“You’re a dork.” She pats the bed next to her, and I meticulously fold the paper without creating new creases. Naked, I slip under the soft, cool sheets to hold her.
“You’re one to talk. You’re the one keeping fifteen-year-old notes, my cute little dork.” I kiss the top of her head. “Can’t believe you kept my shitty drawings and love notes.”
“Of course I kept them.”
“Are you okay after whatever was going on with your mom tonight? You know you can talk to me, Bear.”
“I’m perfect, now that you’re here,” she drowsily mutters.
Her body curls around me, a leg slung over mine, soft fingers trailing along my chest. I wish she would lean on me. Let me carry some of her weight. But I understand why she doesn’t. She’s always been the type to handle hard things without making a fuss, without asking for help. I used to be the exception—she was safe to let down those walls and be honest with me. But I fumbled my responsibility, and now I’m stuck outside her inner circle.
Chest rising and falling against my side, her breathing slows with each exhale, until she’s softly snoring in my arms. I stretch my arm to maximum capacity, doing my best not to jostle her, and flip the switch on the bedside lamp.
4,982 nights. That’s how many nights I’ve spent missing her. Hating myself. Begging for sunrise. But the nightmare is finally over—I have her in my arms, and this time I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to keep her there.
Blair
The same as so many nights in our past, Denver slips back out my window before sunrise. I clutch the pillow he slept on to my chest, spooning it and taking slow, conscientious sniffs of his lingering scent, as if inhaling too quickly will make it dissipate faster.
My sister’s worried voice rings in my ears.Make sure he’s all in before you fall headfirst.
He said he was all in. He said I was the only one he’s ever loved. He said a lot of sweet things—the same whispered promises he’s broken in the past. I’m sure he’ll find a way to let me down, and my entire world will fall apart like it did before.
Ignoring the churning in my stomach, I rip the pillow from its case, strip the sheets, and pad down the hallway to the laundry room at five a.m. to remove any traces of him from my bed. Then I spend hours doing anything to shut my brain off. I attempt yoga on the crisp grass, clean the kitchen, make breakfast for my parents, and spend twenty minutes convincing Mom to go for a walk with me.
Standing in the middle of the driveway, I squint up at the midmorning sun while I wait for Mom to find her shoes. In the skintight pocket of my biker shorts, my phone vibrates.
Denver:Hot or iced coffee?
I blink at the screen, debating how to answer. The question in itself seems innocent enough, but the inevitable follow-up scares me. If he asks me to have coffee with him…that’s a date. And a date leads todating,which lends itself pretty well to me being a wreck when the dating part comes to an end. Except these days I have people relying on me—and being incapable of taking care of my family isn’t an option.
“Ready!” Mom calls out from the front door, zipping up her light hoodie. “Took me ages to find these darn shoes.”
They were in the front closet, like always, but I know better than to say that.
“Probably because it’s been forever since we got out for a walk.” I smile at her, pulling my sunglasses from the top of my head and putting them on. “Whit’s gonna meet us at the end of the street, too.”
“Oh, good. I miss her.”
My heart sinks, and I let out a meditative exhale. “Come on, let’s go then. She’s probably waiting.”
Rather than chatting, Mom takes to quiet humming of old Broadway tunes while we walk, which isn’t helpful for the chaos happening in my mind. Doesn’t matter that the sun is shining, birds are chirping, and my mom’s happier than I’ve seen in weeks; I can’t shake the melancholia from my bones.
And when we stop outside of a blue cottage with a yellow door so Mom can tie her shoes, I decide to tell Denver that things need to end.
Denver:That wasn’t a question that typically requires somebody to think about it for ten minutes.
Denver:Guess I’ll bring both kinds to your office this afternoon.
Tell him it ends here. Clean break. No pain.I’ve never been one for building walls, for setting boundaries, for knowing how to keep my heart safe. But I need to try.
Blair:I’m not going to the officetoday
My fingers and brain don’t work in coordination, apparently. I stare at the bubble indicating that he’s typing, watching it appear and disappear on repeat. Unable to catch a full breath, my lungs ache with anticipation.
Denver:I’ll deliver it to your front door, then.
Blair:Denver, that’s not a good idea.
