WE’RE ALL walking on eggshells when the morning finally arrives. Emmett looks like he hasn’t slept, and for all I know he could have been pretending to sleep last night when I sat by his side. I returned to my own sleeping spot shortly after he fell asleep. Or pretended to. His eyes are rimmed with red, and his hair is sticking up in random places. We go to the buffet for food, and Emmett’s hands shake as he reaches for some bacon. I look away as I scoop my scrambled eggs into a bowl.
My mom watches, as silent as we are. I think she heard Emmett last night, but she’s given no indication of it. She is focusing on me, though, and I think she’s watching me because she doesn’t want me to get hurt by whatever’s coming.
We sit in the corner and eat silently. It is easily the most awkward I’ve ever felt. I have absolutely nothing to say and the tense silence only builds. There is an explosion coming, I think. Emmett’s holding back and forcing himself to be calm, and I hope I am not there to feel the initial impact of the blast. I want to help, but I’m not sure what would happen, and I think I’d make things worse, which is not what I want to do. I don’t know how to help the guy that’s spent so much time helping me, and I don’t want to lose my friendship, and I am scared.
My mother tries to help, she leans over to Emmett and whispers soothing things into his ear, trying to help, but he slams his hand on the table and ignores her, so she backs off, watching him with her usual hawklike prowess.
I decide to try to lighten the mood, getting up and coming back with a muffin and a banana, and I’m wondering what to say to Emmett as I wrestle the banana open and take a bite.
“Ugh” is what I start with. I wasn’t planning on saying that, but the banana is gross. “This banana is completely inadequate.” Emmett looks at me.
“That sounds like something I would say. Don’t do that.” His head faces his bowl again, and the conversation is over.
Upon our return to the room we pack up quickly and quietly. I think we were going to wander and do some shopping and visit Magda again, and I wouldn’t mind another cinnamon bun, but it is clearly time to go home. As we go over the hotel room, picking up our stuff and making sure we haven’t forgotten anything, I slip a notebook into my pocket. I need to write because it is something that makes me happy, and it stands to reassure because I did not think I would write again. But I am now and that’s important.
Every thought I have had today I can thank Emmett for. He’s ingrained himself in my life. The writing—he helped with, the poetry thing—he wanted to go and that helped me cave. The award he was there to see me receive. I wonder vaguely if Emmett’s mother was waiting to move out and this was the opportunity she needed.
I am overwhelmed with grief for everything Emmett is going through, and on the train I write down every thought I’m having because they are important. He rebuffs my every attempt at conversation, and it is incredibly frustrating, so I just lean against him as I write. Figuratively, I’m supporting him, though he is literally supporting me. We balance it out.
We arrive back in Connecticut quickly with nothing important happening, and it’s a relief. We stop at Emmett’s first to drop him off, and I see his father in the window, watching his son pull his suitcase out of the trunk before running up the front steps and into the house. I can hear his bedroom door slam from the confines of the car.