“A good stiff wind and this damn house would blow over. You know that, right?”
“It survived a fire,” I tell him, though it definitely sounded better in my head.
“Did it? That inspector either did you dirty or he’s on the hockey team’s payroll. I’ve been here for five minutes, and I’m telling you this place is in bad shape. Dad and Uncle Brian and I will come back down after the holidays and give it a good look, okay? My guess is the downstairs needs to be rewired, at the veryleast. And those steps need to be reinforced before somebody gets hurt.”
Mikalski chooses that minute to walk through the room dressed only in his boxers and a beanie, and eating an ice cream cone. Because…Mikalski. “It’s cool, dude,” he says to my cousin. “Everybody knows you have to skip steps two and seven going up, and nine and four coming down.”
Tommy just shakes his head as Mickey leaves the room. “I’m texting Dad and Uncle Brian now. Ivy will come, too, since you definitely need an electrician. Will you be back down here then? Or still up at your mom’s?”
I’ll probably stay here for most of the break, since I still can’t drive. Mom said she’d come down for a few days, but other than that, I’ll probably be doing exactly what I’m doing now: lying in bed and calling myself an idiot. Bainbridge gets pretty empty over the winter break, but some people stick around and there are a few parties to go to. People to hang out with. To hook up with.
None of that sounds appealing in any way. But this is my new normal and I have to get used to it.
Maybe not the hooking up part. Pretty sure my dick will revolt if I get close with anyone who isn’t Josie.
"Yeah, I'll be here," I say, adjusting the pillows behind my back and propping my injured leg on the foam riser. "I'm not going anywhere," I tell my cousin, hating how true my words are.
40
Josie
The knock on my car door startles me. I look up to see a burly, bearded man peering in.
Dabbing the ratty tissue at my eyes one last time, I sigh and roll my window down. "Hey, Pete," I say, doing my best impression of a girl who hasn't been crying for the last fifteen minutes after a run-in with her ex.
"Hey, Josie." The tone in his voice tells me I've failed miserably at my attempt to look or sound like my heart hasn't shattered all over again. At this point, I'm not sure there's much left.
"I should go," I say, pointing my thumb over my shoulder in the general vicinity of the road. I don't have anywhere else to be right now; I just don't want to be here, in the parking lot of the rehab center. I just don't want to feel this sad or lonely anymore.
"Take a walk with me?" Pete asks, ignoring what I've said and reaching out his hand.
Pete Santos is a guy who's pretty damn hard to say no to. It's not that he'd push. He wouldn't--he's too gentle a giant for that. But I can see in his eyes an insistence that tells me he’s not leaving a friend in distress.
Tugging on my hat, I step out of my car and hit the locks. I slip my gloves back on as I take a look at my friend. He's dressed the same as always: in sneakers, basketball shorts and a beat-up backwards ballcap with the BU logo on it. In a nod to the chilly weather, he's sporting a cut-off hoodie today.
We're walking down the street and I'm following his lead. We take a left on Hamilton and I can see the sign for Drip up ahead. It's the original location, not the campus one where Mel works, of course, but it's almost as good.
"You're shivering, Josie. Let me buy you a cup of tea?"
I nod because there's never a bad time for a tea, and also because I don't want to be alone right now.
"How are you not freezing?" I ask. "I know you're from the great north, but still...It's 30 degrees."
"That's nothin'," he teases, smiling. "Actually, I'm sweating. I ran all the way here. You're lucky it's not a few degrees warmer, Josie, or I'd toss my hoodie and get a little sun."
Pete's been known to walk around campus bare-chested, whether he's tossing a Frisbee on the main lawn or sprawled out on a bench by the fountain, “catching rays" in 50-degree weather.
"You ran to the rehab center?" I ask, walking into the coffee shop as he holds the door for me. "Don't you usually run inside, on a treadmill or something?"
We stand in line and Pete looks at me, kindness shimmering in his eyes. "Usually. But Van texted an SOS and?—”
I go still at the mention of his name and my eyes dart toward the door. I should have realized this was more than a coincidence. Still, the rehab center isn't far from campus, so I guess my muddled mind didn't think much of it. Having tea with a friend on a cold day is one thing, but an intervention is another. As much as I love Pete, I'm not sticking around to hear all about how I need to be patient or give Van space right now.He can have all the space he needs, as far as I'm concerned. The Van and Josie Rules worked for years and it's time to reinstate them.
"Don't go, Josie, please," he says, stepping up to the counter. He orders a caramel frappe for himself and a cup of tea for me, then heads toward the cushioned chairs along the back wall.
I look longingly at the door, and then back at Pete.
My brain is the part of my body that protects me. It processes fear, it anticipates disaster. It keeps the rest of me in check. My dad used to tell me that my amygdala was always in overdrive, and it's probably true. I'm wired for the worst, and life has often seen fit to provide it.
