She didn’t.
Instead, she pressed her forehead lightly against my chest.
My arms came around her.
We stood there silently.
Her hands gripped the back of my shirt.
“This is why,” she whispered.
“Why what?”
“Why I’m scared.”
I closed my eyes.
“Because this doesn’t feel temporary.”
She pulled away.
Neither of us said goodbye.
For the next two weeks, Michelle and I did not speak.
My parents returned fully from their trip.
My mother behaved normally around me, which somehow felt worse than anger.
One evening, I found her on the back porch with a cup of coffee.
I sat beside her.
For several minutes, we watched rain darken the yard.
Then she said, “Michelle called me.”
My pulse jumped.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What did she say?”
“That she misses me.”
I waited.
“She also said she misses you.”
My jaw tightened.
“Then why hasn’t she called?”
