The Art of Losing(25)

“I’ll see what I can find,” I said, trying to sound more sincere this time. I even gestured to my open laptop.

She kissed me on the cheek and left, saying, “I’ll be back soon, baby duck.”

I wanted to tell her she was a pain in the ass. I also wanted to run after her and give her a hug and tell her that I loved her. It was only after a few seconds that I realized I had a smile on my face.

About an hour later, when I was halfway through Never Been Kissed (which was equal parts terrible and adorable), there was a quick knock on the door, and then Neema poked her head in.

“Oh, hey,” she said, walking in and standing by the side of the bed. She stroked the back of Audrey’s hand with one finger.

“Hey,” I said. “How are you?”

Neema’s eyes slowly drifted over Audrey’s body until they landed on me. “I’m fine. Has she woken up again?”

“No,” I said. “But she’s moved her fingers and toes a little. She twitches sometimes.”

She didn’t respond, so I took the hint and stood up. “I’ll give you some privacy,” I said.

She barely glanced at me as I walked out, but I saw tears pooled in her eyes.

I went down to the cafeteria for a soda and when I returned, Neema was gone. But somehow I could still feel a misty cloud of sadness hanging over the room. I moved my laptop off the chair and sat back down, putting my feet up on the bed and closing my eyes.

I wished I could talk to Audrey about what was going on. About Mom and Dad and how they were reacting to what was happening. About Raf and how weird it was that we’d reconnected. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for ever bringing Mike into her life and for not being strong enough to dump him. To be alone.

I’d been with Mike since I was a freshman, and I didn’t remember what high school life was like without him. Aside from Cassidy, Mike and Audrey were the people I was closest to in the world. And Mike was the reason I had plans on weekends. Now, I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself.

I thought of Raf telling me he felt alone.

Damn it. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I did need a job.

That afternoon, Raf texted to ask what I was doing. Mom and Dad were out and I was bored. And I wanted to see him. So I told him to come over.

Raf hadn’t been in my room since the last time I’d been in his—the second-floor room, that is. It had been more than ten years. He took his time exploring while I fidgeted nervously, hovering near the door.

“I like the new color,” he said. Now a soft dove gray, it had been a hideous bubblegum pink, which you could still find inside my closet. I opened the doors to show him and his jaw dropped. Not at the pink. At the sight of all the books, graphic novels, trade collections, plus the long boxes of bagged-and-boarded comics stacked on the shelves that were intended to be used to display shoes or purses.

“When you told me you liked comics, I don’t think I understood the extent. This?” Raf spread his arms over the collection. “This is more than a hobby. This is an obsession.”

I shrugged. “Dad and I used to take road trips to different comic book shops all over Virginia and Maryland, even Delaware and West Virginia a couple of times. New Jersey once, for a local comic con. I got most of these from dollar bins, but you should see my dad’s collection. He’s taken over half of the basement.”

“What makes you think this isn’t something to be proud of? That there’s no future in this?” Raf asked. He leaned close, his gaze roving over the spines. “Who do you think makes these things? Robots?”

“No,” I said quietly. “I’ve just always read comics, like, my whole life. I never thought it was anything special. I mean, doesn’t everyone read?”

He snorted. “Not everyone, no.”

“You do,” I said.

I distinctly remembered a shelf full of books that I’d snuck looks at. I’d taken note of the copy of Slaughterhouse-Five that had been sitting on his bedside table. I’ve always believed you can tell a lot about a person by their taste in reading material. Of course, not everyone kept reading material on hand. I went to school with people who refused to open a book, as if it was some kind of principle they were sticking to. Most days, I was the only person in the school’s library who wasn’t there just to study.

Raf glanced at me and then back at the shelves, as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away for too long.

“Do you want to borrow something?” I asked. A number of books had been gifts from Mike, and I was more than happy to have them out of sight for a while.

“What do you recommend?” he asked. Keeping in mind the books on his own shelves, I figured he’d best start with something like Watchmen—a modern classic. I pulled it off the shelf and handed it to him.

“I expect a full report,” I said.

Raf grinned as he took the book. “I want to see the movie of this,” he said. “Would that ruin it?”

“Well, that’s hard to say and it depends on who you ask,” I said. I sounded like my dad before he started in on a rant.

“What?” Raf asked.

“Nothing.” I sat down on the bed, and Raf sat next to me. “The movie followed a lot of it really closely, and they got a lot of details perfect, but they didn’t change any of the super misogynistic storylines when they could have. Instead, they changed the end. But both are good, in different ways. I don’t want to say more until you’ve read it. Then we’ll watch the movie.”