When we left Gavin’s room, Pops was outside on the back deck, trying to snap a picture of a bird at the feeder. The two of us returned to the bedroom and got back to work. Archer wordlessly pulled the empty boxes out of my way, using a knife to flatten them down.
He stayed.
He didn’t have to, and I didn’t ask. But still, he stayed.
It felt important that he did, and I wondered if that was because I was assigning meaning to things that were far simpler than I was making them.
If he noticed that I stayed quiet, he didn’t say anything, simply let the silence be what it was.
Contemplative. Weighted. Anticipatory.
Once the last box was unpacked, Archer’s fingers brushed mine as I handed it off to be flattened. I waited for some heavy eye contact, but his eyes were on the task at hand. His obvious lingering was soendearing, I could hardly stand it. I toyed with the idea of inviting him to stay for dinner.
There were leftovers in the fridge. It wasn’t anything fancy.
Dinner with me and Archer and Pops. Oof. Talk about weighted. There was meaning behind that kind of invitation. Between the two of us, I was the one putting up a barrier, and it didn’t seem fair to lead him on if I wasn’t prepared to tear that barrier down.
My grandfather shook Archer’s hand before he left. “I’m glad you’re not a dick,” he said.
I rubbed my face as Archer laughed. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you’re not either.”
With Archer’s back turned, I gave Pops an incredulous look.
He winked.
Archer lifted the stack of flattened cardboard with ease, maneuvering it out into the driveway, where he stacked it next to the recycle bin.
He was wiping his hands along the sides of his jeans when I joined him in front of the house.
“Thank you,” I told him, shyly crossing my arms over my stomach. “I appreciate your help more than I can say.”
His gaze lingered on my face. “What are friends for?”
I smiled, then rolled my lips together to hide it. “Right.”
He tilted his head toward the house. “I should say goodbye to Gavin.”
“Oh, he’ll be out all night now.”
Archer nodded. “Tell him I said goodbye.” Then he smiled. It was small but genuine, and it tugged on something deep below my navel. “I had fun today.”
“Me too.”
An air of hesitancy hung around us like a dense fog. An unwillingness to walk away, but not ready to say things we shouldn’t either. Anticipation for either option seemed to leave us both paralyzed.
“Good night, firefly.”
It made no sense, the frantic urge to tug him closer when he turned to leave. But it was there, a wild buzzing through my veins.
Don’t go.
Don’tgo.
I wanted to scream it. I wanted to see what would happen if I grabbed his hand as he walked away. But the words stayed locked in my throat. A decade of well-honed self-preservation was a ghastly weapon, one that had a hard time being set aside.
When he froze at the end of the driveway, my heart jolted in my chest.
Stay,I thought.Turn around. Ask me ... ask me if you can stay.