Chapter Four
Todd
Her footsteps move across the floor, muffled by the carpeting, and then come to a sudden stop. I wait for her bedroom door to open and shut, but the silence stretches long enough to make me wonder if she crashed on the sofa instead. I’m about to unpause my video when I hear a soft gasp.
Rolling out of bed, I pull open my door to reveal Taylor. “Why didn’t you knock?”
She tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “I wasn’t sure if you were asleep.”
“Knocking still would’ve been the quickest way to find out.”
“Yeah . . . sorry to bother you . . . I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Wait.” I grab her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She scoffs. “My mother.”
“Come here.” I pull her into my room and we sit on the bed. As close as we are as friends, we don’t go in each other’s bedrooms often, preferring to spend our time together in the living room. It feels natural, though, especially right now. “What happened?”
“The law firm supposedly cut my mother’s salary, so now she can’t pay my half of the rent or any of my other living expenses.” Her head falls into her hands. “I don’t have time to get a job between classes, baseball, and taking care of Emma, so I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Hey, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” I say.
“I wish I could be so optimistic. Rent’s due in a few weeks, and it’ll take up all of my savings, meaning I won’t have anything left for food or gas.”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it—I have it covered.”
“I can’t expect you to support me!” She rubs her eyes and releases a ragged sigh. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to take this out on you.”
“I know.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she buries her face in my chest, finally letting the tears fall.
I can count on one hand the number of times she’s cried in front of me—actually, I wouldn’t even need one because it’s only happened once before.
She’s private and independent to a fault, which is probably a trauma response or something, but I wouldn’t know since I didn’t major in psychology.
Anyway, for a moment, I don’t know what to do.
Should I reposition us so we’re more fully on the bed? Would she think it’s weird—or awkward?
Her sobs fill the room as I continue holding her in an awkward side hug, and the urge to comfort her ultimately outweighs everything else. I lie back, bringing her with me so her head is nestled beneath my chin, and rub her back soothingly until she calms down.
“Better?” I ask softly.
“A little. Thank you,” she replies but doesn’t pull away. “Remember how I said I’m considering moving back home to make sure Emma finishes high school?”
“Yeah . . .”
“At the same time, I don’t think I could ever live with my mother again. When she’s drunk . . . and mean . . . it makes me want to move farther away, like Chase.”
“I’m sorry. It’s awful how your mother treats you,” I say because I honestly can’t imagine what it must be like. My parents pester me about my future, but they genuinely care and provide for me. Growing up, I never went without home-cooked dinners or felt financial strain looming over our heads.
“It is . . .” She exhales. “But what can I do about it?”
I press my lips together, unsure what else to say. Should I change the subject, take her mind off her troubles, or let her vent? The last thing I want to do is screw this up.
I obsess over what to say for so long that she falls asleep, the sound of her slow, rhythmic breathing replacing her sobs.
“Taylor?” I whisper, trying to catch a glimpse of her face in the moonlight filtering through the window. She doesn’t respond—just nestles closer, so I stay there, happy to be her pillow all night long.