Almost 6 Months Ago:

Gerard drove up to the Iero residence with trepidation. His heart was pounding in his ears as he got out of his car, almost forgetting to shut the driver’s door behind him. The walkway tot he front door seemed long and daunting. He made the journey, trekking up to the porch, and, after a moment’s hesitation, rang the doorbell.

“Coming,” said a muted voice from inside. The door opened after a few anticipatory seconds to reveal a frazzled woman in disheveled clothing with red, puffy eyes and a look of exhaustion on her withered face. “Oh!” she exclaimed at the sight of him. “Oh, dear goodness, it’s you!” She looked flustered and fervent, clutching the doorframe for support.

“Mrs. Iero,” Gerard said timidly, “may I come in?”

“Oh, my, yes, of course you may. Please,” she gushed, stepping aside so he could enter. She shut the door after he cautiously stepped inside. The house was messy and cluttered. Several casseroles crowded the kitchen counter in mismatched glassware, all covered with saran wrap or tin foil, giving the impression that they were gifts from worried neighbors.

“Are you thirsty, Gerard? Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?” Mrs. Iero asked politely, but even as she went to open the fridge, her hands were trembling.

“I don’t need anything, Mrs.,” Gerard replied promptly. With a nervous breath, he added, “You know my name.”

Mrs. Iero turned to face him. Her smile was strained from stress. “Of course I know who you are,” she said gently. Gerard held his breath, waiting for the her to yell at him like he deserved for being so cruel to her son all these years. But instead, her eyes teared up, and she continued, “You’re the one who saved Frankie’s life. I don’t know how to repay you.” She swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to cry. She looked stubborn, despite her fragile state, and he admired that in her. Just like Frank himself.

Gerard ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably. He didn’t deserve this praise, but he couldn’t say he wanted to be hated by her either. Cautiously, he ventured, “Did Frank ever mention me before?”

Mrs. Iero frowned slightly. “I’m afraid not,” she admitted apologetically, “but he didn’t talk about his friends to me. Were you two close?”

Gerard swallowed, guilt washing over him in waves. The right thing to do would be to tell her the truth. “Sort of,” he hedged. He couldn’t make himself admit to anything else.

She smiled at him again, still strained but genuine. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Gerard felt sick.

* * *

Through the window, Gerard watches as Frank and Mrs. Iero comfort each other, wishing he could be the one giving Frank comfort. It feels wrong, after being Frank’s near-constant companion for half a year, to be denied access to that room. He misses sitting at Frank’s bedside, telling him stupid jokes and stories, holding his limp hand and pleading with Frank to wake up. And now that he has woken, Frank wants nothing to do with him.

Gerard feels lost. He takes another sip of the cheap hospital coffee, hoping it will energize him enough to get him out of his slump. But the coffee just taste bitter and plasticky, burning his throat as he swallows.

“You look like someone shot your puppy,” a voice says from beside him, and Gerard turns to see Jamia standing there, holding a much more appetizing Starbucks caramel latte. She plops down in the adjacent chair and offers Gerard a sip.

“I don’t have a puppy,” Gerard mutters back, taking the proffered latte. It tastes so good he doesn’t want to give it back, but he reluctantly does. Jamia sips primly from it.

“Clearly not anymore,” she replies. “So, who shot it?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. Jamia always came up with the strangest analogies. “Frank, of course,” he says lightly, trying not to stutter over the name.

“Of course,” Jamia says with an eye roll of her own. “I thought you would’ve been happy that he woke up at last.”

“No, I am!” Gerard interjects hurriedly. “Of course I am! I just…I just miss him, is all.”

Jamia smirks back at him and he sighs at her childish behavior. “He’ll get over it,” she states confidently, but Gerard gives her a doubtful look.

“I bullied him for two years,” he reminds her grimly. “If I were him, I wouldn’t be so forgiving.”

Jamia bumps him with her shoulder teasingly. “Good thing you’re not him, then.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gerard gripes back.

Jamia just smiles big at him and Gerard has to grin back a little because her smile is infectious. “He’s a good guy. So are you. He’ll realize that sooner rather than later.”

Gerard shakes his head in bewilderment at her assessment because as a bully he’s pretty sure he qualifies as a bad guy, but there’s no arguing with Jamia once she has an opinion.

“And don’t you dare disagree,” she adds as if she’s read his mind.

Gerard raises his hands in surrender, one still clutching the rapidly cooling hospital coffee, and says placatingly, “I wouldn’t think of it.” As he lowers his arms, both of them smiling amicably, Gerard decides that even if Frank never forgives him, he’s lucky to have made a friend like Jamia.

Notes

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