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“Sure.” Axel nods, without even tossing a glance my way.

I hate this. I hate that we can’t talk to each other anymore. That being around him feels so good but hurts so much. Probably because it does feel so good, but it’s fleeting. And it’s not real.

He turned to Olivia. He could have gone to anyone else in the world. But he purposefully chose her to hurt me. The annoying thing is, I get why he did it. And I’m no better.

I tune everything out and focus on the tasks at hand. Sweeping. Wiping. Mopping. Scrubbing toilets (ugh). I gather all the trash and go out back to toss it. It’s freezing but the sky is clear and a few stars are visible, which is pretty rare. I look up and breathe in and out. I smell like garlic and onions. Or maybe that’s the trash bin to my left.

I miss him.

Even though he’s right inside this building, I miss him.

Maybe I should tell him, or at least initiate a conversation. Get a dialogue going. It used to be so easy to talk to him and now it’s like I’m afraid to do or say the wrong thing. The last few timeswe’ve been around each other, our words get twisted up in our raw emotions and everything gets messier. The truth is, we’ve both hurt one another. Intentional or not, pain was inflicted and the trust between us has been compromised.

I come back in from outside to grab the last bag. The music is off and Mom and Axel are engaged in conversation. I stay hidden in the bathroom hallway, listening. I can’t help it. I’m thirsty for intel. For insight. Maybe a lead on how I can fix things. If we’re fixable at all.

“It’s fine,” Axel says to Mom. “I sometimes come off a bit too strong when meeting people.”

“It’s not that,” Mom replies. “I judged you for all the wrong reasons. For being a male. An Arab male. For being confident. For embracing who you are and where you come from. It scared me.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Because you’re everything I’m not. I didn’t grow up feeling proud of who I was or where I came from. And I kept my Arab side from Jamie, denying her an opportunity to learn about her culture and roots. Then here you come, showing her how great it can be to be part of a loving Arab family. I knew she’d call me out, and I needed to be called out, but I was afraid of that moment happening. I’d been afraid for years. Because I think deep down, I knew I was wrong. Adults…we’re just adolescents with a few more wrinkles and bad knees.”

Axel laughs. “I get it. I wasn’t always so confident. I’mnotalways so confident. But I learned to be proud of my culture from an early age. My dad taught me not to try to hide anything about myself because people would see it as a weakness and prey on it. So instead, I’m loud and proud and sometimes…obnoxious. It kind of backfired on my dad though. He wasn’t really into my passion for dancing at first.”

“And now?” Mom asks.

“Jamie helped him see how important it is to me. Figures, I finally get my dad on my side and I’ve lost my drive to dance or perform.”

“Why’s that?” Silence follows Mom’s question. When Axel still doesn’t answer, Mom presses on. “What happened with you and Jamie?”

“We’re not right for each other. We’re too different. She wants something safe and quiet and I want to be with someone who will shout their feelings about me to the world. Take risks. Put down the lists. And that’s not Jamie.”

I lean up against the hallway wall and squeeze my eyes shut. I thought maybe we had just misunderstood each other. I didn’t realize there was more to it.

“Differences aren’t all that bad, Axel. Jamie thinks she wants something safe, but at the end of the day, none of us knows what we really want. We just know how we feel. And when I see my daughter around you, I can tell.”

“You can tell what?” he asks.

I grab the last bag of garbage and toss it in the bin before slamming the door shut behind me. I can’t bear to hear them talk about me for another second. It’s too weird.

“All done,” I say, coming out of the hall all nonchalant-like a few minutes later.

“We’re all done in here too,” Mom says, smothering a grin. “Do you need a ride home, Axel?”

“No, thank you.” He removes his apron. “I rode my bike.”

“You fixed Betty?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He nods. “She’s as good as new.”

“I’m glad,” I say, nodding back.

“Same. Was worried she wouldn’t recover,” he says before swallowing.

“I didn’t think I took her to the point of no return.” I fight the smile that wants to come out.

“Not quite. But almost.”