Page 15 of All of Him
“So, I guess you’ll be helping with my house?” I asked, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d be at my place every Saturday for months.
I’d given consideration to not accepting Tony’s offer after learning she was involved. When it came down to it though, it was too good of a deal. The plan was to be nothing more than cordial with Amanda, but I had a feeling she was going to make that difficult. A small part of mewantedher to.
“Guess so,” she said. “Why don’t you give out your number?”
“You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head but smirking. “I cut ties when I left Ireland, and I haven’t decided if I want any kind of social life right now. I want a clean slate, but I need to be alone for a while.” I was telling her more than I’d wanted to, things I’d only discussed with my therapist.
“You cut ties with your brother too?” she asked innocently.
A shock ran down my neck, and I felt the need for a Xanax. Instead, I took a deep breath and shot her a serious look. She hung her head, realizing she’d crossed yet another line.
“Don’t ever bring up Garrett again,” I said sternly, only trying to fight off a potential panic attack. Her feelings took a backseat for a moment as I tried to pay attention to my breaths. “Now, please leave my cubicle and delete my number.”
I felt like a huge dick. Again, Amanda had asked something intrusive, but she hadn’t known any better. I needed to stop getting angry with her for things she hadn’t meant to bring up. Telling her my brother was dead would keep her from mentioning him ever again, but I avoided talking about him altogether. If I was being honest with myself, it was mostly because I was afraid of how I’d react once the words left my mouth.
I had known people would ask about Garrett when I returned to the States. He’d gone to school in the area, and I knew I’d run into his classmates eventually. He hadn’t had any social media and hadn’t kept in touch with anyone though, so I hadn’t thought anyone would care. I could just shrug and say,None of your business.
But that wasn’t really me.
I’d always been the quiet guy, but never an asshole. I had friends, growing up, but never got too close to anyone. In Ireland, I came out of my shell. I had a few friends that my therapist would call “toxic” and an ex-girlfriend that I owed a lot to. After the accident, she did all she could to pull me out of my funk, but she gave up after a few months and left me. I’d forced her hand, and I knew it. I’d cared about her, but I wasn’t head over heels. It was a loss for sure, but it was a loss I had to take to start over.
If I’d found a therapist sooner, maybe I would have given opening up to my ex a chance. Maybe I would have let her hold me like the baby I was being. Maybe I would have let her pick me up. Instead, I’d stayed on the ground and never let a single fucking soul see my tears. Not even my therapist.
Something about Amanda was challenging me. I fought every urge to spill truths to her, but it was like her presence compelled me to divulge things I’d never said. Avoiding her at work was possible since we had to be professional anyway. But at my house? I wasn’t so sure I could keep much a secret.
It seemed like the present plan, though not intentional, was to be an asshole to her, so she stopped pushing, though I didn’t think that affected her all that much. It was like she saw my hostility as a challenge. But as much as I didn’t want any challenges, maybe that was what I needed.
Maybe I needed Amanda in my life.
9
Amanda
SATURDAY HAD TAKEN FOREVERto arrive.
I’d thought about visiting Oscar’s cube for some wisdom nuggets, but he was out all week. After my terrible interaction with Noah that Monday, I made it a point to only speak to him when absolutely necessary and only by email. He had not been thrilled with my text or my words at work that day.
Brayden had also been around my area more often. He’d emailed me about some work stuff and even asked to get drinks. After vomiting in my mouth a little bit, I’d sent him ano, thank youand tried to forget it’d happened. Which wasn’t possible.
My dad and I stood awkwardly at Noah’s front door Saturday morning, waiting for him to answer. I looked down, wanting to shake my head at my appearance. I wore my usual bootcut jeans and old black Nikes for house work, but I’d bought brand-new T-shirts. When I worked with my dad, I slung my hair into a messy bun and threw on one of his old T-shirts. For Noah, obviously, I’d gone all out and even put on mascara.
“Ready for this one?” Dad asked. He was a few inches shorter than me, my height coming from my mom.
I looked around at the chipping paint and nodded.
“This boy works with you?”
Again, I nodded. Noah must have given that information, but Dad didn’t prod too much.
Finally, the front door swung open, and Noah stood there, slightly out of breath.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was finishing some dishes.”
Looking at the smudged concealer on his cheek, I knew he was lying.
I let Dad walk in ahead of me to set some stuff down, and I discreetly stopped at Noah. “You have some…” I said quietly, pointing to his cheek.
He sucked in a breath and wiped it away, embarrassed.
