Page 5 of The Design of Goodbye
“Uh-huh,” I said, folding my hands on my lap. I hoped I didn’t look guilty. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t look her in the eyes, and my face felt hot. I totally looked guilty.
“Liam, is that true?” asked Mrs. Webb.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “We practically crashed into each other this morning.”
I shot him a look, and he raised his eyebrows.
“Well, good!” said Mrs. Webb. “How about you pick a time to meet? Liam works a lot, so you’ll have to be flexible with your schedule.”
I contemplated fighting this whole tutoring situation more because it felt wrong to consent. But grief had been following me around for months, sucking me dry, until nothing was left of me to give. To fight. We were old friends, me and that unwanted and unrelenting sadness.
“When do you work?” I asked, turning to face Liam better.
“Every weeknight until nine,” he said. “I’m only free on weekends.”
Reality sunk in. “I’m not wasting my weekends—”
“Madison,” said Mrs. Webb, her voice sharp with warning, “Liam’s using his free time to help you. Please be considerate.”
“Fine.” I slouched in my chair. “He can pick the day and time.”
“How about Saturdays at ten?” he asked.
My eyes widened. “I’m still sleeping.”
Liam crossed his arms. “Noon? Or are you still sleeping then, too?”
“No...”I bit my lip. “But that’s almost my lunchtime.”
Voice low, he said, “Bring your lunch.”
I sighed my approval. “Where should we meet?”
“Reed Public Library?” he suggested.
“Fine,” I agreed, wanting this conversation to end.
Ever since the letter, I’d tried to develop an indifference to most things. With indifference came a lack of feelings, and I welcomed that. The sadness was overwhelming enough. The last thing I wanted was tofeelmore. And this conversation was starting to make me do just that because it reminded me of my mom. And how, if she was still here, I would’ve sought math help weeks ago.
“It’s settled, then,” said Mrs. Webb, clapping her hands gleefully. “Can you both start this Saturday?”
I shrugged.
“Sure,” said Liam. “Can I go back to class?”
“Of course.” Liam stood. Once he had his backpack on, Mrs. Webb asked, “Hey, Liam? Did you think about what we discussed?”
He nervously tugged on the straps of his backpack. “I don’t need to talk, Mrs. Webb.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
She frowned. “Okay. My door’s always open if—”
“Thanks.” He bolted out of her office. If he’d been that fast this morning, he would’ve definitely avoided getting hit by my car.
Now that Liam was gone, Mrs. Webb focused on me. “Please try and be nice to him. You’re not the only one going through a difficult time.”
