Page 45 of Love Always

“He’s also has a lot on his plate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Slowly, I stand, like an old woman, stiff in the hips. “It means,” I say, stretching my back to an upright, standing position, “he just got a new job, living in a new place and I think that from what he’s shared with me, he’s still coming to terms with what happened to him.”

“Really? We’ve all known him for a few months now. I had no idea. I mean doesn’t that tell you he’s dealing with it?”

Setting my tumbler down in the kitchen sink I run the water to rinse it out. “I don’t know. It’s just the sense I get. Things between him and Bryce are still not one hundred percent normal.”

Devon frowns. “Bryce had something to do with it? With him losing a leg?”

I realize I’m in uncharted waters. I don’t know how Mateus would feel with me telling my sister about what happened to him. It’s his story not mine. I offer an abridged version, a very short version. “It was a training accident and I guess Bryce was there.”

“Whoa—”

I put an index finger to my lips and glare.

“—that explains all the tension between these two then when Mateus first came. Do you remember that? How weird they were?”

I nod. “That’s what I mean. He has enough to deal with right now rather than adding me and you know Cory, and frankly, all of us to his life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about keeping his life a little simpler because I’m … we’re complicated.”

Devon has the strangest expression on her face—like she’s a little surprised and put out. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we’re not talking marriage here. We’re just talking about feeling comfortable with someone and spending some time with them.”

“I can’t afford to do that.”

“What do you mean?”

I point at Cory’s door.

Her demeanor suddenly changes. “I love you, Laurel, and I am so sorry you had such an awful day.” She rises from the chair and goes to the sink. Her back is to me, doing our dishes.

“What did I just say? Why are you mad?” I don’t think I can take any judgement right now, any advice, or any words of wisdom. Travis and I agree, as the two youngest, we have a lot of bosses.

Devon leans against the sink and then turns around, her dark hair as straight and flat as her expression.

“I'm not mad. But Cory is tougher than you think. You’re tougher than you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she says dropping down to plant a kiss on the top of my head, “that you never give that boy asleep in there a chance to be loved by other people.”

My mouth opens. I’m so tired, with misplaced anxiety to be sure, but the wine and Mateus’s sex, his sheer force leaves me oddly alert, ready to pounce. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” she flings her hair down her back like a mane. “But it’s true. Let other people enjoy him. Let other people into your little world of two. Trust that they will enjoy him. Let. Him. Go.”

΅

Later that night, after Devon is done in the bathroom and I know she’s asleep, the images of Colleen’s bloodied face, her awkward posture, the sandwich slipping from her fingers begin to crawl back into my mind. Before I turn out the lights in the living area, I open the door to Cory’s room. His night light, the one thing Devon thinks I coddle him over, is dim.

His blonde curls catch the light, and his little pale face, sprinkled with just a few freckles across his nose, makes my heart ache. I want so much for him. I want him to laugh and be loved and play with other children. I want him to fall in love, to have his heart broken, and to fall in love again. I want him to grow up and know what a good person he is and understand he can give to other people. And I want to lay all this at his feet and have it be effortless.

But I know it won’t be effortless. It will take years and years of hard work, of being a very consistent, persistent, and thoughtful parent. I will be in rooms of other parents who will never understand how hard this is, or what the small joys are. The fact he answers questions now is a major breakthrough.

Closing the door, I then pad down the hall and climb into my bed. Pulling the covers around me, I smell the blankets and hold them up to my face searching for that soapy, musky smell. I lay on my back feeling small and hopeless.