He was taller than me. When did that happen? I have known that boy since he was missing both front teeth and standing on my porch asking if Jack could come out, and somewhere in those eleven years he had gotten taller than me and I had never once registered it.
And he folded down into me and started sobbing. Properly. The way you do at seventeen when something has been held for six months.
“I’m sorry,” he said into my shoulder.
“No.”
“I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you in March.”
“No, baby.”
“I didn’t want to make today worse.”
“You didn’t.”
I had my hand on the back of his head, and he had grown up and his hair was still exactly the same.
And I said:
“Finish it.”
He pulled back and looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Finish what Jack asked you to say.”
