Page 60 of The Design of Goodbye
“Where’s your mom?” he whispered.
“She left me.”
His grip on my finger tightened.
Tears were still falling, some landing on his arm. He didn’t wipe them away. “Back in July,” I continued, “she—”
Something about Liam made me want to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t get myself to say the words out loud. “She went to Paris to study fashion. I want her back. That probably sounds silly. I’m seventeen. I shouldn’t need my mom.”
“It’s not,” he said softly. “I understand.”
Liam had a talent for saying things that made me feel so much better. I wiped at my face again, and the back of my hand still came back streaked with black tears.
“Do I look like a raccoon?” He glanced at me, bit his bottom lip, and handed me some toilet paper. “That’s your way of telling me I do, isn’t it?”
He smiled as he released the pressure off my finger and inspected the gauze while I cleaned my face. “Another minute and then we can bandage it.”
“I won’t need stitches?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re fine, Madison.”
The way he said my name? It comforted me in a way no one had ever been able to. I glanced down at his hand gripping my finger, my eyes focusing on the black-and-white paint.
“Why don’t you paint in color anymore?” I asked. “You always have black-and-white paint dried on your hands but never color. Taylor told me you used to paint in color.”
“I can’t,” he admitted, surprising me at his openness. “Something bad happened, and after that, I couldn’t use color. Colors don’t look or feel right anymore.”
Sensing his frustration, I said, “Maybe one day, you’ll be able to use color again.”
“I hope so.” He stood. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
He kept pressure on my finger until it was safely over the sink, then took off the gauze. No blood. Gently, he rinsed it with a slow stream of water.
“Looks good to me.” He led me over to the first aid kit and gently dried my finger before putting on some antibacterial cream. Once bandaged, he added, “All done. Change that bandage every day.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He threw away the bloodied gauze and packed up the first aid kit. I wanted to ask him why he hurt so much, too. Because I saw his hurt like he saw mine. But I couldn’t do that to him or to this moment.
When he was done, he asked, “Need anything else?”
And the way he looked at me? It was like he’d get or do anything I wanted.Anything.
“Why are you always so sweet?”
His neck flushed, and he grabbed the back of it, head bowing forward. “I’m just me. I’m not trying to be anything.”
chapter twenty-two
It was dark by the time Liam and I left Invisible Thread. I thought of the single bag of pretzels I had for lunch, and my stomach growled.
“I’m starving.” We’d been walking to my car, but I stopped and asked, “Do you need to go home, or would you maybe want to get dinner?”
