Page 62 of Head Under Water

I force out a breath, my hands icy. I wish there was more I could do.

I want to address everything we’ve left unspoken, but it all feels pointless. I don’t want to make this all about me. I just want to help him.

Cory looks up from the couch with a small smile. “It smells nice.”

I don’t know whether to address the fact that I never responded to his text earlier or to tuck that away with things that don’t matter right now.

“I promise it’s nothing.” I pause, gathering myself. “Are you… It’s impossible to ask if you’re okay right now.”

One side of his mouth lifts with a sad smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “I just keep thinking about Richie, you know? Like, what am I supposed to tell him? I keep running through the conversation in my head, but it’s always wrong.” He looks away, eyes scanning the air like an answer might exist there somewhere if he just looks hard enough.

“You’re not going to have to tell him anything because she’s going to be okay.” I take a few steps toward him, lingering until he meets my eyes. “Margie’s going to make it out of this. And she’s going to make some joke about her head being shaved.”

He laughs under his breath. “She’ll probably just start rocking a buzz cut and say she likes it better that way anyway. Less work.”

“She could be like Moira Rose and start a wig collection.”

The smile on his lips looks genuine this time. “You remember when she said she was going to do that?”

A laugh that sounds more like a sob tears from my chest at the memory. “She said Catherine O’Hara’s the only person cool enough to pull it off, but she’d be a close second.”

He rubs a hand through his hair. “She’s right. Coolest person I know.” His eyes flick to mine. “Don’t you ever tell her I said that.”

I draw a line across my lips, pretending to zip them shut. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shakes his head. “You’ve done it already. I think we probably all just need a nap. Will you”—he looks toward the kitchen—“save some food for me though? I’m more tired than hungry, but I’ll be starving when I wake up.” He scoots farther down on the couch without waiting for an answer, stretching out.

Slowly, my smile fades from my lips as my gaze slides to the hall.

I don’t know how I feel about Cory. I’ve just never thought of him in a romantic way. He was always like a brother to me. We’re connected by the same threads as Will and me, but our relationship has always felt different.

Cory is attractive, sure. He was always kind growing up. He included me when Will refused to. He’s safe. Predictable. Easy.

Is it possible I overlooked his feelings all along? A week ago, I would’ve said no. But today? I’m beginning to realize I’ve never understood either of them.

It would be so much easier if I felt for him the way I feel for⁠—

My chest tightens before I can finish the thought. His name skitters in my head, but I stop it. I can’t go there. Will is an enigma. Elusive. He’ll never tell me what he wants, what he’s thinking.

At least Cory could do that much.

The house falls silent, but underneath, I feel a steady current of emotion. Tension.

With Cory tucked against the couch, light snores already filling the room, I walk down the hall toward the bathroom to check on Mom. I knock on the door. The shower is running, but leaning my head closer, the sound of her sobs is undeniable. She’s trying to be brave for all of us, and I both love and hate her for it.

She doesn’t have to hold the weight of this alone. But for now, I have to let her process this however she’s going to.

On my way back down the hall, I stop in front of my old bedroom. Maybe Will’s napping, but it would have to be on the floor since Mom replaced my old bed with craft tables. I tap the door so softly it’s almost inaudible. If, by some chance, he is sleeping, I don’t want to wake him.

When he doesn’t answer, I ease the door open.

Will is on the computer at the desk in the corner. At first, I assume he must be researching, but instead, I realize he’s staring at a spreadsheet.

Numbers. Columns.

I push inside farther. His head tilts in my direction ever so slightly. He’s not looking at me, but he’s clocked that I’m here. “You shouldn’t be working right now. You should be resting.”

He scrolls down, clicks on an empty cell. His grip on the mouse is so tight his knuckles have gone pale. “I just need to finish this.”