as his facial features relax.
"How did you do that? I've been wracking my brains for the last two days."
Shrugging, I rise to open the fridge, finding a drawer filled with apples, which is just what I wanted.
"I don't know, really. I just… I guess I just saw the way."
As I bite into the apple, the sweet juice coats my tongue, and my stomach growls in anticipation. "That's a talent," John says. "What are your plans for after college?"
Leaning against the counter, I shrug. "I wanted to finish. I had all these plans and dreams for what I'd do with my life, but other things are a priority now."
"You can still finish, you know?"
"How, with a baby strapped to my front? I don't think that will go down well with anyone."
"People do it," he says, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
"People with support."
"You'll have support."
"My mom works," I say. "She's already exhausted from raising me singlehandedly. I can't ask her to do anymore."
"Your mom lives miles away from here," John says. "If you stay here, we'll help."
"That's…" I pause, not wanting to hurt his feelings or speak out of turn. "That's a kind offer, but my college is miles away."
"You could transfer…"
"And you'd help when? In between practice and work and assignments? Or when you've all graduated and have jobs? You guys are already so busy, and… well, this is my responsibility."
"It's not something you have to shoulder on your own," he says. "We've told you that."
"And I'm grateful, but…"
"But…" John says, nodding. I don't need to tell him the buts. He knows.
"I can help you… with the paper. And after, we can do more of Dad's room?"
John inhales deeply, trouble glancing over his face like a ripple across a midnight pool. "I should do it myself."
"Why is it okay for you to offer to help me, but not okay for me to help you?"
"Because that's who I am," he says. "It's what makes me feel whole."
"I need your help with Dad's things, and you won't be able to help me with that if you haven't done your assignment. I'm selfish really, not selfless."
John's smiles fleetingly at my efforts to placate him. "Okay then."
It takes us until lunchtime to finish the paper, and when it's done, John slumps back against his chair. There's color high on his cheeks from relief.
"I'll fix us a sandwich, and then we can head upstairs."
We eat and talk. John tells me about the team coach and how hard he is on the boys. He suspects it's because he's worried that they might start to slack off now they don't have Dad to keep them in line. "He doesn't understand that Dad showed us the benefits of having a good work ethic. Now, we're all there because it's what we want."
"So tell him that." I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "He'll listen."
"You haven't met our coach."
"But I have met you. There's no way he could listen to you explain and not see your sincerity."
"Maybe." John takes my plate and his to the counter, washing his hands and drying them on a towel. Everything he does is methodical and precise. "Let's see how far we can get with this room."
And we start with good intentions, filling bags with some of Dad's clothes for Goodwill, but when we discover a box at the back of the closet containing photos, I can't do anymore. There's one of me as a baby at the top, as though Dad had been going through them, and that was the last one he saw. I wish so much that I could know how he felt. John's arm goes around my shoulder as I place the box on the bed, and then he's pulling me into a reassuring hug that feels so good.
"It'll get easier," he whispers.
"I hope so," I say, drawing back. John may feel safe, but there's an underlying intention that I feel lurking behind his care. An intention that feels anything but safe. Our eyes connect, and a shiver runs through me. He wants to kiss me, but there are so many doubts in my mind. Is the pull between us real or just generated by grief or by the vote he had with his brothers? Should I even care when my lips feel tingly, and my heart feels shattered? Then he's lowering his mouth to mine, and I want it. I want to touch him, to feel him. I need him close to anchor me.
And he's here. John is real and solid