Me:
Hey baby x I read your letter. First of all I just want to say thank you for trusting me, and for letting me into your life. I'm so sorry all these things happened to you...I really can't imagine it, and it must have been nigh on unbearable to experience. I also want to tell you that you're so welcome in my family and a beautiful contribution - and no matter what, Sarah and Andrew will always be your parents now. I know you miss your real mom a painful amount; but I promise you, if there is some place out there and she's watching over you, she smiles every day. And so does your father. Thank you for telling me. I love you xxx
Jaime:
I was so nervous to write it but...I'm glad I did now. You're so welcome for it, I've wanted to tell you everything for ages but couldn't figure out how. I figured this was the best way because it was all clear and I wouldn't start crying. Thank you for understanding, I love you too xx
* * * * *
Back to work.
New Year comes and goes, and on my lunchbreak on my first Wednesday back, the same week Mike returns to school, I re-read the email that came in on Saturday from the new Principal, Mrs Kimberly.
From: e.kimberly18@gmail.com
Subject: re; Mike Fuentes
Dear Mr Fuentes,
Thank you for contacting me regarding your brother. I do hope the remainder of his time at Clairemont is enjoyable.
I feel I should inform you that this semester commencing, all classes of 14 students or less will be merged together for more effective teacher timetables. I understand this may place Mike in classes with Mr Green - I will inform the members of staff concerned and ensure they are aware of the issue.
Concerning Mike's geography classes; unfortunately, under new policy no student will be exempt from classes if they are physically able to attend. I will notify him that he will no longer be able to miss classes - however, I will see too it that Mr Green is kept away from him both physically and in any group projects carried out in this class.
Sincerely,
Elaine Kimberly, Principal
It makes me more angry every time I read it.
From Monday. Monday was all it took, and suddenly Mike, who had finally cheered up and reverted to his normal chirpy self after Christmas, reverted back into a state of melancholy I'd never seen before. He had Geography class first period - and according to Nick and Jordan, it wasn't pleasant.
And now he hates going into school the way he was starting to before Christmas. I must say; my wonderful holiday, my phenomenal trip to New York...reality has come crashing down around it and it's hard to believe that just over a week ago, I was unbelievably content and everything was perfectly fine and actually looking up. Just like that, it has totally dissolved into...into a mess.
Thankfully, Andy isn't working today - a small blessing, but big enough to give me a sense of relief as I return to my shift with Patrick. The cafe has been busy all day but is finally beginning to die down, and the queue remains mercifully short as I constantly check my watch, waiting for three thirty. Nick and Jordan and Mike will arrive, and as sad as Mike may be, he'll be happy around them, chirpy and upbeat, and they'll sit in their regular booth with their drinks and my day will be made. It needs making.
And sure enough, at three thirty, the group traipses in; but straight away I can see it's all wrong. Mike is walking slowly with a hanky pressed to his head, and both Nick and Jordan have their arms around his waist, one of them either side, as they walk over to the counter.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I say quickly as they arrive before me. "What happened?"
"He had a tonic seizure," Nick explains softly, far more rational than me, "just when we got off the bus. He says he's fine but he hit his head a little."
"Come here, buddy," I say gently, leaning over the counter and beckoning Mike forwards. He doesn't look well at all - eyes narrowed, squinting them, clearly in pain from the fall, and pale as anything, confused and shaken. Gentle, making sure he understands what I'm doing, I take his hand that's pressed to his head and remove it. "It's alright, let me see."
He hasnt cut it very much - it's just a minor graze, but it's come up in a bump from the impact, so I ask Patrick to fetch the first aid kid and then abandon my post at the counter, leading the group over to their booth table.
"How was your day at school anyway?" I try for a little joyousnous in Mike's silence, directing my question at the other two. Jordan smiles and shrugs, running a hand through his hair.
"It was fine," he bubbles. "I got hit by a dodgeball in sports. That wasn't so fun. But I also did a pretty cool practical in Chemistry, so it's all good...I think Mike's day was less enjoyable."
"Oh dear," I sigh as Patrick approaches with the first aid kit, which I take gratefully. "Thanks. Can you cover for me for a few minutes?"
"Sure thing, dude," he nods, and then retreats back to the counter as I open the kit and remove some alcohol wipes and a dressing. Pulling the hanky away from his head again I press the wipe against it, and he flinches away.
"Ow."
"Sorry, trouble. Grit your teeth, okay?" I try again and he winces slightly at the sting, but then relents and lets me clean it properly. "So. What happened today?"
"Same thing that happened yesterday," he mutters listlessly. "And the day before. Turned up at school and got called a glitch walking through the doors. Got to science and he knocked over my beaker of acid so it went all over the desk and I got told off for it. Got to geography and had my seat taken away as I was about to sit down. Oh, it was great - fell flat on my ass and everyone laughed. Teacher wasn't even looking and thought I just fell off the chair. And I couldn't say anything because I said something about it yesterday and he didn't even do anything then."
In my stomach, a knot tightens again - my instinct, once more, is to get pissed; but he doesn't need that right now. He needs some kindness, so I treat his head as gently as possible, placing a bandage over it, and then crack an icepack, wrap it in a napkin from the table and press it against the lump. "And then I had a Goddamn seizure," he finishes. "As if the glitch thing wasn't enough to remind me I'm Goddamn epileptic."
"You aren't a glitch, Mike," Jordan says strongly, and as I wrap an arm around his shoulders I nod.
"Jordan's right. Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry this is happening. Do you want me to do anything? I could go in to see the principal if you wanted, try and sort a new arrangement..."
"She wouldn't care," he dismisses. "She just wants to be efficient. Nothing would change, she'd just tell me to 'talk to a teacher' like she said in the email...it doesn't matter. I just have to deal with it."
"You don't have to deal with it," I assure him, rubbing his arm. "We're going to sort it out."
"I want to tell Mom and Dad," he coughs out, masking the fact that he's starting to tear up, which makes me start to tear up too. "Hell, I just...I just want Mom and Dad. Are they even home tonight? They aren't, are they? They're working. Godssake."
"They're working," I confirm, my heart completely shattering. It isn't even like Mike to be remotely upset, so to hear him desperate for our parents is...just soul destroying. "But you know what? Let's have a nice dinner. You and me, and we'll stay up for them."
"They won't want to listen to me moaning after a whole day of work."
"They will always have time for you, Mike. If we have to stay up till Midnight, we will."
He doesn't reply - he just shakes his head, readjusting the ice pack, and then turns his body and wraps his arm around me, and I grip back, ruffling his hair. I suppose that's all I can do.
Once I'm certain he's fully recovered from the seizure and he isn't concussed from the fall I leave him in the care of Jordan and Nick and return to behind the counter, where I fetch their drinks and sweets and then struggle through the remainder of my shift. I really don't know what to do on this one; it's like the bullying has gone from twenty to a hundred in three seconds flat, and for the life of me I can't work out how to stop it, and it's making me nervous and stressed, and it's making Mike completely downtrodden...
I think a call to Alex is in order.
* * * * *
"Hello!" Alex says chirpily. "I swear it's only been a few minutes since we said happy New Year...are you okay?"
His happy, bubbly demeanour falls off his face quickly as he spots the expression on my face, and I pause and shake my head.
"Um...no. No, I'm...look, do you have time to talk?"
"Sure thing, buddy," Alex nods immediately, taking his headphones and plugging them into the audio jack on his laptop and slipping the buds into his ears. In the background, Jack is lying on his bed with his own headphones in, nose in a textbook, trying to absorb the information. They aren't back in classes yet but the students have moved back into the accommodation already, ready to start the semester. "What's going on?"
"It's Mike," I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "And school."
"Oh dear," he says, picking up straight away, face falling. "Has the bullying got worse?"
"Way worse. The name calling is back...he had a beaker of acid knocked over yesterday, which he got in trouble for, then his chair taken from under him as he sat down...it's making me sick to my stomach, I can't imagine what he's going through."
Alex is a silly person. I've always known him as such - an absolute goofball of warm fuzz, hardly a serious bone in him. So it both rattles me and settles me when the fuzz slips away and he calms down and becomes Serious Alex, full of solutions, ready to listen. As he runs a hand through his hair I notice the blond streaks are brighter again; he's had them redone, I think. "That's not good," he says lowly, biting his lip.
"And he got off the bus yesterday and had a seizure. Hit his head on the sidewalk and everything. Since he's gone back to school things seem to have instantly deteriorated tenfold."
"And you emailed the principal?"
"Yep. No use whatsoever. In fact, she's been head of Clairemont for four days and Mike is already suffering. How the hell is he even going to get through junior year at this rate? How is he going to get through senior year? It's not like the problem will go away, some of Phil's following are juniors, they'll just follow him into next year. I'm supposed to be applying to college, the deadline is the end of January and I can't because I'm worrying about this too much, I just don't know what to do."
"Vic, take a breath," he says calmly, and I realise I'm babbling and do as instructed, inhaling and exhaling slowly before I put my head in my hands.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologise. I'm just...I'm so sorry this is happening. Of all people, Mike doesn't deserve it."
"It's killing me," I say quickly, choking a little as I feel water stinging my eyes, and I blink hard. "He's sunshine. In all the time I've known him, my whole life he's always been sunshine, even when he was really ill. He just looks miserable all the time now and it hasn't even been a week. And if it's only been a week, this is probably going to get worse. It's like Miss Elliot leaving was this kid's green light to absolutely tear into Mike like nobody's business, he's making school a living Hell. Which means the seizures could get worse the more stressed he gets...you know what he said yesterday?"
"What?"
"He said he wanted Mom and Dad. When has Mike ever asked for them like that? He's never even got to that level of distress. I'm...Alex, would you please tell me something?"
"I sure will, if I know it."
I sigh and put my hands together, eyes closed, trying to compose myself a little, and then open my eyes again. Alex looks both confused and concerned, and the familiarity of his face at least settles me down. "When you Skyped Mike," I start. "I know you said he was threatened, but what happened, exactly? What did Phil Green say to him?"
Alex bites his lip, hesitating. "Uh...he told me in confidence..."
"I'm begging you. I'm going to go in and see the Principal again but she's hard work, I already know it. So I need to arm myself, I need to know exactly what was said."
Another hesitation; and then Alex gives in and sags. "It started during the morning. Phil was sitting behind Mike in assembly with his gang of cronies and they were whispering and laughing - deliberately quiet enough they wouldn't be noticed by teachers and loud enough Mike would hear. Mike said he...Jesus. He said he heard them say; 'What do you call it when you lynch a Mexican kid? A piñata'."
My mouth drops open and my stomach flips over, appalled, and all I can do is blink in shock. That's a double-hit of threat of harm and racism all wrapped up in one phrase. "Holy shit."
"Mike intended to report it to his form tutor after lunch but Phil cornered him after music. He said if Mike said anything he'd make his life hell. All credit to him, Mike stood up for himself and said he wouldn't be able to make his life hell because racism would see him marched off school property, which he was completely right about. But then Phil said it wouldn't matter because he knows people now, and they wouldn't leave him alone so he better not say anything. So he didn't. And then he said something along the lines of; 'once Elliot isn't round to monitor my ass all day, just you watch. Might not be as safe here after Christmas.' That was the day he snuck off home and ditched Nick and Jordan. He was terrified, quite rightly."
"Fuck," I mutter, putting my head in my hands again. This is a hundred times worse than I thought, and I don't know how to tackle it exactly. Mike didn't even bother talking to Mom and Dad yesterday; they were both exhausted and he didn't feel like talking to anybody, so it's down to me until I can get my parents in a free minute. "And how about the few days before the holiday?"
"Another threat," Alex nods, downhearted and sympathetic. "That one was along the lines of; 'watch yourself Fuentes. Christmas doesn't last forever.' It was a little thing, but it was enough."
"He came home that night and the only thing he said was 'when is Mom coming home?' Oh God, he must have really wanted her then...he didn't mention anything over Christmas, he got so happy again, it was like I remembered. We had such a good time when you came round and then Jaime stayed with us, and he and Tony saw each other loads and I've never seen him so happy at the holidays..."
"Hey," Alex says softly as I start to cry. "It's okay."
"If anyone hurts my little brother," I sob, "they better get their ass as far away form me as they can because I'll come down on them so fucking hard they won't know what's hit them." I growl out the last sentence and then rub my eyes, trying to hold myself together, at least for a little longer. "So this isn't as simple as just reporting Phil Green, is it?"
"No," Alex admits. "If you want to keep Mike safe you're going to need the names of everyone in that nasty little gang of cronies. I don't know how many there are. Maintaining that the racism policy is still in place that would see Phil expelled immediately, but...the others would probably only be given a formal warning. I don't know how that could be handled."
"Oh my God," I say softly, putting my hands in my head, stretching out my back, averting my gaze for a moment. "What...Alex, I...I don't know what to do."
"I know."
"I'm scared."
"I know," he nods. And neither of us can work out what to do, and we just sit there in silence for a minute, on opposite sides of the country, feeling like we're on separate planets. Eventually, I just swallow and put my hands over my mouth for a moment, looking down.
"Ready for college?" I try quietly, blinking out the last tears, and he half smiles and nods.
"I suppose so. How about you, Jack?" Alex says, turning around in his chair and removing one earbud. Jack sits up suddenly, tanking out his own headphones.
"Huh?"
"Ready for college to start again?"
"Am I balls!" He laughs, puts his headphones back in and returns to his textbook. As Alex spins back round in his chair I chuckle - at least that brought a smile to my lips.
"Vic, I wish I could help more," Alex sighs, and I shrug.
"You've been more of a help than you know. I should go, I'm seeing Jaime in a little bit."
"Have fun. Hey, keep me posted, okay? If I think of anything I'll text you."
"Sure. Speak soon, Lex. Love ya."
"Love ya too. Give Mike a big ass hug from me. Bye."
"Bye."
I turn off the Skype call and shut my laptop, so the room is flooded with silence.
Well. Shit.
I get dressed a little like a zombie, finding my Hufflepuff scarf and hat, pulling them on along with my jacket, slipping on my shoes and grabbing my wallet and keys before heading out the door. There's so much in my head it's almost impossible for me to think - I just traipse down to the end of my road where the bus stop is and sit alone at the bench, waiting for the next bus to come along. I take out my phone while I wait with the intention of emailing the Principal to make an appointment to see her; but instead, I text Mike.
Me:
Hey kiddo, want anything special for dinner tonight? I'm cooking :) hope your day is going okay xxxxx
I don't expect a reply, so I put my phone back in my pocket as the bus comes along, and then I get on it and wait for it to take me to the park. I sit at the back of the bus, near the engine, where the seat is a little warmer, and I tuck myself into the window seat. How have things got bad so quickly?
I've never felt so lost.
When I get to the bus stop in front of the park I can already see Jaime standing at the gate, hands in pockets, leaning on the metal gatepost, and my day improves slightly upon sight. Feather in his hair, birds on his ankles...a sense of calmness sweeps over me as I step off the bus and smile as I cross the road.
"Hello," Jaime smiles, and I kiss him quickly as we meet.
"Hey. How are you?"
"Can't complain much," he shrugs, and links our arms as we head into the park. Briefly, my head starts to clear a little, just being in his presence. For a fraction of a second, I'm allowed not to think.
It's an ice cream and sit by the duck pond day. Settling down on the bench where we sat and engaged in this exact activity before we were dating, Jaime dips into his pocket and produces a packet of bird seed, tearing into it with his teeth, setting it down in his lap and dipping in some fingers, pulling out grain and tossing it into the pond. The ducks come alive and dive for the seeds.
"Thank you for the letter," I say eventually, and he smiles.
"You're welcome. Thank you for taking the time to read it."
"It was my pleasure. Did it take you very long to write?"
"Ha. Yeah. Longer than I thought, I wrote it in one sitting. I slept on the New York to Denver flight, though, so it was fine."
"That's good...hey, I know...I know it hurts you to remember. But if you ever wanted to talk to anyone about your mom or even your dad or any of the families you've been a part of, then...I'll always listen."
Another duck flaps overhead and swoops down, landing on the pond in a flurry of feathers, hoovering up the last seeds floating on the surface in a rapid opening and closing of its bill before it shakes its head and feathers, commencing a roundabout swim that doesn't appear to have an aim. Jaime licks up a few more drops of ice cream before answering.
"Thank you...I just wondered if...well, is there anything you want to ask? When I go through the whole story I sometimes...if I leave bits out it can be confusing. So...shoot. If you want."
"Rest assured, I think you covered everything," I say softly, and allow another pause in conversation. A breeze tiptoes along and whispers gently to us both, and lifts my hair a little as its moves through us and then away. "Sounds like you came from two wonderful people, in the beginning."
"One wonderful person," he says softly, vacant smile playing on his lips as he tosses another handful of seeds into the water. The ducks flap madly once more. "My mother was...I'm biased, I know, but she was the best mom ever. Dad was...less so."
"Sounds like he truly tried to pick himself up in the end."
He hesitates and then relents slightly, tilting his head. "I suppose, yes. He came through. The one thing I wish was different was the way things are between me and Tom. That's my biggest regret. After Kyle...I should have stepped up. Not stepped down."
"Jaime," I start slowly. "You put a lot of very high expectations on yourself. You had been through two foster families, one abusive, and your mother passing by that point. You were a little kid. How could you have possibly known how to be a grownup at that point? You reacted the way any normal kid would. Don't come down too hard on yourself for that."
Melancholy, he nods, and then takes my hand and guides it over to the bird seed in his lap. I take a small handful and then toss it to the lake. A goose that had been waddling on the bank notices the flurry of feathers as the ducks demolish the food, and then takes to the water in search of the same. "I know you're right. That's part of a complex I have...the self-blame thing. I know I do it. I'm working on it."
"That's all that matters," I smile, and take his free hand, shuffling closer on the bench, intertwining our fingers. "What's Tom like, anyway?"
"Nothing like me," he laughs, and it seems genuine. I doubt anyone often asks him about his brother, and in any case, nobody knows enough of the story to make him feel comfortable talking about him. "He's loud and boisterous, loves sports...he's kind, really. Hayley and Martin have made sure he's kind, I know they love him a lot. He's very good at giving. He just has a lot of anger, still, he's quite an angry teen. But...it's starting to go away. He won't forget what he thinks about me but he might learn to forgive me."
"Like you said a few weeks ago," I agree. "Time heals."
"Totally. There's one thing I will never forgive him for, though."
"What's that?"
"He thinks Nirvana is overrated."
I gasp as he giggles, and his face seems to brighten again. "Oh, that's not on."
"I know. I wasn't very happy with him after that."
"I can imagine."
Another pause. For a moment he untangles our fingers to remove some more seeds and throws them in too. More furious flapping ensues. "Does he look like you?" I ask, and he tilts his head as he thinks.
"I suppose in some ways...if you stood us next to each other I suppose you'd see the similarities. But we're hardly identical. We have the same eyes, I think."
"I see. Who do you think you get your good looks from?"
"You flatter me," he laughs, and I quickly leave a peck on his cheek so his cheeks turn that lovely rosy shade again, and also so he doesn't suddenly become unhappy, considering the topic of conversation. "Definitely not my dad. He had really thin hair, and mine is really thick. I'm more like my mom, really."
"Do you look a lot like her?"
"Well. I don't think so, but..." he trails off and takes his hand away from the bird seed, instead dipping into the pocket of his coat and removing his wallet. He finishes the last of his ice cream before opening it up and taking his ID out of the window pocket, and behind it is a little picture which he slips out with two fingers. "Decide for yourself."
He hands over the picture, no bigger than a credit card, and I take it gently from his fingers. It's old; Jaime looks about four in it, and it's just him and his mom, Rebecca. Sure enough, she is a beautiful woman - a full head of thick, black, curly hair, swept over one side. She has a huge, bright, joyous smile on her face that you can see in her brown eyes, and in the picture she crouches down on one knee and holds on to a mischievous, squirming Jaime as he giggles playfully. I can see it, definitely; they have the same hair, the same slanting cheekbones, the same beautiful smile. Oh, he is definitely her son.
And the picture has me taken aback - it looks so...normal. No heartache, no despair, no illness or death or uncertainty or fear in this picture. This is pure, unbridled joy; Jaime is a kid. That's all. A normal, happy, naughty little boy squirming in his mother's grip.
"Oh, Himes," I say softly. "You look just like her."
"You think?" He says brightly, straightening up a little bit, and I nod.
"Oh, definitely. You have the same face. And the same crazy hair."
"She did have crazy hair," he laughs, and then sighs, resting his head on my shoulder. "That's the only picture I have of her. We never had many. This was taken before Tomás was born...just before she got pregnant with him, actually. After she died all her things were given to us...she didn't have much. Odd bits and pieces...this was really the only picture she'd kept. I take it everywhere with me."
"She's beautiful," I tell him, turning my head, and he smiles slowly, melancholy.
"I know."
He takes the photo back, gentle with it, as if it was made of glass or crystal, and slips it back in his wallet before putting that back in his pocket. For a while, we're quiet, feeling like the only people in the park, watching the birds swimming idly on the water, uncaring and simple, but complex in ways we don't understand. "I called Sarah 'Mom,' didn't I?" He starts again, huffing with amusement, and I smile.
"Yeah."
"It just slipped out. I've really struggled ever calling her and Andrew 'Mom and Dad'. After everything I'm scared still that the carpet is going to be pulled from under my feet again, but...she is my mom, now. And Drew is my dad. But that was the first time I called her that, the first time it felt natural. I haven't said it since but...maybe I will one day."
"People change," I say quietly, my own ice cream finished, and I stroke his cheek with one finger. "People grow. So yes, maybe."
"Mm," he agrees, and then sighs, snuggling closer to me, his body a welcoming warmth to the winter. "I'm not going to college this year."
"Huh?" I say, a little startled, turning to look at him again. "You aren't?"
"No. The deadline for applying was approaching and I took a step back and asked myself...do I really want this right now? Am I ready for it? And the answer was no. I'm not ready. I've been living with Sarah and Drew for four or five years now...I've only been their son for two years. That's the reason I took a year out in the first place - it was all too soon to go to college, and things had only just started to settle. I wanted some time to be quiet, to get used to things being...okay. And I'm getting there, but...I want one more year. I'll stay at the library, maybe do some online stuff in psychology. University can come next year."
"Well," I nod, voice quiet to match his. He seems very sure of himself; I'm noticing that more. He's coming to terms with certainty, understanding it, knowing what it means for him. "That sounds like a very good plan, actually."
"Yes. I think so."
Overhead, a few more geese flap over the pond and then wheel around, coming in to land on the grassy bank of the pond, stamping the reeds. I remember Jaime saying he wasn't so keen on geese; I don't blame him. They're sinister and boisterous, and I don't like how they hiss - but sitting far enough away here, on the bench, it's not too bad as they start swimming around. They aren't so scary. In the silence, the thoughts and feelings about Mike resurface, and my heart sinks a little bit.
"How are you, then?" He asks after a while, and I sigh.
"Technically, I'm fine. Mike is not."
"No?" He frowns, sitting back up straight and frowning, those creases appearing between his eyes, concerned.
"No. The bullying got worse the moment Miss Elliot left. He's lost all his allies and now he's prime target."
"Shit," he mutters, biting his lip. "Go on then. Tell me everything."
Brought back to the unfortunate reality I live in, I relay the story; everything Mike told me this week, the seizure on Wednesday afternoon, and everything Alex told me a little while ago - the racism and the threat to his safety, and even just telling it again makes me feel nervous and agitated and just as clueless as I did over Skype, and even more tearful.
Jaime, true to the person I've always known him to be, listens carefully to everything to have to say - but by the time I get to telling him about the piñata joke, his jaw hits the floor and he starts forward in his seat, shocked and appalled, as I was.
"Fuck," he exclaims.
"I know."
"What a fucking racist prick," he spits as if the words are venom. Having never heard him speak quite as strongly before, I almost laugh - but the humour doesn't last.
"Yeah. So now I need to find a way to take out the whole posse of bullies. Thing is, if I go to the head and report the racism alone, assuming policy is the same he'd be marched off school premises immediately. But that would leave the others - after all, they didn't actually make the joke, just laughed at it, so they'd get...what, a warning? A set of detentions? And a green light to take it all out on Mike. If I were to go in and report the racism I'd put him in even more hot water."
"Maybe that card has to stay in your back pocket," Jaime says lowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Play it at a later date when Mike's safer."
"That's what I thought. I'm hoping...I'm going to see the principal tomorrow. I'm hoping if I lay it on thick enough I might be able to get Mike out of the troubling classes. Arrange for him to go to after-school clinics, even, to catch up. If it means he won't even be able to go to school much during the day...so be it. I'll do the best I can do..."
"You always have done, for Mike," he assures me. "Things shouldn't even have come to this point. You're doing everything you can."
"And yet I still feel useless," I shake my head, watching the ducks, melancholy and worried. Jaime, understanding, simply takes my hand again and strokes his thumb over the back of it. That's enough comfort, for now.
For a while we sit in absolute silence. My brain feels kind of like it's working at a hundred miles per hour, so I will it to slow down for a moment. Worry about things later. Between us, we finish off sprinkling the seeds into the water and then just watch the birds make ripples on the surface. I wonder if feeding the ducks was something Jaime used to do as a little boy.
"It isn't Central Park, is it?" He huffs with amusement after a while, and I grin.
"No," I start, but then sigh and turn to him once more. "But it's like I'm seeing it all for the first time."
Somehow understanding what I mean, he smiles back at me and kisses me gently. Everything's a mess - but at least, for now, it's a mess in the back of my mind.
We'll see how tomorrow goes. And then I'll panic.
* * * * *
Title cred: Phantom Power and Ludicrous Speed, by Pierce the Veil