I wake up in Oscar’s bed, and for a moment, my mind goes to places that, well, I wish it wouldn’t. 

But then yesterday’s events come flooding back to me, and all those thoughts are immediately gone. 

My vision goes blurry, and the tears spill over faster than I thought possible. I sniff, and try to keep quiet, because Oscar’s still asleep next to me. 

I lift the comforter and slowly slide out of his bed, careful not to knock him or expose too much of his skin so he doesn’t get too cold. 

But it doesn’t work. 

He groans, and rolls over. I watch helplessly through salty pools as he opens his eyes and sees me, standing over him and crying. 

He must think I’m such a creep. 

But he doesn’t act like it.

“Liam.” He says my name, italicized and in bold. He pushes the blankets away from himself, and scoots to the edge of the bed so he’s sitting directly in front of me. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice breaks on fine, so it isn’t very convincing. The tears are still running down my face and dripping off of my chin, and I’m sure that doesn’t help either. 

But how else am I supposed to react to, to this? I feel as though I’ve been ripped into a million tiny pieces and shoddily taped back together, albeit by very capable hands. 

“Do you want to talk about it now?” he asks, the concern in his voice so genuine that I can’t decide if i want to kiss him or collapse into him and sob some more. 

I choose the second option, because it’s less likely to make him hate me. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder. 

“My Nana, she…” I have to tell him. He deserves to know the reason for all… this, whatever this is. “She’s dead. Heart attack.”

He gasps, and then I’m not the only one crying. 

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I know how much she means to you,” he says, and kisses my forehead. He actually kisses my forehead. It doesn’t escape my notice that he says means, not meant. 

And this is why I love him. 

The neighbor found her in our backyard when he went to drop off some cookies he’d made for us, and had immediately called 911. But it was too late. When asked if she had any close family that should be notified, all he could think of was me. 

I tell him all this, my voice shaky and stuttering, thick with tears, and the worst phone call of my life plays in my head.

Hello?

Hi, is this Liam O’Connor? Grandson of Aoife O’Connor?

Yes? Who is this?

I’m Sheila Morris, I work at First Metropolitan Medical Center. Your Grandmother was admitted into our emergency room about an hour ago.

Oh my god. Is she okay? Where is she? Can I see her? Is she going to be okay?

I’m sorry.

What do you mean you’re sorry? What happened? Is she okay?

I’m sorry, she’s been taken to the morgue. She was already gone when she got here.

I didn’t understand - how could I? This is something that happens to someone else. No one ever prepared me for anything even close to this.

I want to explain the jumble of incoherence and mixed emotions in my mind to Oscar, to cut open my skull and pull out my brain and show it to him, to make him understand.

But all that comes out when I open my mouth is a broken, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

He pulls me down on the bed next to him and curls his body around mine, a protective shield from all the bad in the world.

After another half hour of crying in Oscar’s bed together, letting our sorrow weave together and hold itself up, a canopy of melancholy over our heads, we get up and go downstairs, where one of his moms has already made us breakfast. 

We say our teary thank yous, and then he leads me back upstairs, where he tucks me into his bed and says, “Wait here a sec, I’m gonna grab a movie, okay?”

When he returns, he has an Ant Man DVD in his hand, because he knows it’s my favorite Marvel movie. He sets up his computer, then scoots into the bed next to me. 

Before I know it, Scott is agreeing to the heist and I’ve got my arm around Oscar, and though my laughs, however weak, are wet, my eyes are miraculously dry. 

By the time Antony dies his tragic death, we’re both actually laughing. Oscar looks over at me, smiling. 

“Feel any better?”

“Marginally.” He chuckles, and then leans in closer to me. 

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I really am sorry.”

I know that the look I give him is a funny one, but I just can’t wrap my head around why he would think that what he thinks doesn’t matter to me. But I also don’t want to ruin this perfect moment with reality quite yet, so I put a finger to his lips and say, “Shhh, I’m enjoying this.”

He actually giggles, and fakes like he’s going to bite my finger, and is it weird that I kind of want him to?

The credits roll, but this isn’t a theater, so we skip them, and there’s the first end credits scene, and then the second, and Sam Wilson knows a guy. 

When the movie ends, he looks over at me and grins.  

And I can’t help it. 

“Can I kiss you?” He looks shocked, but nods quickly.

And…

and.