The Play

fifteen.

Apparently Adelaide did, because she sighed after a short pause and absently traced the outline of Nathan's thumb. "When I was eleven," she said, "my uncle wounded his hand with an ax. He was a lumberjack. It was pretty bad, but he kept saying it's fine. I told him he needs a doctor but he just wouldn't listen to me. He didn't even take care of it. I don't know what he was thinking. Like, did ignoring a wound make him brave?"

Nathan just looked at Adelaide, anticipating her to continue after the question. She angled her head half-way towards him, kinda like wanting and not wanting to hold eye-contact. Or maybe not sure if Nathan would tell her shut up or what.

So Nathan said, "Yeah?"

Adelaide snapped out of her trance. "Yeah, so it got infected really bad. And when he finally decided to go to the doctor, it was too late. They had to amputate his thumb."

"Well shit." Nathan made a revulsed face. He'd say the dude should've just gotten it checked earlier, but clearly it wasn't the time for that. "I'm guessing that's why you're always worried about my wounds?"

Adelaide laughed a little. "Yeah. It started ever since my uncle lost his thumb. After that, I couldn't even get the tiniest paper-cut without panicking about it. I know it's ridiculous, but I just can't help it."

"It's not ridiculous. I get it," Nathan said. "We all have these little things." A part of him hoped Adelaide would push him now, ask him about his little thing so he could vent, but she didn't. His heart sank slightly.

No one spoke for the next four minutes. When Nathan felt a little ache in his belly, he splayed a palm along his stomach and frowned. Best time for that, really.

Adelaide must've noticed that. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nathan mumbled, scooting further down until he sprawled entirely on the floor, leaning his head on his arm. The position made his side hurt, so he turned. Now his back hurt, so he flipped again. The floor suddenly felt too icy-cold. As if the world was conspiring to make him more miserable. He knew Adelaide was probably watching him battle himself for a comfortable position, so he stopped, letting out a long exasperated sigh.

"If I survive this," Nathan said as he decided to lie on his side, the least painful position, "I'm gonna buy one of these super fancy vibrating waterbeds."

Adelaide shook her head. "Rich kids . . ."

This made Nathan's heart squeeze for a second. He blinked fast, then relaxed again. Rich kids. Spoiled brats. Right. "I was joking." Closing his eyes, he remembered his mom's face right before he'd left for the airport and it killed him now. "If I survive this, I won't ever leave my family again. And I'm not letting them leave."

"Wait, no, I didn't mean it like that. Sorry, I was joking, like you." Adelaide leant down, propping herself on an elbow, face cradled in her palm. Awkward silence. "Hey, uh . . . I never asked you, why did you come to France?"

Nathan debated if he should answer or not, mostly because he couldn't trust himself to not cry like an idiot. "I wanted to see my dad." Just a couple words in and his throat already tightened. "He travels a lot for his job. I missed him so much and I was like, that's it, I'm coming. Mom and Grace didn't want me to travel alone because I'm claustrophobic and I hate planes, and. . ."

Trailing off wasn't Nathan's thing. But here he was, strained silence swallowing the words in his mouth. How different would things have been if he'd never traveled? He came for his dad but there was a huge chance he'd die before he'd ever see him again.