When I start to shake, Drew slides an arm beneath my knees and sweeps me up into his arms as he stands.

“What … what are you doing?” I say.

“Carrying you.”

some people are mirrors that
let you see yourself

Junk Mail

Nolan Residence

Dorchester

22

Hannah

We go upstairs. To his room. It isn’t the room of a drug dealer. There are two bookcases stuffed with books, the bed is made, the desk free of clutter. There’s a Miles Davis poster.

He eases us down on the floor, so we’re leaning against the bed. He takes my hand in his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

“Drew, you don’t want—”

“I do.” He curls his fingers around mine.

I can’t look at him while I talk. I trace the half-moons of his neatly trimmed fingernails. Mae would approve of his unexpected tidiness.

“In the waiting room, my mom, she asked if I was sure. Said she and Dad would support whatever I chose. I mean, really, they would have. Whatever I wanted. I know that. I knew it then, too. There was no pressure or judgment. Totally my choice. You know? And the counselor, she was great, she said I could do what I wanted, said it was possible things were okay, that maybe the pills hadn’t—like, I could get some tests, if I wanted, to be sure, but … I knew it wasn’t fair, to any of us, to not do what I did. I mean, yeah, Mae turned out okay even though her mom was … but, like, what if she hadn’t? Had had brain damage or … I mean, how fucked-up would that be, to do that to a person, from day one of their life, you know? And the look on Micah’s face when I said that maybe we should think about it, not rush the decision … He didn’t want that. Not yet. And he said, you know, the pills, he said I should…”