants is to be friends, maybe that’s her way of saying, I know how you feel, but I don’t feel the same.
The pulsing in my head thumps so hard I feel dizzy. Gripping my door handle, I breathe slowly and fight off the panic trying to claw its way through my chest. I can’t lose her. And I can’t let my feelings scare her away.
The panic slows to a small tremble deep in my gut, and I steady myself. If all she wants is my friendship, then I will be the best damn friend she’s ever had.
And maybe, over time, I will get over her.