Steph looks longingly at her mug, but steam is still
curling in thick wisps above the tea, clouding the air around it.
It’s way too hot to drink. I imagine she’d like to wrap her
hands around it, for a sense of security. I wish I could take her
hand. I wish she’d reach for me. Look at me longingly. I wish
yet again that I could be the one to comfort her. Just as a
friend.
I don’t, because I’m painfully aware that we don’t
really even know each other yet. Sure, we’ve worked together,
but that hardly constitutes a real friendship. I don’t want to do
anything to make her feel awkward. To regret asking me to
come here.
All I can do is wait. And it sucks.
“There was this—no, that sounds stupid. I don’t know
how to tell you, so I’ll just tell you.” Steph can’t look at me,
but her tone changes, getting both serious and nearly frantic. I
can feel the fingers of my left hand turning into claws, biting
into the inside of my palm as I brace myself. Now I wish I had
my mug too.
When there’s nothing but silence and I just can’t take it
anymore, I gently prompt Steph. “You can tell me. You can tell
me anything. It will be fine, I promise.”
Steph sighs so hard that the couch vibrates. I didn’t
realize she was holding her breath like that. It reminds me of
when I was a kid, how I used to try and hold my breath in the
bathtub, under the water, while I counted to sixty. I thought
that was a minute, but it was probably longer, given that I’d
mess up and have to start over and I never took a breath to
reset. Just went back to one. I’d pop up to the surface when I
reached sixty or when I just couldn’t take it any longer, and I’d