stare at each other for a few minutes, and George doesn’t move his hand, and I don’t move mine, either. And then George says my name, Emma, and it sounds different than it usually does in his voice, soft and ethereal.
“What?” I say softly, still staring at him, neither one of us moving our eyes or our hands, and I have this weird feeling like there’s something else I’m supposed to say here and now, something I should know how to say. Or do. But I don’t move. I just sit there, holding on to George.
The doorbell rings, and we both jump up, moving our hands back quickly. “Pizza,” I finally speak, and George frowns. I wish I’d said something else instead. But I stand and walk to the door. My hand is still warm from where George was holding on to it, and I put it in my pocket.
I open the door, and it’s not pizza at all, but George’s mom. I frown when I see her because this means George is going home now and I’m not ready for him to leave yet.
“Emma, honey. George texted me what happened. Do you need anything?” she asks me, a worried look on her face.
George must hear her voice because he walks in from the kitchen and grabs his school bag from the bench by the front door.
“Do you want to come sleep at our house tonight, Emma, so you don’t have to stay here alone?” Mrs. Knightley is still talking, fretting over how she might be able to help me.
The thought of sleeping in a strange house, in a strange bed, sounds way worse than sleeping in my own house alone. “No thanks,” I tell her. “I’m just going to eat the pizza George ordered when it gets here, do some homework and go to bed.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. I tell her that I’m sure, that I’ll be fine now that I know Dad is going to be fine. “Okay,” she says reluctantly. “But George is just a text away. You let us know if you change your mind or if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I will,” I promise.
George shoots me a half smile, and goes to walk out with his mom. But then he stops for a second, turns back and gives me a hug. He embraces me tightly, and I lean into him. My head falls into his chest, and I remember that feeling of dancing with him, when everything felt comfortable and safe and easy. I hold on to him longer than I should, breathing in the warmth of his sweatshirt and his sandalwood. When I’m holding on to George, I do believe that everything’s going to be fine, that I’m fine.
But then he lets go first, steps back. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”
“I’ll be fine, really,” I say again, extra emphasis on the word fine to try and convince him it’s really, really true. Because when he’s not hugging me anymore I feel weirdly...not fine.
“Okay.” He nods, convinced. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he adds softly.
“Yeah,” I echo back. “See you in the morning.”
* * *
The pizza comes about five minutes after George leaves. When I open the box I see he ordered an entire pie with mushrooms and olives, which makes me smile. If the pizza got here before his mom, I bet he would’ve even eaten a slice, though he thinks it’s gross, just to make me laugh and try and cheer me up.
Great pizza choice, I text him. Mushrooms and olives forever!
You had a rough day, he texts back. I hope it makes you happy.
How could it not? Mushroom and olive pizza would make anyone happy.
Agree to disagree, Emma.
I smile at the words in his text, picturing the way his face would look if he were still here saying it to me out loud. But I’m still not hungry, so I put the pizza in the fridge for later. At least laughing a little over the pizza makes me finally feel calm and normal enough to FaceTime Izzy.
“Em, oh my gosh.” She picks up, sounding, and looking, frazzled. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s wearing her ratty old pink DC sweatshirt that she got when Dad took us there to see the Smithsonian one spring break in late elementary school. “Dad just texted me and told me what happened.” I guess he finally got the Wi-Fi to work. Now