10
Andi
Deafening Silence
Trashy TV plays in the living room, and soft candles flicker on Riley’s coffee table. I don’t want a house full of glaring lights. I don’t want loud, or serious, or heavy. I want flickering candles and entertainment I don’t have to expend brainpower on. I want things to be easier, for my heart to not hurt so much, and for Riley to not hurt so much, so I push the freezer door closed with my shoulder and stop at the silverware drawer.
I’ve showered since leaving Riley’s room, because the shower is where I can trulyfeelfor a moment, and nobody will ever know. I washed my hair with the shampoo I bought at Jonah’s store yesterday, painted my toenails with hot pink polish the babe at the cash register was checking out, I popped a zit on my chin, and donned a pair of navy blue cotton pyjama bottoms that might belong to the man in the end room.
The man that doesn’t want me anymore.
Taking a dessert spoon from the drawer and dropping it into my bowl, I leave the shadowed kitchen with a bowl of vanilla ice-cream smothered in chocolate mint sauce that turns hard as it cools, and flop onto the leather couch beside a sleeping Nacho.
I’m exhausted beyond my years, an exhaustion I’m not sure I’ve ever felt in my life.
I’ve had a mission the last few days; get the house ready, make things easy and safe for Riley. I didn’t have a single moment of boredom in all the chaos, but now he’s home, there are no more chairs to assemble, no more floors to mop, no more pots of soup to make. There’s not even cat shit in the tray to scoop out, since Ninja has been holed up with her human all day.
There’s nothing but a heavy cloud of pain and grief that floats in the air and sucks the souls from our bodies.
Tucking my feet beneath my butt and resting an elbow on the armrest, the fireplace flickers to my right, warming the side of my face, as reality television burns my retinas and ice-cream melts in my bowl.
I’m not hungry.
I don’t even want to eat my feelings anymore.
But I pick up my spoon and scoop up a little. Ishouldbe all over the chocolatey treat, I should be starving and ready to sit down after a massive two days of hard work and little sleep. But I feel no relief or a sense ofjob well done. All I feel is the desperation in Riley’s eyes, as the moment in the hospital room replays in my mind over and over.
He was so sad when the blankets were moved and his leg was revealed.
Yes, he was angry, but beneath that, he was so immeasurably sad.
The door opens at the end of the hall, startling me, despite how quiet it is, and throws my heart into a tailspin. It races in my chest, slams against my diaphragm, and winds me. I don’t move from my spot on the couch. I don’t even look toward the hall, because if he wanted my help, he would have asked. Instead, with shaking hands, I scoop a little ice-cream into my mouth and pretend the TV holds all of my attention.
My ears are hypersensitive, open and listening to each tiny sound he makes. Ninja runs along the hall, the deep thump of her paws on the timber floor stop when she hits laundry room tiles, then the kitty litter box.
Nacho – sound asleep a moment ago – now lifts her head and meets my eyes like Riley’s coming to hurt us. “It’s okay.” I pat her ears and sit forward half an inch when she burrows closer to my back.
I’ve never in my life been nervous around a man, especially not Riley, but just like I stood outside his room for five minutes earlier today with a racing heart and clammy palms, I face the same wait now as I wait for him to make his move.
Will he come down here? Will he lock himself away again as soon as Ninja has gone to the bathroom? Will he pick my ice-cream up and throw it in my face just to spite me?
I hear no squeaking wheels on the floors, no rolling along the hardwood, but then I hear the straining of his crutches. The plastic handle, the heavy thump against the floor as he takes a step forward.
He’s slow, and almost the cause of my death when I’m forced to eat tasteless ice-cream and watch nonsensical television for five whole minutes as he makes his way along the hall. I don’t know if he’s slow because he’s unsteady on his feet, or if he’s taking his time because he knows I’m here and doesn’t want to see me. I’ve had people walk through Mia’s clinic on crutches a billion times in the past, all of them faster than Riley, even the old folks, but I fight every instinct in my body to jump up and go to him.
“Andi… Um… I have a question.” He stops at the end of the hall, within view if only I could take my eyes off the television. The deep baritone of his voice makes my belly turn with warmth, and makes me question why I ever teased his innocence. He doesn’t sound like a child. His chest and legs certainly aren’t those of a boy’s. He’s aged in the last few weeks, even if his face looks exactly the same.
“Andi?”
I don’t look at him. I’m not ready.
He sighs and takes another step closer. “Deedee?”
My eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. Turning just my head, I study his broad body, his strong chest, thick arms as they steady him on his crutches. Ninja walks around his legs, rubbing her face on his remaining ankle and leans so hard he has to adjust his footing or risk falling.
Swallowing, I look up and meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Are you busy?”