Halfway Girl (Girl 2.5)

I tried to arrange talking points in my head on the drive to St. Augustine, but as I suspected, all of them sound like some lame business presentation now. There’s no choice but to open my mouth and start speaking, the way I would do with Birdie. The way she’s made it possible for me to do. “I haven’t told Birdie yet,” I begin, “but the football program is bringing me on next year as a defensive coordinator. After I graduate.”

Saying nothing, Jason slowly tips back his beer and drinks.

“I wouldn’t have had the confidence to speak to my coaches about the position if I hadn’t met Birdie. Wouldn’t have found my voice at all.” Thinking about the girl in the next room, I have to clear the creeping emotion from my throat. “I’m only telling you this so you’ll know, I’m not going to leave once I graduate and Birdie still has three more years in school. So many changes for her after Natalie—” Jason glances away. “I’m just letting you know I won’t be another change. I’m rooted.”

He sets down his beer and crosses his arms. “Keep going.”

“We want to move in together.”

“Nope.” His smile is more like a baring of teeth. “That was easy.”

“I’m just asking for you to hear me out. If that’s still your answer when I’m done, I’ll respect it.” I rub a hand over my short hair. “I know what this looks like. Believe me. I’m a quiet guy with very few friends. Real ones, anyway. I’m physically threatening. She’s almost four years younger than me—”

“Thanks for making my case.”

My mouth snaps shut. Too soon. I attempted this way too soon. Recognizing a forty-foot-high stone wall when I see one, I accept the fact that I won’t be scaling it today. Someday, though. I won’t give up. “You mind if we talk about one more thing?”

Jason grunts.

I take the brochure out of my back pocket and lay it down on the island. “I know Birdie can take care of herself, but she keeps putting off talking to you about getting a glucose monitor. She knows you’ve been busy with the baby, and…” He’s just staring down at the glossy booklet, so I flip it open and show him the contents. “It would mean no more finger sticks and it’s supposed to be pretty damn accurate.”

Birdie’s brother peers down at the pamphlet. “Her endocrinologist recommended this last time I took her for a visit, but she didn’t bite.”

“All due respect, I think she didn’t want to be a hassle.”

“She could never be a hassle.” A few beats of silence pass. “When we talk on the phone, Birdie tells me everything is fine. That she’s taking care of her diabetes.” He blows out a breath. “Is she?”

“She is. Yes,” I hedge. “Sometimes she forgets to eat breakfast, though. When she’s late for class or oversleeps. So I’ve started stashing granola bars in her bag. And juice, in case her blood sugar drops low.”

Jason shifts. “Thanks for doing that.”

I shrug off his thanks. To be honest, I don’t want to be thanked for doing things for Birdie. I just want it to be understood that I would do anything and everything for her. “Like I said, she can take care of herself. She’s…so amazing.” I swallow hard. “But she doesn’t want her condition to be a big deal, so sometimes I think that’s how she treats it.”

“How so?”

“Brushing off how she’s feeling, whether it’s shaky or irritable. Not sticking to her eating schedule because it might inconvenience people or disrupt class.” I glance toward the door. “I get that. I do. She’s going to make friends, though. Friends that she feels comfortable with and make her happy—honestly, I can’t wait for her to start having fun and doing college her way. I know she’s going to be way better at it than me.” I pause. “She’s going to go out and—sorry, but she’ll probably have one too many drinks—and I guess those are the times I get nervous about.” I pick up the brochure and put it back down. “This will help, though. So if you could just—”

“Call the insurance company. Yeah,” Jason interrupts, looking thoughtful. “I’ve thought of this, too. Birdie partying. Maybe not waking up even if there’s a glucose monitor beeping…”

I look down at the floor, not wanting it to be obvious that I’ve thought of this a million times. Birdie is strong and capable and I don’t want her brother thinking anything different. She wouldn’t want that. “Like I said, she’s amazing. She knows what she’s doing.”

“But you help take care of her. Is that why you want to move in with her?”

“I want to move in with her because I’m in love with her.” The rest of the truth sits on my tongue for a few seconds, before I have to say it out loud. “And loving her means I worry. I won’t lie about that. But worrying about her is a privilege.” My heart knocks against my ribs, images from the last two weeks flipping through my mind. “When her sugar is low, the tip of her nose turns white. When she’s high, she can’t decide what to eat and gets annoyed over having to pick. Or she gets really quiet.”