My mother and her frickin’ hospitality.

I was crossing the green lawn, trying to enjoy the brisk air that was a change from the warmth in the kitchen where she had me working feverishly over multiple pans of food. And then, on top of that, there were nearly thirty people peppered throughout our house, all talking animatedly and all going stupid with drinking and mentions of good times. Our family was large, but we barely saw each other. Holidays like this one was typical in our house... and I also knew it was about to get larger as the night wore on.

But again, she had thrust another order in my face just moments ago. Plunging a wrapped pistachio nut cake—some kind of specialty of hers—she gave the specific instructions, "Next door," and walked away from me.

I glanced around the kitchen and could see down the hallway where she had walked off to. Following, I felt stupid carrying this cake in my hands but continued on. It was Christmas Day, you’d think she’d be a little friendlier for the holidays. But, no. she simply walked away from me and I was going to follow. "Ma?"

She didn’t respond, just continued to place two plates on the table for our guests to munch on. I tried again, but no response again. One of her hands reached for the plate of pickles and she nudged it two inches to the left. Then the plate of nuts was nudged three inches up and to the right. My mother…

"Mom?" I tried more forcefully.

Turning to me, she placed a hand against the side of her face. She suddenly looked very tired. "What?"

I still didn’t understand why I had to take this stupid cake. One of my numerous sisters usually did this. They were more hospitality-minded. "Next door?"

"Yes, Hale, next door."

And that was said like any mother would. Not allowing room for argument, not allowing a chance to follow as she sped back to the kitchen, and not allowing anything more than guilt for trying to get out of yet another command.

* * *

I’ve seen this house numerous times. I couldn’t tell you who lives here though. I’m always away at school. Living at the apartment there is a much-needed escape from my four sisters. I rang the doorbell, hearing multiple tones echoing through the house. I knew it was a huge house, but the repeats of the tone only made me think it was even larger than I first thought.

At that moment, I almost expected a woman to answer. I was beginning to realize that I had always seen a woman around that house whenever I did see anyone. She was near my mother’s age and had dark hair. That was about all I could really explain. That and she always seemed to be hurrying from her car to the house. From the house to her car. It never seemed like she stayed very long. She must’ve been a very busy person to always…

The door opened slowly and revealed a man I could not believe. My eyes went wide and I almost dropped the pistachio nut cake. The hands suddenly grasped the cake harder than before. Then I stopped because I feared that I’d squish it to death. My mother would have killed me.

"Can I help you?"

His brown eyes were beginning to look a bit bothered, even testy, so I tried to keep it short.

"Um… my mom, I live next door, and she, um." I was a stuttering idiot who just kept thumbing a motion back towards my house. So much for being short.

It wasn’t like he was this gorgeous specimen of man standing before me. Then again he wasn’t that bad looking. It’s just that standing before me was one-fifth of one of the world’s most popular musical acts.

"She wanted me to bring this," I finally said, throwing my hand around with the cake still in my grip. "She’s some kind of nutcase with being nice."

His lips finally curled a smile at my frustration of talking and he leaned against the doorframe. "Well, it is the holidays."

"Yeah, unfortunately."

He seemed surprised. "You don’t like the holidays?"

I finally perked into my normal self with a smile. "Of course. Who doesn’t like buffet-style dinners and money and presents from the family. Although, I could go without Aunt Judy pinching my cheek." At that memory, my fingers traced against my skin with a drooping smile.

With a light laugh, he pushed the door away just enough to show off his beautifully designed foyer. I was now dying to see this house.

"Come on in, I’ll try to scrape something together for your mom."

And he began walking away. I was stock-still. This was not happening to me. He had just invited me into his house after I was a blubbering fool. And he had to know that I knew who he was. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have seemed so bothered the first time around.

I could hear him still talking, although the sound was getting farther away as he entered the deep recesses of his home. Finally, I got up the guts to follow into the hallway, admiring the sharp cream colors everywhere and how everything looked expertly tailored to someone of his stature. In the kitchen, he began hunting through cabinets, as if the perfect piece of hospitality would show up out of nowhere. He’d have better luck clicking his heels and claiming there was no place like home.

He was chattering away about how he had not a lot food, being out of town a lot, his mother didn’t do much of anything at the house but throw away half his food…

I don’t know, I lost track. And then I completely stopped listening to him when my eyes went over to the counters on the left side and there was bottle upon bottle of liquor standing there. Some were emptied, some where half-filled. I was very surprised.

Well, then a part of me wasn’t surprised.

I had heard of it all, of course. Not only because he and his bandmates can be seen anywhere and everywhere in today’s media junkets, but also because I was some sort of a fan of the vocal group. He had issues, not only emotionally, but also in terms of substance abuse. They even prolonged their tour for him to heal. And they all claimed how healthy and great he was once he finally returned to the stage. Every time anyone saw him on TV he was bragging about how many days sober he was.

Now what would he say? He was a few hours sober?

He stopped talking, that much I knew. When I finally looked over at him in the silence he looked from me, to the bottles, then back to me again. I felt disappointed that he had this problem, I felt guilty for intruding his house and private life, and most of all I felt out of place and wanted to get back to my home.

I started to back away, throwing that thumb in the direction of my house again. "I should really be getting back now. My mom’s cooking….tons of people are over."

He started to follow me as I continued walking backwards away from him. "You sure? I wanted to give ya something for your mom. She didn’t have to do that." I’m guessing he was purposely trying to cover up the barrage of bottles.

"No, it’s okay," I responded with my polite smile. And that’s when his whole face dropped. And I knew why. My friends always said my polite smile was just that. WAY too polite. People would know at a drop that I was bullshitting the feelings I was trying to pass off. I pushed my hand forward, trying to salvage something. "It was nice meeting you."

He laughed just a bit, almost sounding disappointed himself. "Didn’t really meet you, but ok." We shook hands about for a few moments. "What’s your name anyway?"

I nodded stupidly, "Hailey."

He shook my hand once more. "Alex."

I nodded, stupid again. "Yeah." Of course I knew who he was. Yet, I was a bit surprised he used his real name.

He must have felt very odd in that moment. Especially since he was probably realizing I was leaving because I had seen all the bottles set up on the counter. No one liked being around a helpless drinker at the holidays. "You know, that’s," he motioned back towards the kitchen.

"Your own business."

He tried to argue more, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that he just got in from doing some travelling. It all sounded much like the stuff he was saying in the kitchen about his food.

I was normally all up for talking to people about their problems. Being a psychology major did that to some people. but, there was just something that made me want to leave and not worry about him. "No, really, AJ, it’s alright. It’s your beef, whatever."

I said AJ. And of course he could now realize the real reason I was staring down his arsenal of alcohol.

"You know," he nodded in this awkward manner like he was bothered that I did know.

Scratching fingers at my scalp. "Yeah, um, it’s alright. I gotta head back anyways."

Defeat filled his voice, "Yeah, alright."

I was sort of expecting that whole ‘see ya around’ thing that neighbors throw at each other when they first meet. But he didn’t say a word. He just escorted me to the door and was silent. I wasn’t used to silence. Like I said, I had four sisters.

Before I took a single step outside, I turned back to him. "I know because I watch TV."

"Okay."

There was that defeat again. And damnit, if I hadn’t felt guilty as hell for having been in that kitchen and seeing those bottles and simply for really making it seem like it was a big deal to have seen it. Especially when he was standing right there.

I felt guilty. I felt stupid. And because I felt both, the two feelings were evident in my words. "I’m sorry."

He half-laughed, but it sounded bitter more than anything. "For what?" I barely shrugged then glanced towards the point of the doorframe where it met the ground. AJ did that cynical laugh thing again. "For seeing something and thinking the worst? Don’t worry, kid, I’ve had worse faces turned at me."

"Kid?" The word echoed in my mind another dozen times and I suddenly felt offended.

My word had obviously been ignored as he continued on. "I’ve had person after person share their sorrys. You think I don’t get tired of it? Tired of the looks from the guys and my family."

I was then incensed. Why was I suddenly grouped into his life and clunked together with people who he was obviously holding embittered feelings against? "I’m not a guy, first off," I shot back loudly. "So, don’t say I’m like them."

He cut me off instantly. "Don’t yell at me." And now he seemed offended by what I had to say.

"Well, don’t be an asshole."

"You’re judging me and the situation." As his voice was rising, barking started up near the back of the house and I was trying very hard to ignore it. Those dogs sounded loud and really annoying.

"You called me kid!" I had to point that out. I know it didn’t exactly follow the line of arguments, but like I said, I have four sisters. We never fight logically.

Pausing, he seemed thrown off from that and his head tipped slightly to one side. "And what should I have said to be nicer?" he asked with pure sarcasm.

I mocked not only his voice but his stance. "I just met you. Anything would be nicer than this."

His voice rose again, "You don’t know anything."

After a deep breath I started to realize a few things. A, I was fighting with AJ of the Backstreet Boys. B, We were doing it loudly on his front step. C, He was quite obviously bitter about the circumstances which caused us to fight. D, He was not about to loosen up at all. And finally, E, I didn’t blame him.

Throwing my hands up in surrender, "You’re right. I don’t know anything." Then I shrugged for effect. "I don’t why you’re home alone on Christmas Day. Or why you have a dozen bottles on your kitchen counter. Or how many dogs are yapping at the back of your house. Or what color boxers you’re wearing."

He first looked behind him towards the hallway where the kitchen was then to me. Then when I commented on the dogs, he looked back again. And finally, his eyebrows screwed up in confusion and he glanced to his pants and back to me again. Surely, he couldn’t understand why I’d said what I had, and honestly, I wasn’t sure either.

"But I do know that it’s Christmas Day and you’re supposed to be a little kinder around the holidays. So screw the ‘kid’ talk if you don’t want me around. Just smile, say goodbye, and wave and I’ll be leaving."

He smiled. Said, "Goodbye." And he waved.

Bastard. That smile was so forced and the wave, too.

It wasn’t supposed to work that easily.

Defeated at the turn of our first meeting, I numbly nodded and waved back. "Bye."

* * *

For all of dinner, I ran the events through my head and was thoroughly berating myself for being such a bitch. True, he was being the asshole first. But, did I really have to be that terse in return? I mean, it was AJ freaking McLean. He’s my next door neighbor – new information, by the way. And I was a first-class hit-em-up bitch. On our first meet-and-greet, so to speak.

I was that lost on my thinking that I barely moved when my mom asked me and my sisters to start cleaning up. It took Hannah slapping my arm for my attention to return. I scowled at her, not caring that she was the only sister older than me. She simply returned the glare then stuck our her tongue and started to clear the table of the few dishes surrounding her. I’m really beginning to guess that my parents had five kids for the sole use of cleaning up the dinner table.

"Hale!"

My mother’s tired voice yelled out for me while I was in the kitchen and I started to cringe. I always hated the way she called me, the way her voice sounded.

"Yeah?" I yelled right back. Hey, I was putting the damned dishes into the dish washer and if she can yell, I can yell.

"Get in here." God, she sounded harsh. Then she added a bit nicer, "Please."

That was so my mother.

With a towel in my hands, I walked slowly back to the dining room and eyed all the relatives staring me down. Was it really necessary to stare? Then I caught sights near my mom and my breathing actually hitched. He was back.

AJ nodded towards me and motioned a … something, wrapped in red celophane that was in his hand.

Muttering, "Hey," I kept my eyes with him. I didn’t want to risk a look at anyone else in the room still staring at me ‘cause that always bugged the hell out of me. Especially in strange situations.

He didn’t actually speak, but his mouth formed the movements for giving a hello in return. My mom motioned her own hand towards me, "And my other one, Hailey."

Other one? Nice. And people wonder why I get so defensive.

This time, his voice sounded, "Hi."

In a nervous fashion, my hand went to the back of my neck and started rubbing. "Hey," I stupidly repeated myself.

Thank God my mother spoke up. "This is Alex. Our neighbor."

"Yeah, I know. You asked me—"

"Yeah, she dropped off the nutcake."

He had cut me off, but I wasn’t really bothered by that. Still, I muttered, "Then acted like one."

"Hale? Why don’t you take this from our guest?" She started to grab at the celophane thing and used the other hand to summon me closer.

As I took the steps, he kindly stopped her and nodded before looking to me with kind eyes. "Why don’t we go into the kitchen and find a spot for this?"

Was this the same person I’d talked to just hours before? He looked the same. Voice sounded the same. But the words were a tad bit nicer. Just a tad. I was lost on what to say, so I nodded in return and led him to the kitchen, trying to ignore the gawking from my sisters. While a few were involved with perfectly fine, young men, AJ was still a nice looking guy. And a Backstreet Boy to boot.

He put the object from his hand to the counter and looked awkwardly around the room from each of my four sisters then finally to me. In a low voice, "I’m sorry."

I heard a dish clank against the sink and cringed. I knew they were listening and definitely interested in why he was apologizing, let alone speaking specifically to me. Without opening my eyes, I begged for a few moments alone and they cleared out in relatively quick fashion.

His voice remained low, almost lower than it was just moments ago. "I’m sorry. I was an ass, you were right." At that I picked up my head and eyes to see him staring at the floor, tapping his toes around and moving them about the general area with nervousness. Uncomfortably, I crossed my arms at my waist. "You can think whatever you want. With my position, everyone has a right do judge."

"Yeah," I said softly, marking my first real input to his visit.

I don’t really know if he agreed with that or if he was ignoring my comment, but he continued on. "You know, it really isn’t what you think it is."

My voice, while still soft, went a little hard because I wasn’t really sure why I had to defend anything. Especially to him. "It shouldn’t matter what it really is, or what I think it is. The fact is you lashed out at me for no reason, whatsoever. I barely know you. You’re my neighbor. That’s the only reason I was even able to see what I did."

Now, he sounded a bit accusatory. "Well, you were making judgements…"

And I had to shake my head. "I wasn’t saying a thing to you about what I thought. I wanted to make it easy and leave. You’re the one who pushed the argument. I merely told you how I knew, not specifically what I was thinking about the stuff in your kitchen."

"Which is nothing really," he quickly pointed out.

Waving a hand in the air between us, I tried to diffuse the tension and the dispute. I just didn’t want to have to dissect him at that moment. "Fine. Whatever. It’s all settled now."

AJ started back at me, meeting my gaze head on and I was very startled by his ability to do that. And remain silent as well.

"For the record, you didn’t have to come over here for anything. I’m not gonna run and tell anyone. And as much as I appreciate your apology, the stay is becoming quite worn out."

Maybe not from his end, but I was feeling the room was quickly stuffy with even more tension as he fell quiet. With a deep breath, he looked to the ‘gift’ he’d brought over then back to me. In a flat voice, "I brought this over."

I glanced away, feeling even more awkward now that he was trying to be nice after having been gruff when we first met. "You didn’t have to."

"Well, your mother made me that nutcake thing."

"Then I’ll get her so she can open … that," I shrugged with a lack of better wording.

As I passed, his hand grasped at my elbow and tugged me back to him. "No, I brought it for you. To apologize."

My eyes narrowed because I specifically remember him saying there was absolutely nothing left in his cupboards or refrigerator because he was always out of town. Since when did he have something to bring me, let alone as a peace offering to me? In a cautious voice, "What is it?"

He chuckled and this time, it didn’t sound bitter. It sounded lively and humored. It sounded good and comforting. "Well, open it, kid. Then you’ll know."

And that time, kid sounded good and comforting, too.

* * *

it wound up being a tumbler from his glass set. The bastard owned Waterford crystal. Straight from Ireland. It had a shield etched on it, representing a bit of Irish culture. I was in awe and questioned it. AJ had met my mom a few weeks ago and knew were of Irish decent. I didn’t believe that was a real reason. Then, he answered quite simply, "I don’t really have any use for it anymore."

We moved to my backyard and took residence in the wooden, three-seat swing in the darkness that was coming upon us as afternoon swirled into evening. There were quite a few times when silence welcomed us and other times it was awkward. But the few times when we were talking it seemed natural. Natural enough for me to venture down the road …

"What was it, then?"

Finally, I asked what the deal was with all the bottles on the counter.

He blew out a hefty sigh. "You know, I hadn’t been back at that house for months. Ages it seems. I was spending a lot of time lately at my mom’s that it didn’t even phase me of what would be waiting for me." AJ leaned back against the bench and stared up at the starry sky. He paused, as if wishing on the star he first spotted.

I watched from my spot just next to him and saw something of wonder on his face. And for some reason something fluttered in my stomach. I didn’t want to exactly admit to any feelings for him. But over the two hours of us talking, he really was giving me something to like. And suddenly I did want to dissect him.

"Those bottles." He sighed again. "God, all those," then he paused, probably struggling to not use the f-word. I didn’t really care; I used language like that all the time. But I remember learning in psychology classes about substance abuse, how those recovering try to separate anger from the problem. And try to use less harsh words.

I blinked and closed my eyes, almost feeling his struggle. Laying a hand to his knee, I tapped lightly. "I understand."

His head turned quickly, "How?"

The silence came to us as I tried to think of how exactly to respond. "Maybe I don’t exactly understand personally. But I get what you’re trying to do."

"Which is?"

"Not swear."

His breath came out fast on a half-laugh. "Oh, I don’t give a shit about that." Then he laughed a bit harder at his statement, which made me smile. I was then realizing that when he was nice, I smiled more. Which in turn, made him smile more.

"Well, I was gonna empty those bottles," he finally said. "That’s why I had them all out there. And it took me quite some time to muster up the courage to the kitchen." AJ turned himself to face me and smiled lightly. "That’s why I was more than happy to have you in there. With someone else in there, I wouldn’t regard the bottles as the devil."

I nodded with the same slight smile.

We chatted a bit more about his thoughts on his issues. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, either on the TV or from word of mouth on the streets and computers. His grandmother died. A lot of pain. Being in the spotlight. Living a fast life. Pushing it aside. Using the wrong means to do so.

We wound up sharing multiple sighs. Both tiresome and refreshing. Then my mind sparked and I was trying to sum up if we actually had some sort of bond forming. When I could calculate that it was something – dealing with the depths of his soul he had just bore – I spoke up gently. "I got an idea," and stood up. There it was; that helping-people thing kicked in.

"What’s that?" he questioned with a tiny smile, as he remained seated and watched me watch him.

"How about, I come next door with you and we drop your demons off at the pool?"

I was smirking just because I thought it was that great of an idea.

"I bet it would help having someone there for it."

His eyebrows furrowed, "Drop demons at the pool?"

"We’ll empty your bottles."

The dark brows remained in their position. "You want to do that?"

I pushed a hand through the air. "It’ll make me feel better than wondering if you went over there and didn’t do it yourself."

Quiet, he remained seated and looked at some spot in the yard just beside me. I tipped my head to the side to watch him for any response other than silent staring. Finally, he glanced back at me, still hushed and stood with a nod towards his place, walking off.

When we got to his kitchen it was eerily silent. I could barely hear either of our breathing and I was still, waiting for his go-ahead in the situation. As some time passed, I began to wonder if he really was going to follow through with it. I stepped forward, "Alex?" He didn’t answer, but I continued to move until I was in his view and directly between his body and the countertop where the barrage sat. "Do you want me to do it first?"

It was then that I could see his eyes were glazed over not taking to any one spot in the room. His voice was strangely flat and all scratchy. "Why is it so hard?"

I shook my head, lost on what to say to assure him that everything was okay. I tried to re-direct him. "What do you want me to do?"

AJ leaned slightly to his right to see the bottles in view once again and he bit at his lower lip. I tentatively grabbed at the closest one to me. A brown bottle with a weathered yellow label. Seagram’s Whiskey. I nearly smiled thinking about how I’d had many drinks that included this liquor at many a number of bars with my friend surrounding my fun. Then I stopped, thinking about how drinking wasn’t so fun anymore. AJ McLean was testament to that.

Twisting the cap off, I moved over to the sink and was about to let the liquid drain from the bottle, but a hand at my arm stopped me. AJ was grabbing at one of my arms and another hand was reaching for the bottle. In one swift move, the bottle was at the other end of the room, glass crashing against the wall, and liquid streaming down it.

I blinked. Then blinked again. I had barely flinched with the first bottle. But the next two that followed the path forced me to shake while bring my hands to my head. I crouched down as I watched AJ’s face contort in anger and his movements become quicker, more erratic, and much more jerky.

My hands kept going over my hair, pushing it away from my face as fear filled me. I didn’t want to be in the middle of this. Why was I so stupid to ask him to help? Why me? Who was I to bother with this man and his demons?

He stopped by bottle number ten, but I knew there were about five more standing up, staring him down. I was still freaked out by the whole thing and didn’t speak as I heard him calling my name with a ragged voice. My eyelids continually blinked over and over, my eyes not registering his face before mine right away. His hands gripped my head and moved slightly to bring feeling at my cheeks.

"Hailey, Honey, I’m … I’m, God," he was stuttering.

Why was he stuttering? I was the one in the middle of this fire of someone’s personal demons and he was the one stuttering?

"Jesus, I’m so, man."

In defense, I started pushing his hands away from my face, but that only made him grip tighter. "Hailey," his voice became louder and firmer than before. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart."

Even while he seemed steady in what he was saying, his eyes were blurry in my sights and I wasn’t sure if it was my own eyesight or if it were something else. It was quickly affirmed when tears fell down his cheeks before mine could break loose.

"I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Don’t know what came over me." He sighed and his voice was breaking. "God, I’m so fucked up," he grumbled, as his hands started shaking and effectively making my head shift in different ways.

It’s like, you can be as knowledgeable as any textbook when you read enough about dealing with people. But when it actually happens, you’re truly tested. I’ve taken multiple psychology classes and not one of them prepared me for this situation.

Not a one. No guidelines for dealing with nutcases who have glass as ammo. No warning, nothing.

My mind registered his last statement of ‘I’m so fucked up,’ and my voice finally came. "Yeah, you are."

It was flat and plain and nothing special about it. But, it was the truth.

With a heavy breath, he flopped back to a sitting position and rested his elbows on bent knees. His hands covered his face and barely masked the soft crying I could hear. That broke through my own heightened emotions and I inched closer to him. I was softly saying his name, not sure on what else to do and that feeling of helping people kicked in again as I tried to move his hands from his face so he could see my face. "Alex, calm down."

His voice spurted something along the lines of, "I’m so lost and I keep saying I’m fine."

"That’s ‘cause most people do. You’re trying to convince yourself, and everyone else."

Clearing his throat, the anguish on his face started to dissipate. "And you don’t believe it, do you?"

"Believe what?"

"That I’m okay."

Hesitantly, I looked beyond him to see the glass piled at the floor and the liquid spilled everywhere. "Not quite."

The heel of hand swept across his brows. "The guys think I’m okay."

"They obviously don’t know about your target practice."

He smiled slowly, even as I didn’t mean it to be a joke. It was just an instinct that kicked in, in trying to frank about the situation. Then the smile was gone in instants. "I’m really sorry. You came over here to help me and look what happened."

I glanced over his shoulder and spoke in that same tone. "Yeah, look what happened."

The voice was somber. "You got more than you bargained for, eh?"

I sat back on my haunches and held a saddened face. "I’m guessing most people do with you." He nodded and I gently grabbed for his arms and pulled him into my embrace, which in return gave me the much-needed hug I need as well. My nerves still felt a bit shaken and when he finally wrapped his arms around my back, pressing me against him, they started to disappear.

We stayed in that position for quite some time until he eventually started to rock us back and forth at a steady, yet slow pace. I shifted one arm from beneath his so that I was looping his neck, pulling him closer and I spoke at his ear. "I get the feeling you’ll be okay."

"You do?" he breathed back at my ear.

I took a deep breath. "Yeah. You at least broke the bottles and didn’t try to save them."

There was no answer and I didn’t really need one. It may have been a step in a weird direction, but him destroying the bottles was actually a good step. He was working through his frustrations and aggressions, and getting rid of the ‘poison,’ so to speak. Killing two birds with one stone.

* * *

He walked me across the lawn that separated his home from mine with very few words. At the door, he grabbed at my hand and held it in his warm grasp. "I’m really sorry. Really, I am."

The eyes were sincere enough that it barely mattered that his voice was ten times more sincere sounding. "I know," I returned in a somber voice. "You obviously needed to do that."

He nodded, then a smirk worked itself on his mouth. "You’re gonna make a good shrink some day. Maybe I should keep you around to work on my head."

I laughed lightly. "I’m not sure I have the time or patience to work through that whole thing," sweeping my hand over his bleached-blonde hair.

"Well, maybe once in a while …"

While he was joking, I went serious, "Just make sure you don’t have any objects to toss."

He nodded solemnly. "I will."

"Hailey, I," he sighed then shook his head. "I thank you for whatever this just was."

Lost on what else to say, I nodded. Then I just jabbed at his side with a slight smile. "Say something stupid."

His hand immediately covered the place where I’d poked. "Why?"

"Because I’m tired of moping over you and this whole thing."

Turning to look at his right, then his left, his eyes roamed the area around us. The hand holding mine briefly squeezed and he leaned forward to press mouth to mouth. I was stunned and quiet as his smile grew. "You’re not frowning anymore."

The corner of my mouth hitched up, "No, I guess not."

He smiled. Said, "Bye." And waved.

Then he walked away.

Only that time, the smile was good and comforting.