We sat in silence for longer than was strictly necessary, but I was so grateful for it. I was so tired of people asking me how I was doing or what I was thinking about doing next or all those other things that were meant to be well wishing but just made me feel sick to my stomach. I was sure that Ian had a world full of questions he wanted me to answer but, at least for now, he’s keeping them to himself.
I leaned forward, setting my elbows on the coffee table and putting my head in between my hands. Maybe if I squeezed my head hard enough, it would pop like a pimple and I’d never have to answer anyone’s questions ever again. That actually sounded really nice to me.
“You’re just going to give yourself a headache doing that,” Ian offered. “Skulls are surprisingly hard to crush with your bare hands.”
“Don’t even want to know how you know that,” I sighed, forcing myself to sit back up. I looked Ian in the eye, and he turned his head to the side, looking at me quizzically. “Well, come on then. Let’s hear it. What do you want me to answer for you? What do you need to know?”
Ian sat up straight again and shrugged. “There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just want to know that you’re okay. Or, okay ish, anyways.”
“Okay ish, I am that.”
“Then we’re good.”