But their impact still lingers.
“You practically did,” I argue. “Let me guess, because I’m old, and thick, and obviously he could do better, I should just plan to be a one-night stand and not get my hopes up?”
Greg’s jaw drops. “What? Amanda, I would nev—”
“I should go,” I cut in, draining the rest of my beer and standing. Greg rushes to stand with me as I strip off his hoodie and hand it to him. “I’ll get an Uber.”
“I can take you home.”
My eyes find his. “I think you and I both know that’s a bad idea.”
Greg’s nose flares, his eyes pleading with me, hands fastened at his sides like he has to fight to keep from reaching out. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.”
I just nod, tearing my eyes from his.
“Goodnight, Greg,” I say softly.
And then I leave him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GREG
David wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist, grimacing when he realizes it doesn’t help the sweating situation. He hangs one hand on his hip, the other still holding a paint brush as he stares up at the work we’ve done so far.
“Getting close,” I tell him, smoothing paint over the section of Amanda’s house I’m working on.
“Looks a hell of a lot better already.”
“It’ll be better for the wood, too,” I add, thinking about the chipping mess it was when we started working on it this morning.
I took the first day off work in my entire career.
I’ve done my best to stay healthy and avoid getting sick ever since med school, and I’ve succeeded. The worst I’ve had to work through is a nasty headache. But today, after barely sleeping, and spending most of the night tossing and turning in fits of anxiety over what had happened with Amanda, I called in.
It was a light day, only one small procedure needing to be rescheduled, and my colleagues seemed more impressed than upset that I wasn’t coming in.
Still, I felt guilty after about ten minutes of lying in bed. So, I texted David, telling him I was free and asking if there was anything that needed to be done at the house.
It was a terrible attempt at being subtle, and Amanda didn’t seem thrilled when she came home from her Friday class to find me and David peeling paint off her house. The old exterior had several spots where the paint was chipping, so we went to work on peeling what we could, using wood filler, sanding and priming, and finally painting it to match the rest of the house.
It’s been an all-day job, the sun slowly sinking over the yard as we wrap up painting the back side. Truthfully, I’ve appreciated the distraction.
And the chance to be close to Amanda.
She’s ignored us, other than to fix sandwiches for lunch before promptly disappearing into her bedroom to “study.” She won’t even look at me, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.
I overstepped telling her to beware of Samuel — that much I get.
But she put words in my mouth, made it sound like I was insinuating that she wasn’t worth anything more than sex.
The implications of why she would ever think that are what kept me up all night.
I spent the better half wondering if that was the kind of guy I came off as, if my attempts to get close to her had signaled that she was some sort of bucket-list checkmark for me — just like the other ones we’d crossed off together.
I wondered if she thought I just wanted to bang my best friend’s mom, or a cougar, or whatever else she could think of.
But every time I had dived deep into that thought, I came back to the same notion that it wasn’t possible. If that was all I wanted, I would have given up by now. And I certainly wouldn’t be putting in the time I have been to get to know her.
She knows that.
And that’s what led me to the next revelation.
It’s Josh.
I know the outward signs of long-term abuse — the bruises, the covering up for the abuser, the isolation of the victim from family and friends. I saw all that clear as day when Amanda was younger — no matter how she tried to hide it.
But I didn’t stop to think about what would stay with her after she left him, what would linger even after she set herself free.
Anxiety. Self-consciousness and doubt. Fear that maybe her abuser had been right about her all along.
I remember the awful things he would say to her in a fit of drunken rage, how he would scream at her that she was lucky he loved her, because no one else ever would.
I crack my neck at the thought, gripping the paintbrush handle a little too tightly.
I’m not the type to murder a man, but if I was…
The sun has set by the time we finish up the job, and we convene in Amanda’s kitchen, David cracking open a beer in celebration while I drink a cold water.
“Thank you for your help with that,” he says, picking at a piece of paint dried on his arm. “What took us one full day would have taken me at least three on my own.”
“Hey, it’s me who should be thanking you. I needed the distraction.”
David frowns, leaning his elbows on the counter. “So you said, but you never told me what from.”
I just shrug, taking a sip of water.
“What’s going on, man? Girl trouble?”
I almost cough on my water at that, but manage to swallow it down. “Something like that.”
“You can talk to me, you know. You used to all the time.”
“I know. It’s… complicated,” I explain, grabbing the back of my neck.
Because I’ve got it bad for your mom.
“Isn’t it always?” he jokes, oblivious. “Look, if I learned anything when dating Julia, it’s that the best things you can do are to be honest and communicate.” He holds up a finger for each word to demonstrate. “That’s it. If you do those two things, the rest will fall into place.”
I suppress a laugh, thinking about the repercussions of those two things in my current situation.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
For a long, quiet pause, I watch David as he pulls up some stupid video on his phone, showing it to me before typing back to whoever sent it to him. I note how he’s grown up, but how I still see the same kid I used to hang out with, the kid who learned how to stand up for himself, not just with the bullies at school — but with his father.
I can’t imagine growing up in the household he did, with a mom who loved him fiercely and did everything she could to protect him, but a father who would dote on him one minute, and fly off the handle the next.
He went from being a little boy who thought his dad was Superman, to a teenager who realized his dad was a drunk.
I watched him step up, watched him get between his mom and dad for the first time ever and tell Josh enough was enough. He was big enough to do it, too — big enough to make Josh think twice before trying anything when David was around.
He protected Amanda. In many ways, he saved her. And even now, when he has his own family to care for, he still makes sure his mom is okay, that she knows she’s done the right thing by leaving Josh, and that she knows she’s not alone.
I want to tell him I’m proud of him. I want to tell him I respect the man he’s become.