Page 52 of When In Doubt

“One of these days I’ll wear you down.”

“Sure you are.”

I try to stare him down, but he just finds my glare amusing.

“I’m going to go get changed,” I say, needing space more than anything.

Oscar holds out a bundle of fabric for me to take as I head into the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and lean against it. “Get your shit together,” I whisper at my reflection. I just need to get through this one night, then I’ll be home. This would be so much easier if he would stop doing all these things for me. I feel like the scales are weighted so heavily in his favor, and I have no idea when he’s gonna call it all in.

The low rumble of Oscar’s voice seeps under the door as I get changed. Is he on the phone?

I creep closer, hovering my ear over the wood, but I can’t make out any of the words. Should I wait in here until he’s done? I look around as if an answer’s going to materialize out of the toilet and catch sight of myself in the mirror. The pajamas are soft green flannel pants and a baggy white t-shirt. As I put them on I catch the faint scent of his truck, barely there.

I finally shake myself loose and turn the handle, my dress balled up under my arm.

“Are you sure?” Oscar’s tone is hushed, like he doesn’t want me to hear. I’m about to turn around and head back into the bathroom but he catches my eye, nodding in reassurance. “I can come back tonight… no, no it’s fine… okay, just keep me updated, yeah? And call if you feel worse… I know, I know… sure, love you, bye.”

He hangs up with a sigh.

“Is everything okay?” I ask tentatively, my panic on the backburner in the face of Oscar’s distress.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, just checking in with Mom.”

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine, just a headache.”

I frown. “It sounded bad.”

“No.” He gives a humorless chuckle. “I just worry about her.”

He’d sounded more than worried. He’d been braced, like he was ready to leap out the window and sprint back to Cedar Creek on foot. Only now is he relaxing, shuffling farther back onto the mattress where he settles, phone still clutched in his fist.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“I just worry when I’m not around.”

I wonder why. Valerie’s always seemed so robust to me, so unshakeable, but maybe there’s more going on there. Does Oscar take care of her? Does she need that?

“I can hear the wheels turning from over here,” he says sardonically.

“I don’t want to pry.” I chew on the edge of my lip.

Oscar lets out a long breath that seems to deflate him. He slumps back against the headboard and stares at the ceiling. “Pry away.”

I perch on the mattress. The gap between our beds is small enough that my knees are almost touching his comforter. “It sounds a bit like you’re hoping I will.”

He shrugs, caught.

I cross both my legs under myself. “Does your mom need checking in on?”

“Probably not.” He pauses and inhales deeply, like a wind-up toy the second before you let it go. “She’s probably planning on flushing my phone down the toilet.”

“So, why do it?”

“For me, mostly.” The words come out hoarse.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”