Stay - Doctor Mike -

🌿 Chapter Three: Dog Park 🌿

Matt frowns as his gaze falls to his sister's sleeping figure on the sofa in her living room surrounded by a scattering of used tissues, her eyes puffy and red from clearly crying herself to sleep the night prior. He sighs heavily and shakes his head as sympathy rises in his chest for her. He had known she would take their grandmothers death harder than anyone else, even his father seemed to be coping better than Avery was. It was no secret that Avery and their grandmother were ridiculously close and supportive of one another, most of Avery's time had been dedicated to spending time and caring for their grandmother whilst their father and Matt went off to work and pursue their own dreams. She was selfless like that.

Matt approaches her sleeping figure cautiously after pulling open the silver curtains to allow some soft sunlight to stream into the room. He musters an understanding smile for her as she finally peels her green eyes open and squints up at him. "Matty? What are you doing here? What time is it?" she mumbles sleepily, her voice rough from sobbing through most of the night.

Matt lifts her legs and sits himself at the end of the sofa before allowing her feet to rest in his lap as she looks at him awaiting answers. "I told you I'd come check on you, remember? It's around noon, dad headed to sign the death certificate and paperwork at the hospital, he didn't want company so I came here." he explains whilst gesturing with his hands. Avery frowns in thought but nods in understanding as she lets out a soft yawn and sits upright whilst stretching her sleepy limbs. "How is he coping?" she asks whilst sparing her brother a short glance before standing and heading to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee.

"Better than you from the looks of things." Matt mumbles as he too stands and follows her into the spacious kitchen, he leans against the counter and picks at his fingernails whilst Avery fills the coffee pot. "Ava, you know I'm here for you too, right?"

"I do." Avery nods, "But I also know that we are all hurting right now, we are all going through this together so it is probably best that I don't add my emotional baggage onto you when you have enough on your plate with helping dad through his."

Matt shakes his head with a deep sigh, "that's the problem though, no one is talking about how they are feeling. Dad just went straight to his room last night without saying a word. Then this morning he walks around like everything is fine, he purposely changes the subject whenever I try to get him to talk about it."

Avery frowns as concern now chips away at her slightly, she was worried that her father's mental health would deteriorate at a rapid rate if he didn't open up about his feeling and accept his mother's recent death. She knew that he was never one to share and openly talk about emotions but she hoped that he was smart enough to know when such discussions were necessary for healing. "Maybe we should see if he will see a therapist about it. I read somewhere that many people who have suffered loss actually find it easier to discuss their feelings with a stranger rather than concerned family members and friends. It could be worth a shot?"

Matt rubs his stubbly chin and thinks for a moment as he mulls the idea over then he hesitantly nods, "might be worth checking out. Maybe that doctor will know of one?" he suggests. Avery nods, "I'll ask him when I next encounter him." she tells him as she bites her lip to fight back the smile that seemed to want to curl on her lips at the mere mention of Mike. She silently scolds herself for feeling such a way about the attractive and kind doctor, mainly because of the timing of it all and the specific reason behind the swirling butterflies in her stomach.

"Okay, well dad just text to let me know that he finished signing the paperwork and is heading home. So, I got to love you and leave you for a little while but I want you to come to dad's later for dinner." he points at Avery as he heads to the door with a firm expression.