When You Least Expect It

22

"You won," the employee drawled without looking up from his phone. "Pick a prize."

"Choose one." Carson smiled at me over his shoulder. How long had he noticed me before he spoke up?

"Choose what?"

Carson gestured toward the array of prizes hanging on the wall—stuffed animals, packs of American flags, and superhero figurines.

I tapped my chin. "Hard to say."

"Can I have that one at the back?" Carson asked the employee. The pimply teenager swiftly retrieved the indicated prize and handed it to Carson, who in turn handed it to me. It was a plush clownfish toy.

"It's... a fish?" The toy's mouth was oddly contorted into a snarling expression. Did fish even growl?

"Well, it beats having a room full of American flags."

"You should've picked that. It would've been a perfect addition to my growing collection."

Carson raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "You have a collection of American flags? What kind of patriot are you?"

I laughed, "The kind with a soft spot for weird souvenirs, apparently."

"Next time, I'll aim for the flags, just for you." He was probably joking, but the way he said 'just for you' made my chest churn with heat.

Seeing as it was getting colder outdoors, we opted for a hot beverage. We walked up to a slew of cheap-looking food trucks and ordered coffee cups. We were standing in line when a strange man started following us.

Carson remained unfazed as he stood waiting for his coffee. "What're you staring at?" Something behind me continued to occupy Carson's attention as his eyes flitted back and forth between us.

"Somebody's been following us," I confessed, my eyes tracking the mysterious man who now pretended interest in a random ride.

"Oh, right. That would be my dad." He said this like we were discussing the weather.

"What's he doing here? No offense or anything." Carson's father stood out like a sore thumb amid the sea of teenagers at the fair.

"Mom had him come along to keep an eye on me," Carson responded with an edge of anger. "Just in case something goes wrong, because God forbid I have a good time."

"They're just worried about you."

"They can't spend the rest of their lives like this." He shook his head. "I'll be nineteen next month, and my only fucking wish is for everyone, including you, to quit babying me."

"I don't baby you," I explained. "And if it seems that way, I apologise. We all worry about you because you mean a lot to us."

A muscle in his jaw tightened. "You don't know how suffocating my parents are. I can do a lot of things, yeah? My illness doesn't define who I am. It makes me feel like a burden being babied."

"You are not a burden. No one thinks of you that way."  Fuelled by something I couldn't quite explain, I reached out and took his chilly hand in mine, holding it firmly. "You are so much more than your illness."

The moment Carson gripped my hand in his, my heart hammered like a caged bird. He looked at our clasped hands and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this. It's not your fault in the slightest."