12
JONAS
Hey.
I’m really sorry about today.
Jonas’s grip on his phone tightened, the words blurring in a haze of anger. He tossed the phone onto the mattress next to him, ignoring Brennan’s message, before turning back to the PlayStation, pressing the controller buttons harder than usual in his frustration. He kept feeling the sensation of sitting on the floor in the therapy gym, hot embarrassment flooding him.
His phone vibrated again. He hit Pause on the game and threw down the controller, picking up the phone and furiously typing back a response, not bothering to read Brennan’s last message.
Nothing you can do about it now, so leave me alone. Please.
He tossed the phone down and was just about ready to hit Play once more when it buzzed again. He sighed and picked it up, reading her message.
Are you going to give up on walking just because of me?
Jonas frowned before typing back, None of your business. Leave me alone.
Brennan responded immediately, and he gave up on the game, irritated. That’s stupid, she sent him. Then, immediately after, I’m sorry. I just mean … you can’t give up.
He didn’t respond so she sent another message. You’re giving up on the chance to walk again because you embarrassed yourself?
I walk just fine. And I’m not embarrassed.
His brow furrowed. Wasn’t embarrassed, his mind repeated.
You mope around on crutches. It’s not the same. And you were embarrassed.
Why have you made it your mission in life to annoy me?
Maybe because you seem like someone who has to be annoyed before they finally decide to do something that’s good for them.
Then You should come back to physical therapy.
Jonas rolled his eyes. Why was she so persistent? No, he sent. He glanced at the walker currently leaned against his closet door. He’d thought about using it, but each time he’d pushed the thought away.
If you don’t, Brennan sent, I guess I’ll just have to send you messages every day until you do. I’ll just interrupt your … what is it you spend your hours doing … watching Star Wars?
If you do that, I might have to block your number. And don’t insult Star Wars. Have you even seen it?
No, I haven’t. I’m more of a Harry Potter girl.
Of course you are.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Everyone’s a Potterhead.
Because they’re the best books. You aren’t?
I’ve never read them.
WHAT.
You heard me.
There was no response for a while, and Jonas wondered if maybe she’d finally left him alone. He also wondered why he kind of missed her replies when they didn’t come. He had just grabbed his controller again when she messaged him back. He read her message: How have you never read Harry Potter? I just can’t believe it. It’s like a rite of passage.
You haven’t seen Star Wars, Jonas pointed out.
You changed the subject though, she typed out. We were talking about you walking.
If I’m content to not walk, who are you to try to change my mind?
Yes, but are you content?
Jonas frowned slightly, his grip on the phone turning white-knuckled. That frustrating little voice inside of him was shouting No.
She sent him another message. Did you get your walker?
He didn’t respond to either question, and Brennan didn’t send him any others the rest of the night.
brennan
The next morning, Brennan rolled over in bed and picked up her phone. Jonas still hadn’t responded to her most recent message.
Good morning, she sent him. Have you reconsidered therapy?
A few moments later, sounding just as grouchy as he would if he was sitting across from her on the bed, he typed back. Is this how you normally greet people in the morning?
She let out the breath she’d been holding since she’d seen the three dots indicating that Jonas was typing his response. No. That’s just reserved for you.
Lovely, I feel so special.
Brennan turned onto her back, pushing her pillow up against her headboard and adjusting her blankets. She took comfort in the semidarkness of her room, the morning light filtering through the edges of her blinds.
How’d you lose your leg, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking? Now that I know, I’ve kind of got a thousand burning questions here. She was genuinely curious.
You can’t just ask a legless person why they’re legless.
Can’t you? He didn’t respond. Come on. You didn’t answer my question.
I thought you said, “If you don’t mind me asking,” in which case, I do mind. Very much.
Come on. Please? Technically, I could just ask my aunt when I shadow with her later today.
Pretty sure that’s some sort of violation of patient privacy.
I won’t have to break any privacy laws if you just tell me.
Okay, he sent. And then, It was bitten off by a shark.
You have got to be kidding me.
I was.
Hardy-har-har.
You know how some kids cut their hair when they’re little, kind of just to see what happens?
What??
I did that with my leg. I thought it would grow back.
Brennan stifled a laugh, not wanting to interrupt the early-morning quiet and wake her parents. Wow, she typed. You actually have a sense of humor?
Apparently. I’m as surprised as you are. I thought it got cut off with my leg.
You’re avoiding my question.
Which one? The “Are you content with not walking” one, or the “What happened to your leg” one?
Both.
Jonas didn’t send anything back for a while after that, and Brennan wondered if he’d gone back to ignoring her. She started to feel bad about pressing him. Stupid Brennan. You can’t just press people like that. You’d freak if it was you.
Finally, the little bubble popped up that showed he was typing. It started, then stopped, then started again—a few times.
She sent him a message instead. I’m sorry for asking, she said.
You’re not really going to give up, are you?
One corner of Brennan’s mouth quirked up, and she quickly typed her reply. I can, if you want me to. She held her phone, waiting.
She could picture Jonas, with that little crease between his eyebrows, phone in both hands, thinking.
Fine.
Fine?
1. I lost my leg in a car accident.
2. Maybe I’m not.
And a few seconds later
Content, that is.
JONAS
Jonas wondered what Brennan would say. It took her a few minutes, but then, If you’re not content, do something about it.
Jonas stared at his phone for a long time before setting it down and looking up at the ceiling, staring at it as if it might give him answers.
Why did Brennan have to be right?
I can’t, he typed back. Sent. He put his phone facedown on the nightstand and closed his eyes tightly, pressing into the black static behind them.
brennan
I can’t make you walk again. But I think you’re lying to yourself if you think you could be happy if you never tried.
Jonas didn’t respond. Brennan sighed. She didn’t know what else to say. She had all these words spinning around in her mind, but none of them seemed right. The entire conversation was out of her comfort zone. She thought too much. She always thought too much. Sometimes she never ended up replying to her messages because she overthought the things she wanted to say, turning them over and over in her head until nothing sounded like it was supposed to. This time—this time—she’d told herself not to think; told herself to just respond.