Coffee, Grit, and my Dad's Best Shoes 1.2

I followed the nurse closely, gripping the green tea frappe in one hand like it was a lifeline, the fingers of my other hand curled around the spine of a book. It was a political thriller- something on the blurb had mentioned a corrupt lawyer. Three years ago, political thrillers about corrupt lawyers had been Brazil's favourite.

The nurse was prattling- something about keeping it down. I wasn't supposed to bring up the 'accident.' Like what had happened hadn't been intentional. The frappe was fine- she wouldn't tell his doctor. She liked him. Sweet boy. Reminded her of her brother's adoptive daughter, except she was from India, not China.

Braz wasn't even from China. Mai was second-generation Thai-Canadian, and David had been third-generation Korean-Canadian. If I'd been more awake, I would've corrected her.

We stopped in front of one of the rooms- ICU, room twenty-three. Private, because the boy who'd been in here earlier had been moved to Toronto. I didn't know if she was supposed to be telling me these things, but she was, and I couldn't decide if it was useful or just... irritating. She had a high voice. Not the kind that made you smile. The kind that made you want to claw off your own ears. She knocked once, didn't wait for an answer, and pulled the door open.

"Another visitor, Braz!" she chirped. I swear to God, if I had to listen to one more exclamation point, I'd murder somebody. "Parker Heyton."

If whoever'd been in the room with him had been talking before, they weren't now. I knew that his mom was out- her daughter had a hard time staying at the hospital. His sister. The nurse shuffled out of the way, and I sidestepped around her and into the room, step faltering before it'd even fallen all the way. The chair next to the bed held a boy with course, short dark hair and eyes to match, legs crossed, elbow propped on one knee, chin supported in his hand, a tower of bracelets on his forearm. He was staring at me like I'd stepped out of a portal, and I couldn't say that I was looking at him much differently.

"Hi, Michael," I said quietly, choosing to shake it off and live happy.

He seemed to do the same, offering a nonchalant, "Hey," back. No hostility. That was... good, I suppose.

I would've loved to have kept staring at him. Talking to him. Pretend that this wasn't a hospital, and that he'd been the point of my visit. But I couldn't, so I let my gaze drift to the bed in my peripheral. I almost flinched. Almost. "Hey, Braz," I murmured. My voice cracked. This wasn't the first time I'd visited him in a hospital, but it was the first time I'd ever seen this much evidence of damage done. The IV in his hand wasn't anything new, but the tubes in his nose were, and the green and purple bruises on his arms were. One section of his hair was shorter on the side facing me- I could barely make out a scar under the fuzz. From stitches, I was guessing. But the worst part- the part that felt like somebody'd punched me in the face- was how gone he looked. It wasn't even the usual Brazil gone. Not the positive kind that was fascinated with the smallest thing, or even the negative kind. The dead kind. He was just-

-Gone.

And there he was, smiling more with his lips than his eyes. That was his tell. You could tell when he didn't quite mean what he was smiling, because when he meant it, it was more eye than mouth. "Hi." He was whispering too, but he only had to speak a syllable for you to know how much pain medication was in his system.

Maybe that was the gone. Maybe he was just really, really stoned.

I swallowed, doing my best to ignore the prickling in my throat. I'd made up my mind to save the crying for later- he didn't need to see it, right now. I cleared my throat, pushing my lips into an unconvincing smile of my own. "Brought you frozen tea." I held the cup up, smile gaining a bit of honesty when his face lit up. "I hope you still, uh, like these. I wasn't sure, but I didn't have your number and I didn't want to bother your-"

"Still my favourite," he said, cutting me off and holding out a hand to receive it. "Thanks."

I stepped over and handed it to him, not letting go until his fingers felt like they were taking the brunt of the weight. "Welcome." I slipped the book out from under my arm and rested it on the bed beside him. "There's that, too. I-" I chuckled. "Sorry if your favourites have changed."

"Corrupt lawyers?" Michael asked, and I looked up to meet his gaze. His eyebrows were sitting higher on his forehead, expression critical. I nodded. "A plus, Mr. Heyton."

"Thanks." It was about all I could come up with. I looked behind me for a chair, moving to pull one over from the wall, and sat down in it a safe foot or so away from the bed. I felt out of place. Like I was invading instead of paying a visit.

Braz was already chugging the frappe, book open to the first page on his lap. If I was making him uncomfortable, he was adept at using the whole 'high as hell' thing to cover it. I'd leave him alone, though. I couldn't really say what I wanted to while Michael was sitting there, anyway.

"Where's Nicky?" I asked finally. I'd been expecting to see her brown-black bob thing and fire eyes of all-brown terror guarding the way to the bed when I walked in. She was his best friend; they were a healthy clash of soft-spoken and sweet, and absolutely terrifying.

"Judo," Braz said without looking up. "She was here earlier."

I nodded, trying to hide my relief. Her absence meant that I wouldn't get ripped limb from limb for completely shattering her best friend and never coming back to fix it. I deserved it, but I'd rather do without. I changed the subject, scratching the back of my neck and looking back at Michael. "Whatever happened to moving to the middle of nowhere?"

He shrugged. "I did. And then I came back. Briefly." He sent a sidelong, hinting glance at Braz. "Got here on Monday. Have to get back next Wednesday, though." He sighed. "School's a thing whether you want it to be or not. I'm already skipping out on two weeks of it, so." Another shrug. "I couldn't just not come, though."

I nodded again, and the silence hung for longer than I would have liked. Michael's eyes were on Braz; mine were anywhere but. The air in the room was too heavy. Brazil's blissful obliviousness too fake. Michael wasn't even cracking jokes or boasting about his latest track-related fete. Suddenly, I was glad that his family wasn't here- something told me that if they had been, I would've been choking on the atmosphere by now.

Finally, with little enthusiasm and a tired edge to his voice, Michael said, "I'm going to go grab a coffee. They've got a Timmy's and a Starbucks in the lobby." He looked at me as he got up, pulling a wallet out of his back pocket. "Want me to grab you anything?" There was something pointed about his expression. Of course it was that obvious that I was here for a reason. Parker didn't stick around unless there was one.

I shrugged, fishing around in my pocket for a five. "Just a regular coffee. Venti. Whatever roast they've got that's strongest. Black." I handed the bill over across the bed. "Starbucks is stronger."

He nodded and was gone, and Braz set his book face-down on the bed. I watched his throat bob, eyed the needle in his hand, the tubes in his nose. It wasn't even an option, anymore. Michael had left so that we'd have a couple minutes, and I'd come in the first place for the same reason.

"I thought you'd've come earlier," he said, hands folding together over his stomach. He sounded... more like Brazil when Brazil was sad. And that was my fault.

I forced a tiny smile, barely convincing myself to hold his gaze. I hated seeing his eyes so glassy. "I would've." The smile was already failing. "Nobody told me you were here." The harder I thought about it, though, the more I wondered if I'd known. This town wasn't exactly known for being non-violent, but people didn't just go missing on a regular basis, and those peoples' sons didn't just get jumped and land in the hospital. It had to have been in the news. On it. People would have whispered about it. Maybe I had heard. Shoved it back, brushed it off. It was possible to force yourself to tune things out to that extent, wasn't it?

"It was on the news." He looked down again, wiping his far cheek on his shoulder. My heart stopped. He was crying? He was. He was crying. "But- I mean- it's fine. I'm just- I'm glad you came, you know?" He didn't sound glad. For the love of God, his voice had broken in at least four different places.

"Even if I'm a month late on the draw?" I should've known. There was no way that I couldn't have known that something like this had happened. Then again, I'd been closed off, lately. Unwilling to talk about anything heavy with friends. I'd quit my job three months ago for health reasons. We didn't have satellite at home, and if I was at my auntie's and watching television, it was to indulge in my little brother's Teletoon Retro worship.

Maybe I hadn't known. Maybe I really, honestly had not known.

Braz offered a small, lopsided smile. "Yeah." More with the mouth than the eyes.

I let that silence hang, too, looking back down at my lap, trying to force myself into coming to the point. There was no safe way to broach the topic. No way that wouldn't sound awkward. No way that I could live with myself if I backed down. I licked my lips, giving my throat a small, quick clear, and took a deep breath. "I- I called for a reason, actually. That's how I- how I found out you were here. But I-" My eyes misted over, voice crumbling under my resolve. My throat started to constrict- it felt like somebody was rubbing the inside of it with sandpaper. "I just- I wanted to say sorry. For leaving you there. For never saying anything about it. And I'm sorry that I didn't come to check on you in the hospital, last year. Because I- Nicky called me about that. And I should've come. And I'm sorry that I didn't offer more when your dad went missing, and-" I shook my head, wiping at a tear. There was more than that, but I couldn't make anything surface. He was crying, and I was crying, and I felt like hell while he had to have felt one thousand times worse. One thousand times worse, and I was powerless to do anything. I'd passed up every chance that I'd been given. Every damn opportunity to tell him things that I needed to say, and he needed to hear, and now I was stuck with this. Good job, Parker. Really well done.

Brazil was staring at the sheet, rolling the empty Starbucks cup around in his hands. His head was bowed, jaw trembling. If he was breathing, his chest wasn't showing it.

"I'm just sorry," I repeated, hand going to my forehead. "I should've said it three years ago, y'know?"

He sniffed, lifting his hands away from his cup to wipe his eyes. There was a chuckle in there, barely even discernible. "Teen angst, Parker. It happens. People do stupid things in high school."

"Yeah, but it's not-" I shook my head. "Braz, what happened was- that was a little bigger than starting a rumour or dumping you in front of your friends."

He shrugged, but I had a funny feeling that he was thinking the same thing. "Maybe." He looked at me through the corners of his eyes, that corner of his lips lifting in the slightest of ways. "You were kind of a back-stabbing, cowardly jackass."

That should have got to me, but with the way he said it- the way he was smiling- had me laughing. Not loudly, but enough that I was shaking my head and smiling by the end of it. "Yeah, I was. And, I mean, I'd get it if you'd really rather I rotted in hell, but- do you want me to keep visiting? Or should I just... banish myself or something?" Probably the latter, but jeez, the boy had eyes that lured you in and kept you stuck right where you were scared to be. He made you want to stay.

"I've sort of been waiting for you to show up all month, so." He smiled again, for real this time, where his eyes did- they did something, and his lips were hardly a part of it. A Brazil Liu smile. "I feel like we've got a lot of catching up to do."

I stared at him for a second, trying to figure out whether or not he meant that. The boy was too soft for his own good. Not even just sometimes; he was too soft all the time. "Just like that?" It felt safer to ask.

"Just like that."

I furrowed my brow. "You sure you're not just saying that because you're high?"

"My entire body feels like it's caving in on itself. Slowly. Like, I feel like I'm dying." He settled back again, and this time, I caught the wince. "I know for a fact that I'm not that high, right now."

"I feel like a dick for being reassured by that, Braz." As soon as I caught myself, I really did. I wanted to ask if there was something I could do- go grab a nurse or something. Press a button. But I didn't.

"I feel like a dick for telling you that, Parker," he said, but I could hear the clip in his voice, this time. "I've been told that I have the ability to totally astound people with my pain-hiding abilities. Probably shouldn't have said anything at all."

That time, I did. "Should I get a nurse? Or is there a button somewhere that I can press to release the stuff or something?" I was already looking around, ready to get up as soon as he said the word.

But he shook his head and sighed, instead. "No. I want to be sober until Michael comes back, at the very least." He chuckled. "I mean, sobriety is preferable in any case. Michael just won't let it happen. Nicky wouldn't, either."

I opened my mouth to say something, but whatever it had been was gone within a nanosecond. "Okay."

The silence, once again, hung. Braz picked up his book after a couple of minutes, and by the time Michael had gotten back, the knowledge that there was more that I needed to say was burnt into my frontal lobe. There was one more question, but I didn't feel like I had the right to even think it until I'd started to make up for things.