Mine Would Be You (79)

It took everything I had not to burst into tears.

There’s nothing I can do to make Jackson feel better. And there’s nothing I can do to stop the anxiousness I feel in my veins.

“How is everything?” I hate that I asked that. I want to cry, for the third time today. Because it doesn’t seem like his dad is going to get any better. And I hate that he has to go through this, that his entire family has to go through this.

He laughs dryly. “Shitty. He’s not getting better. They think there’s a diseased vessel or something, so they’re going to try surgery soon. But he’s never going to get any better.”

“Jackson, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine—”

He huffs. “I know it’s not fine, Nina. Nothing is fine. Everything fucking sucks.” He sighs again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just—” His voice breaks, and the sound cracks my heart open like thunder does at the beginning of a storm. “I don’t know what life will be like without my dad. I don’t know what a world without him looks like.”

My eyes flutter closed, and it feels like my chest is on fire from holding back tears, and I can’t imagine how he’s doing right now. Because I would be the same.

“But I called to tell you that and to tell you that I had to cancel my flight.” I forgot he was supposed to come home, just briefly, early next week, mostly for work. “I can’t leave. I’m taking time off work. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. I miss you, but everything is just hurtling towards me right now. And I’m sorry I can’t be there or be present. I just need to prepare for this.”

I lean my head back, willing the tears to stay in my eyes. They don’t listen. “I get that, Jackson. I miss you too. But I’m here however and whenever you need me, whatever that is.”

It’s silent for a moment. And not the comfortable kind. This silence is filled with unsaid words and deeper meanings neither of us wants to talk about. His dad dying. Him not coming back. Me unsure of what he needs. Him pulling away. Everything crumbling down under his once sure and steady feet.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go. I’ve gotta get home to my mom. But I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” he says quietly, the music in his car playing softly in the back.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Neither of us say anything for a moment or two again until we both say a quiet goodbye and the beeps of an ended call echo in my ear and chill me to the bone. I grip my phone tighter for a moment before dropping it on the couch next to me. Before I decide to throw it at the wall and watch it shatter.

Mierda.

Why do parents have to die? I know that we can’t fight loss, that it will happen eventually no matter how good or bad of a person we may be, but it still fucking sucks. Part of his entire world is going to fall from beneath him, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if he wants me there and is scared to ask. I don’t know what he needs, what he wants, because I’m too scared to ask.

My entire body feels off as I stand up from the couch, wrapped in a blanket because I can’t seem to get warm. Goosebumps that won’t go down rest uncomfortably on my skin, and I know that I shouldn’t, but I grab the wine out of my fridge and pour. Anything to get warm, anything to forget everything.

Today, this week, the past few weeks have been awful. My only highlights of them had been when Emma came over Tuesday night and joined our dinner. Told me that her and Myles were doing better and that’s he’s talking to someone consistently. She fit seamlessly into the group dynamic, and it was great. The night allowed me to take my thoughts off Jackson and my anxiety for once.

The other bright side is I don’t think this week could get much worse.

As I bring the glass to my lips, there’s a knock at my door. My eyes shoot to the clock on the oven. It’s too early for my parents to be here after dinner, and Harper and Sloan both have keys. I take a deep breath and quickly pat my cheeks with cold water to make myself feel like a person again. A glance through the peephole tells me that hopes of my day not getting any worse are fucking wrong.

I open the door and come face to face with Myles, who stands nervously, shifting his weight between his feet, with his hands in his pockets, and I have absolutely no idea what to expect at this point.

“Hey, can we talk?”





I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. That Myles is at my door asking me to talk again. Sure enough, no longer how long I close my eyes, when I open them, he’s still there.

“Sure,” I sigh and step back, letting him inside. As he walks in, I run a hand over my face and realize I probably look ridiculous.

He stands around awkwardly for a moment before taking a seat at the countertop, and I stand across from him, my hands gripped around my water glass. “I’m sorry to pop up like this.”

I nod. “It’s fine. You can’t stay long; my parents are stopping by soon.” Which is true. They promised to stop at my favorite bakery after their dinner. Somehow knowing I needed them without me saying it.

“Of course. This won’t take long, I promise.”

A sigh escapes my lips as I play with the bottom of the hoodie, looking anywhere but at Myles. “What exactly is this, Myles? What are you doing here?”