Moose and Goose

Chapter Thirty-five

"My mom's friend lost a child, so, um, I have to go to downtown Florence for the funeral," Judith lies while lifting the bottle of water to her lips. Before she takes a swig, she mumbles, "Just for support."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Jerome looks at his nails when she doesn't respond. "My little brother had a twin sister, but she passed before she was born; polio."

"I'm sorry," she says after swallowing the water. Her eyes are big and full of pity. "Do you miss her?"

"You can't really miss someone you've never met, but I do wonder how she would've looked and what her hobbies would've been." He looks at her and gives her a quick, forced grin. "Do you miss your brother?"

"More than anything else," she answers followed by a sad sigh. Her eyes begin to heat up. Sometimes, she hates talking about her brother because the mere mention brings her to tears. To lift the cloud of grief around them, she says with a joyous tone, "I really wish he could've taught me how to ride a fucking bike, though."

She chuckles dryly, and her face gradually scrunches as her laughter turns to crying. Jerome scoots closer to her, his expression empty. He didn't find humor in her pathetic joke, which she noticed.

He takes her plastic bottle and sits it next to his radio, and then he pulls her closer to his chest. Judith rests her left cheek against his soft heartbeat, her arms dangling at her sides, and he wraps his between her bookbag and her back.

Her rapidly falling tears dampen his shirt, the material clinging to his chest, but he doesn't mind. He sits his chin on her head, and he takes a deep breath.

"How did he pass," he asks over her wails and sniffles.

"Cancer." Her body racks in his embrace, and he hugs her tighter. "I never got to say goodbye because my Mom didn't think I would've been able to handle seeing him go. I never got to tell him that I loved him. I wanted to apologize for all the things I said out of anger – and I wanted him to know that – that I didn't --"

He shushes her when he sees how difficult it is for her to speak. "I'm sure he knew that you loved him, and I believe you know he loved you too. It's okay, Judy."

"What the hell did you do, Jerome," his mother asks from his door when she hears her sobbing, and he turns his head to peer at her over his shoulder.

"I didn't do anything. She's just upset about stuff, but it's fine; she's fine," Jerome assures his mother, and she narrows her eyes uncertainly. She slowly turns away with her hands on her wide hips, and he watches her walk downstairs.

Judith sniffles as she leans back to look him in the eyes. He wipes her tears under his thumbs, his touch warm and gentle.

"I'm glad I met you," Judy tells him, and he smiles. She stares at his mouth, and before he can respond, she swiftly leans in to kiss him. His eyes widen, and he takes her upper arms in his hands, pushing her away.

"Wait!" He takes a breath, shock plastered on his brown blushing face. Hers lightens with a shade of beetroot red as well.

"I'm sorry." Judith sits her fingers over her mouth and mumbles, "I shouldn't have done that. You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"I'm not," he assures her, blinking rapidly with his lips agape. "I just – I don't think that now's a good time for this. You're in distress, Judy, and me kissing you wouldn't feel right. You understand, right?"

She nods her head but doesn't look at him. As she lowers her hands onto her lap, he takes his off of her. Jerome slides back to return to his desk, and she watches him, her eyes squinting and her nose twitching. She blinks rapidly before belting out a sneeze into the crook of her right arm.