“There’s no reason for me to be this upset. I didn’t even know her. Not really.”
“You can definitely grieve someone you don’t know,” Hollis says. “But I don’t think you’re grieving Elsie.”
“I’m... not?”
“No. I mean, maybe a little. But that’s not what has you this upset.”
“What is it then?”
“I think you’re grieving Mrs. Nash,” he says.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I protest. “She died over two months ago.”
“Yeah. And what did you do when it happened?”
“Well, when she wouldn’t wake up, I called 9-1-1—”
“No, I don’t mean immediately. What I’m asking is did you ever take the time to properly mourn her? All the things you lost?”
“She was really old,” I say. “It was her time, and I know she wasn’t afraid—”
“It doesn’t matter if it was somewhat expected or if it was a freak accident. You were so close with her.” In response to my blank stare, he continues, “Millicent, you broke up with your long-term boyfriend, moved out of your shared apartment, lost your best friend, and had to find another new place to live all in the course of like six months. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with. A lot of loss and change. And did you? Did you actually process it?”
Unless carrying around Mrs. Nash’s ashes while doggedly tracking down the woman she loved to reassure myself that wanting someone to want me back for the rest of my life isn’t pointless counts, then, no. No, I did not.
“It’s okay,” he says when I still don’t respond aloud. “I’m not criticizing. As far as coping strategies go, occupying yourself with all this was one of the better options. When my mom died and then Vanessa...”—he waves his hands in a gesture that I guess is supposed to representcompletely destroyed me in her quest for revenge—“I tried to avoid feeling anything by drinking too much and being a dick to everyone.”
“You’re still a dick to everyone,” I say with as much of a smile as my tired face can manage.
“What can I say? I found it suited me. A lot more than the drinking, anyway. You probably won’t believe this, but I’m an extremely affectionate drunk.”
My skull feels like it’s filled with concrete that’s starting to dry as I lift it from Hollis’s shoulder to get a look at his face. “You are not,” I say. “There’s no way.”
“It’s true. Tequila in particular makes me absurdly insistent on group hugs. Friends, enemies, acquaintances, strangers. Anyone and everyone who’s around must join in.”
“That must have been difficult. All that hard work keepingpeople away with your gruff personality undone by your enjoyment of a good mass squeeze.”
“A mass squeeze,” he repeats with the smallest of smiles. “That’s a Millicentism if I ever heard one.”
I stretch my arms around Hollis’s neck and rub myself against his jaw like a cat needing attention. He wraps me in a tight embrace. “I’m only one person,” I say against his throat. “But is this doing it for you?”
“Needs more arms.”
“Sorry I’m not an octopus,” I say.
His breath ruffles the hair near my temple as he sighs. “Nobody’s perfect.”
I shuffle onto his lap, wrapping my legs around him too. “Is this any better?”
“I don’t have any complaints.”
We remain like this for a while, me clinging to his front as if I want to be absorbed into him and Hollis holding me tight like he might not mind that so much.
“If I haven’t said it yet, thank you for taking care of me during my embarrassing public breakdown.”
“Anytime,” he says.
Hollis’s chest rises and falls against mine. His pulse beats against my ear. This is a hundred thousand intimacies, so many more than I’ve ever experienced before—with Hollis or with anyone. It doesn’t feel like too many. It doesn’t feel like not enough. It feels like exactly the right amount for this moment.
