“I—Yeah,” She nodded in earnest, “Whatever you need. Um,” There were plenty of stories that she could tell, but what kind of story he needed, she wasn’t sure.
“Have I ever told you about the time I dumped spaghetti on my sister’s head?” In the end, Macey decided to roll with something funny. She watched his expression for a moment, then continued, “We were coming home from a dance competition,” She mused, “And it was one of the few times my mom actually had the time in her schedule to show up. But goddamn Kenzie wouldn’t shut up about winning the science fair the day before, while I was literally sitting in the backseat with three, brand new, platinum-score trophies bigger than my entire body, sweating and covered in makeup from spending like, eight hours at a literal sports competition. Of course my mom cared more about the science fair project because, well, science. And, gods, Brent, I was so mad. I like, couldn’t even get a word in, which says a lot because, well, you know me.” Macey gestured to herself, as if the current rambling was case in point enough.
“So, we had spaghetti for dinner that night. And she was still going off about that stupid science project! Naturally, Maddie and Melissa were listening, too, instead of asking me about the competition. Maybe I was just being self-centered and jealous, who knows, but, when I went up for seconds, instead of my plate I grabbed the whole damn pot of pasta,” Macey eyed him again, seeing if he was looking attentive and alert, or glazed over and faraway again. When he looked present she continued, “And I dumped the whole fucking thing on her head. Oh god, she screamed so loud—not because the pasta was hot or anything, I’m not that bad—and it took an hour to scrub all the sauce out of her hair. I got grounded for a month. And my mom never showed up at another dance competition. But, it was a hundred percent worth it. So basically, don’t mess with me or I’ll toss your vegan protein shake or whatever all over you.”
On any regular day he’d comeback with a witty retort and they’d banter until it broke off into kisses or laughter. Tonight wasn’t the case. But, Macey smiled regardless, hoping the lightness may have helped somehow.
Despite his best efforts, Brent missed bits and pieces of what she said. But it did what he hoped it would; his vision was still fuzzy and unfocused, and he almost lost his grip on the present a few times, but in the end he stayed with Macey. Her words became an anchor, and he latched himself to the details he could catch, focused on the way her voice lilted with amusement and an energy she was surely conjuring up for him. By the end of her story, he hesitantly thought he might be safe from slipping away again.
“I don't doubt it,” he mumbled, trying mostly unsuccessfully at a smile. Too soon for that, it seemed. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was better than even two minutes ago— or it would be if he managed to stick around.
“The next time I need to distract myself I’m going to think about spaghetti in your sister’s hair.” That felt a touch closer to his typical humor, quiet and unsteady as it was. The debilitating fear was slowly starting to ease. He was more alert, more responsive. But he was still holding her hand like his life depended on it.
