I Shouldn't Even Be Sad

I walk into our apartment, throwing my keys on the coffee table as I made my way to our room. “Baby, I’m home!” I shout.

He doesn’t respond, which doesn’t make much sense. He usually has something to say. A greeting. I’m momentarily hurt until I turn the corner, into our room. He is sitting on the end of our bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. “Ryan?”

He looks up, his beautiful eyes bloodshot, perfect lips trembling. I cross the room in three strides. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Bren…” he chokes. I sat beside him, pulling him into my arms. I run my fingers through his hair as I kiss the top of his head. “My dad.”

Oh. I know his dad had been hospitalized some months before. As much as Ryan hates him, he loves him. “I’m so sorry, Ry.”

“I shouldn’t even be sad,” he chokes. I hold him tighter, pressing urgent kisses all over his head, all over his face.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. His hands rest on the sides of my neck as he leans his forehead against my jaw. I tilt my head just a bit to kiss his hairline.

“You should eat,” he breathes against my skin. I chuckle openly. His dad just died and he’s worried that I’ve yet to eat.

“Do you want something?”

“No, no appetite,” he whispers, and I clutch him even tighter. I stand, gently, bringing him with me. I want food, but I won’t to go to the kitchen to get it without him. When we make it to the kitchen, I pour myself a bowl of cereal, sitting at our tiny kitchen table, Ryan right beside me.

“I love you, Ry.”

“Love you, too, Bren,” he says, kissing that spot behind my ear, causing me to shiver. “Is everything going to be okay?”

“Everything will be fine.”