“I try,” I said finally. “At work, I mean. I just… treat him the same.”
“That’s why it matters,” she replied. “Everyone else tiptoes around him. Or avoids him altogether. He notices.”
I hadn’t known that. I thought the jokes in the break room, the casual coffee runs, the way I still asked him to double-check my spreadsheets—it was just normal office stuff. But to her, it meant something more. To him, apparently, it meant even more than that.
She stepped closer and lowered her voice.
“After his brother died, he stopped sleeping. He won’t talk about it. He thinks if he slows down for even a second, it’ll all hit him at once.” She glanced toward the couch. “Tonight was the first time in weeks he’s been out with people.”
I looked at James again. Earlier he’d been loud, sloppy, leaning too hard into laughter. But now, with his shoes half-off and his tie crooked against the blanket, he just looked tired. Not drunk. Not careless. Just tired.
“I’m glad he went,” she continued. “And I’m glad he didn’t drive.”
That thought sent a chill through me. I hadn’t even considered it. If I’d left when everyone else did… if he’d insisted he was fine…
