phone. I cringe. I sound so fucking lame I’m tempted to hang up. I clear my throat. “How are you?”
There’s silence on the other end and then a sniffle. “Hey.” Her voice is thick, like she’s been crying. I’m quiet, trying to figure out what to say. “Are you there?”
“Yes. Hi. I’m sorry.” There’s another sniffle from her end of the line. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She coughs a phlegmy cough. She’s obviously lying.
I don’t know how to respond. With Rosa, it was easy. She always wanted me to know every single thought that passed through her head, good or bad, and even though that was beyond exhausting at times, she was never a mystery. May is another story.
Her voice cuts through my thoughts. “Can you come over?”
“Right now?” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. Will I never learn to think about what I’m saying before I say it? “I mean, yes. Definitely. When? I’m there.” Now my words are tumbling over each other like they can’t figure out how to leave my mouth in the proper order. May lets out a bark on the other end of the line. At least my awkwardness is occasionally useful.
“Now would be great, if you don’t mind.”
“No! Yes, I mean. Wait, no—I don’t mind.” I shake my head and force myself to shut up for a second to control my verbal diarrhea. “I’ll be there soon.”
* * *
—
When I park outside May’s house, it looks so dark and quiet that if I didn’t know better, I’d think no one was home. I ring the bell and she answers immediately, like she was sitting on the other side of the door waiting for me.
Her face is swollen, red, puffy, like she’s been crying for hours.
My eyes widen. I knew from the call that she was upset, but this—this is way beyond what I was expecting. I open my arms just in time for her to fall into them.
“Hey. Hey.” I stroke her hair, and for once in my life I’m pretty sure I say the right thing: “Are you okay? What happened? How can I help?”
* * *
—
Thirty minutes later I’m sitting on her bed, surrounded by the most fucked-up letters I’ve ever seen. We haven’t spoken a word since we got to her bedroom and she pushed them toward me. I tried to ask her what they were, but she shushed me and motioned that I should read. Now I’m silent for a very different reason.
“What do you think?” Her voice catches on the word think. I can’t bring myself to look at her. These letters are…I don’t even know if there’s a word that’s strong enough to describe what they are. Horrible doesn’t have the right ring. Awful is too weak. Sickening might be the closest.
“Have you told anyone about these?” I cringe. I sound so judgmental.
Her face shutters. “No.” She starts to scoop the papers into a pile. I’m losing her. The last thing I want is to lose her.
“Hey.” I grab her hands to stop her from her busywork. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out like it did. I’m a dick.”
She laughs, but it’s forced.
“This is all…” I’m at a loss for words. I know if I say what I want to say—fucked-up beyond belief—it’ll be the end of the conversation. My heart’s pounding fifty miles a minute. This is so far above my pay grade it’s not even funny. I brush a stray hair off her forehead and think about what I’d want to hear if I were in her position. Who am I to say that the way she’s dealt with these letters is wrong? I have no idea what I would do. “It’s just a lot to process. Let me start over. Please?”
She nods. She seems so small, and it hurts my insides.
I close my eyes for a second to compose my thoughts. When I open them again, I say, “First off, can I ask you why you never