Page 39 of Pretty Thing

Eden: Not yet, but I’ll let you know soon.

Kyle: Eden…I’m really sorry. I loved your parents, and we love and care about you.

I nibble my bottom lip.

Eden: Yeah, I know. I’ll see you soon. Give Kris a hug from me.

At one point, Kyle and I thought about being more than friends. But it just felt weird to me, like I was kissing my brother. After two botched dates and a kiss that ended awkwardly with me laughing hysterically, I gave up on the idea and we agreed it isn’t going to work.

Kyle: Better yet, why don’t you give her one yourself? We’re standing outside.

I sit up far too quickly and cry out as I’m once more stabbed by a rib. Fuck, heal already.

Eden: Are you serious?

Kyle: Would I joke and make you look?

Shit.

Eden: I’m still in pajamas.

Kyle: So…how many times have you slept over? I’ve seen you in your weird baby shark boxers. They’re kinda hot.

I snort and then laugh, knowing exactly the ones he’s talking about. They are actually from the movie Jaws and have a cartoon girl hanging out of a shark’s mouth. Kyle always thought they were weird to wear to bed. He’s probably right.

Eden: Give me a minute. I’m slow.

Slow is an understatement. I’m stiff and incapable of moving any faster than the turtles I love. One baby step at a time with the help of my crutch, I make it out of my room, down the stairs, and to the front door. I’m out of breath and achy all over, but seeing their faces makes me feel better even as my tears flow like an open faucet.

“Oh girl, I’m so sorry,” Kris says already in tears herself.

Kris and Kyle step in and wrap their arms around me.

“Ouch.” I wince.

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

“Just watch my ribs.”

They are gentler the second time, and we stand there like a tripod of sadness as we hold each other up.

“Look at your poor face,” Kris says, her eyes bouncing around as she takes in the cuts.

“That’s the least of my problems.” I take a hobbling step back. “Come on in.”

Kyle helps steady me as we walk into the living room, and I groan as if I’m a hundred and not freaking eighteen. They look like bookends as they take up a cushion on either side of me. Kris holds my left hand, tissues clenched in her other one as a thin line of mascara lines her cheek. Kyle has his elbow on the back of the couch, his hand on my knee.

We are silent for a beat before Kyle looks around.

“It’s really fucking depressing in here.”

“Kyle, are you daft?” Kris scolds.

I snort and then burst out laughing. My ribs hurt, but I can’t stop. They stare at me before joining in, and it feels good. Laughing over something so morbidly absurd. I wasn’t sure this would ever happen again.

The door suddenly opens, and we all look over as Felix walks inside.

“Oh…hi, sorry,” Felix says, his eyes flicking from me to Kris and then finally to Kyle, who still has his hand on my leg.