The Deep End ✔️

5 - tea time

"Tommy?"

I backed up to her bedroom doorway and leaned in. She was sitting upright in her bed, a book in her hands and a reading lamp on her nightstand illuminating the room.

"I'm very drunk," I said.

Mom frowned. "Did you drive?"

I shook my head, gesturing for Dallas to step into the doorway. He did, but didn't stop there. I gulped when he walked all the way into the room and held out his hand for my mom to shake in bed. "I drove. It's nice to meet you, I'm Dallas," he said and I flinched, watching my mom's face shift in realization.

Of course I'd told her all about Dallas.

"Thank you," she said back. When he turned his back to her to come back out into the hallway, she made big eyes at me and mouthed, Wow. "Are you staying over, Dallas?"

"Probably not. Just making sure Thomas gets to bed without cracking his head open."

I flinched again. The lighthearted conversation made my heart ache even harder. Not to mention, I don't think my mom had ever heard any of my friends call me by my name, only Meek. She showed her surprise, too, and shot me a look that only I could decipher. There was going to be gossip in the morning.

We said goodnight and I tip-toed down the hallway to my room. Everything about this felt weird. Like having two completely different forces of my past combine into one dumpster fire. Dallas standing in my childhood bedroom was enough to rattle my bones.

"I'll get you some water," he said and left the room.

I let out a long sigh, my body feeling like oobleck in the way I was solid yet watery. I peeled off my crew neck, then the T-shirt I had underneath, then stripped my jeans. I was left in just my briefs and socks, which I figured was fine since it wasn't like Dallas hadn't seen me in less. I prepared myself for bed, plugging in my phone and flipping the overhead light off, turning on just the fairy lights I'd strung up when I was sixteen.

In the dim light, I didn't see Dallas come back so soon. I only noticed him when I collapsed on the bed face-first, turning my head towards the door. I caught a glimpse of him standing stock still, eyes on my body, a bottle of water in his hand.

He collected himself when he realized I'd caught him. "Sit up," he instructed, kneeling on the edge of the bed. I obeyed. "Drink."

I sipped the water, tasting like my own mouth, and stared at my bedspread underneath us. Dallas sat idly, his hands in his lap, just watching me drink less than a quarter of the bottle.

"Who was around to babysit you when you were drunk in the last two years?" he teased. I placed the bottle on my nightstand.

"No one," I murmured, falling back onto my pillows. After a moment, I corrected myself, "Nelly Furtado."

"Wow, you're faded."

"No, that's my cat," I said, feigning annoyance.

I could see his dimples when he smiled. It was such a familiar smile, like I'd made it myself when I was small. Like I'd colored it in my journal one hundred times before I even met him. Just like how his eyes felt like a childhood blanket, worn and shaped by myself. Everything felt so incredibly personal, not at all foreign or estranged for two years.

"You can leave," I said after a minute of him not saying anything and me waiting for him to stand up. "I'm fine."

Dallas looked surprised. "Okay."

He stood up, pulling out his phone to presumably text Shelby that the coast was clear and she could have him back. I pulled my blanket over my body, watching his hair blow in the breeze from the ceiling fan.