NINETEEN

Fragile Strength

Max wanders around Nan’s apartment, seeming contemporary and out of place among her vintage chintz and clutter.

“You were a cute kid,” he says as he picks up an old family photo.

I grab some of Nan’s stuff and put it in an overnight bag. “Well, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.” I take the engagement photo of her and grandad, the clock she’s kept by her bed for fifty years, and the throw pillow she embroidered with a noble portrait of Moby Duck.

Speaking of Moby, the neighbors have been feeding him since the accident, but I think the poor thing is missing Nan, because from the moment I set foot inside the door, he’s followed my every step. When I grab some of Nan’s favorite lavender moisturizer from the bathroom cabinet, he perches on the closed toilet seat and quacks at me.

“It’s okay, Moby. She’ll be home soon.” He quacks again, and when I look at him, I realize I’ve never seen a duck look sad until this moment. “Aw, buddy. Come on. It’s okay.” I smear some of the fragrant cream on my arms and pick him up. He snuggles into me and the familiar scent, and I stroke his feathers. “She’s going to be okay, Moby. I promise.”

I hear a noise in the hallway and turn to see Max watching us, looking way too large for the small space. “Everything okay?”

“I think he’s fretting. He’s not used to being without her for so long.”

He walks over and gently pats the duck. “I can come and ... uh ... duck sit ... while you’re at the hospital, if that will help. I mean, I’m pretty good with dogs and cats. How different can it be for a duck, right?”

The emotional lump in my throat from earlier doubles in size, and I’m not even a little equipped to deal with him and his caring ways right now.

“I’m going to take him up to the roof.” I squeeze past Max and head for the door. “His pond is up there, and he likes swimming.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“If you want. But you’re too big for the pond. Plus, Moby doesn’t like to share.”

I hug Moby to my chest as I lead Max up the back stairs to the roof. Moby quacks as soon as he sees his pond, which is really just a kiddy pool Nan fancied up with fiberglass boulders and potted palms to seem more organic. As soon as I put Moby in the water, he flaps his wings and splashes around. When he’s settled and happy, I grab the hose Nan has jerry-rigged to the rainwater tank up here and water her vegetables and herbs.

Max doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s impressed with Nan’s setup. He bends over one of the garden beds and pulls out some tiny weeds.

“Your Nan’s quite amazing, isn’t she?”

I nod and walk the hose over to the pool to raise the water level. “Yeah. She is.”

“It’s clear you take after her.” He walks over and stands beside me, and we both watch Moby as he swims in circles. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be, you know. Most people in your situation would be struggling. There’s no shame in that.”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Okay, then just humor me for a second.”

He takes the hose from me and puts it into the pool, then with gentle grace he pulls me into his arms and presses his head into my neck.

It feels incredible, but I instinctively tense up. Doing anything else right now will lead to me crumbling like ash and flying away in the wind. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you.” Warm breath on my skin makes me shiver. “Prolonged hugging relieves stress and lowers cortisol levels. Just relax into it, Eden. Let go. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

I want to tell him that having him pressed tight against me feels better than anything I’ve felt in my life up until now, but the words get stuck behind the ever-growing knot in my throat. All of the good stuff stays inside of me, stuck to my fear like it’s flypaper. The only words I’m capable of right now are thorny.

“Max, I can’t do this.”

“Really? Because, so far, you’re doing pretty well.” He tightens his arms. “Being more enthusiastic about hugging me back would help, but still ... it’s a solid seven out of ten.”

I pull out of his arms and go over to the side of the roof. The sun is setting, and everything is bathed in golden light. In moments like this, it’s easy to forget how devastatingly crappy life can be.

“I meant, I can’t do this. You and me.”

My back is to him, but I hear him walk over and stand behind me. “I’m not asking for anything, Eden.”

“Yes, you are. You want to be there for me. To support me. Take care of me.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

I turn to him. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“I know that. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I’m not alone. I have Moby. In fact, I think I’ll stay here for a while and make sure he’s okay.”

He moves closer and puts his hands on my shoulders. “And who’s going to make sure you’re okay?”

I feel so small standing close to him. It would be so easy to get lost in his size, and warmth, and smell, which is exactly why I can’t.

I look down at his chest. “Max, you have to stop treating me like I’m a bomb that’s about to detonate. I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Do you think I can’t see through this tough-girl act?”

“That’s rich, coming from the Great Pretender.”

That gets to him. “Yes, I’m a pretender, but the difference is I know I’m doing it. You don’t. You’re so used to being strong you can’t see that sometimes, admitting you need someone is the brave option.”

When I don’t say anything, he gives me an understanding nod before looking over at Moby. “Okay, so ... If you get lonely and need a friend, I’ll be at the Pencil Factory loft.”

He turns and heads toward the stairwell, and just as the door closes behind him, the last sliver of sunlight fades over the horizon.