walked out of the room and gave us a little bit of privacy.
Before long, she reappeared, setting up one of the dog gates at the entrance to the room. “They won’t leave you alone if they know you’re in here with food.”
“Thank you,” Mac said as he slowly cut at the turkey.
“You don’t have to eat this, babe,” I said reassuringly.
“I am hungry, but …” he started to explain before putting the food in his mouth. Within seconds, he was spitting it out and holding the side of his face. “It hurts to chew,” he said, his eyes closing, my heart breaking.
“Here.” I spun the plate around, so the mashed potatoes were facing him. “This is soft. I’ll go get you some more.” I whirled in my seat, but he put his hand on top of mine to stop me.
“Just stay here with me,” he said, and I nodded, maneuvering my legs back under the table to stay put.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked because I had to know what had happened. My imagination was working overtime.
His hazel eyes looked so drained of life. “I need to charge my phone. I have to call my mom,” he said before saying anything else, and I nodded, holding my hand out so he could put his phone in it.
“I’ll be right back.” I took his phone up to my bedroom and plugged it in.
When I came back down and sat next to him, he was picking at his food, almost like he was trying to find things that would be mushy enough to eat without causing him pain.
He took a few more bites of his mashed potatoes before reaching for the bowl of applesauce. “This is really good,” he said after taking a giant spoonful.
“It’s homemade.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” I repeated, wanting to touch the swelling on his cheek with my fingers but not wanting to hurt him.
Without warning, Mac launched into what had happened at his house this morning. I sat there, listening, trying to keep my emotions in check and biting my tongue the whole time as he told me every pain-filled detail. But I was horrified. And shocked. I had no idea what to say or how to help. I’d never been in this kind of a situation before.
“Is your mom okay?” was all I asked once I thought he was finished talking.
“I don’t know, but I’m worried sick,” he said.
“I’ll go get your phone.” I ran back upstairs to grab it, knowing that it wouldn’t even remotely be fully charged yet, but it would be enough to send a text or call.
“Here.” I handed it to him, and I’d noticed there were over thirty text messages waiting to be read. I knew that half of those were from me. “I might have gone a little crazy earlier when I couldn’t get ahold of you,” I admitted, feeling like a possessive girlfriend, but I’d been worried.
“It’s okay. I like your crazy.” He patted my hand before clicking on the Messages app and pulling them up. His body instantly released some of its tension. “She left the house before he got back,” he said, his eyes instantly watering, and I watched as he tried to wipe the unshed tears away, not wanting to cry in front of me.
“So, she’s somewhere safe then?”
“I’m going to call her real quick,” he said, his fingers frantically scrolling and then pressing buttons before he held the phone to his ear.
“Mom. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m at Sunny’s.”
Pause.
His eyes found mine, and he stared right at me while he listened. He sucked in a breath. “I know. He reported the car stolen. The cops were cool. Are you okay? You did? Let me know if you need me to come get you or anything. I know. Mom, I know. Yeah. I love you too. Don’t tell anyone where you are. Call me anytime. Bye.”
I only heard his side of things, but it filled in a lot of the blanks and questions I’d had since he arrived.
He ended the call and held his phone tight in his hand, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting it go.
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s at a hotel under a fake name while she figures out what to do next.”
“What do you think she’ll do?”
He looked down at his food and slowly shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.”
We spent the rest of the evening on the couch, watching old Christmas movies with my parents and the dogs. At