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“I’ll drive you,” Drew offers, his insanely toned arms crossing over his chest and it’s then and only then, that I notice his all-black attire that causes his green eyes to sparkle in the darkness.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask because I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“I said I’ll drive you.” He gestures to my passenger seat as he begins to walk toward his SUV. “Get your purse and keys. I’ll make sure you get there.”
I stand stock-still, wondering when I woke in an alternate dimension and how the hell do I get back because it’s freaking me out.
“You coming?” Drew asks, opening the door and gesturing for me to get in.
Yup, this can’t be real.
Drew
This is a bad idea.
This is the worst idea I think I have ever had in my life.
Living next door to Kate is one thing, but driving her to the hospital to see her dying mother? Nothing can prepare you for that bombardment of emotions. As I get in my SUV and start it up, I can’t help but glance at the woman sitting next to me. She seems so different from the girl who loved to torture others in high school. She seems so lost sitting in my passenger seat wearing her blue flannel Harry Potter pajamas. Harry fucking Potter. On anyone else, they would probably look dorky, maybe a bit stupid, but on Kate? They look… adorable. And that is not something I want to feel right now. I want to be angry; I want to hate her and everything she put me through all those years ago but then I peer over one more time to see her brush away a stray tear and my heart sinks into my stomach.
No one deserves to see their parents wither away in front of them. No one deserves to sit in a roomful of doctors and have them explain that your parents will cease to exist in just a few short months. I can see the pain in Kate’s eyes. I can feel the tension radiating off every limb and I can sense her sadness as if it were my own. Because I know grief. I know what losing your only parent does to a person and as much as I want to hate her, I know this is something I can help her with.
“Are you okay?” I ask, knowing how stupid the question is but not knowing where else to start. Silence greets me for what feels like minutes before Kate’s eyes turn to mine and a cynical laugh escapes her lips.
“Am I okay?” she starts, her head shaking in disbelief. “What part of crying alone in my car in the middle of the night would lead you to believe that I am anything but not okay?” Her voice cracks, the emotions welling in her eyes and if I weren’t driving, I’d probably pull her into my arms and tell her to cry it out. But I am driving, and I also have a feeling that if I did that right now, she would punch me so hard in the gut that I would cease to be able to digest properly.
“Kate,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster with the tension between us. “It was just a question.”
Her head shakes as it falls into the palms of her hands, and I sit there helplessly as her shoulders begin to shake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
My hand comes off the steering wheel and lands on her shoulder, causing her to jump out of my reach.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say honestly, but she gives me a look and I can’t help but laugh. “For that, at least. There’s a bunch of other shit you can apologize for later.” I wink, hoping to lighten the mood just a bit, and when that whisper of a smile hints at the corner of her lips, I almost give myself a high five.
“Why are you doing this for me?” she whispers, her eyes cast down as her fingers entwine on her lap.
“Because you needed help,” I say matter-of-factly.
“But you hate me.”
“That is true,” I say through a smile. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to suffer in any way.” I expect a rebuttal, but her side of the car is quiet. “When I was little, my mother always told me that every person is deserving of help, no matter if you love them or hate them.”
The silence grips the inside of the SUV and I take a moment to remember my mother and the words she ingrained in me so young.
“She always said that human beings are reactionary by nature. So, helping someone through a tough time might just alleviate some darkness in their life, and so that’s what I’m doing.”
“So, you’re alleviating my darkness?” she questions, her voice barely audible.
“If it’s there, then yes.”
“Your mother seems like a very kind and sweet woman,” she whispers, tracing the pattern of Harry Potter’s glasses, the lightning bolt, and Deathly Hallows symbols on her pants.
“She was,” I mutter, hoping she senses the tone in my voice.
“Was?”
I nod, feeling that same familiar ache in my chest every time I think of the woman who raised me, the woman who molded me into the man I am today.
“She died in a car accident a few years ago. Drunk driver.”
