Losing Grip

Chapter 33➷ You Don't Seem to Function Well Under Commitment

For a second, I did not understand what Ross said. A corner of my mind registered his phrase, but the part of my brain responsible for interpreting the words refused to do its job.

I was aware of the anticipation in Ross's eyes, and Avan's gaze on me as they waited for me to react. Maybe their stares finally triggered something in my head and pushed my brain to work, and Ross's words replayed in my mind in an endless echo.

I had no idea how my voice sounded calm when I spoke again. "I— Why are you telling me this?" But really in my mind, I was internally screaming as the accident I had not even witnessed filled my mind.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I know my dad would have wanted to say that if he could. Not that this changes anything, because I know it doesn't... I just— I don't know how to help."

"It wasn't your fault, son."

I hadn't even noticed that Dad had followed me outside until he spoke. His eyes did not meet mine. His eyelids drooped as if they would shut by their own will if he didn't close them sometime soon. His shoulders sagged as he spoke, a pale representation of how he looked a few minutes earlier, when we were still inside, bursting everyone's eardrums.

A soft wind moved the sign dangling from the post, and I stepped away from it, deciding it was way too close.

"I wanted to speak with you guys before, but I didn't know how to. I didn't think I'd have the guts to look at you in the eyes."

I remembered the look of shock on his face when he heard my name at the fair. I had not given it a second thought after it happened. Maybe I would have pieced everything together if I had.

"Hence the stalking," Avan pointed out, and Ross scowled at him.

"Stalking? You were the one following me?"

"That's a strong word. I just wanted to check that you were okay without getting too close," Ross said. "I was not ready to talk about what happened yet and— I'm sorry if I scared you."

"So, your dad hasn't woken up yet?" Dad asked.

Ross shook his head. "They said it's unlikely that he will at this point, but he's not completely dead yet," he said, and an optimistic undertone highlighted his words.

Maybe this strange in-between was an even worse place to be. As long as the person still breathed, there was still hope, and hope was the most dangerous thing of all.

I couldn't come up with anything intelligible to tell Ross. He seemed to expect some sort of response, and I had nothing. Nothing the least bit helpful.

Nothing but a simple "I'm sorry about your dad." And I was. I was sorry that his dad was dying and that he had to experience all of this. But, I knew that my words wouldn't mean anything. If I had learned anything this past year, it was that sweet nothings never helped. Nothing could speed up a process that chose to linger.

So, I held Ross's hand as he continued to speak. And I knew that contact wouldn't help either, but I was grateful for all the times my friends had reminded me that I wasn't alone. I hoped I could communicate to him whatever strength still lived inside me.

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Perhaps it was because I thought turning eighteen meant that I had to start acting mature now, but I agreed to talk to Mom, Sunday afternoon.

Dad and I met her at a small coffee place not too far from her hotel.

I had the honor of making the phone call myself. Mom had been shocked to hear my voice and sounded a bit disappointed when I simply said. "I think we should talk." The confidence in my voice gave nothing away about the anxiety I actually felt.