I move to steal a quick glance at her, but I don’t look away when I find her eyes waiting for mine. They snap into her like magnets, two halves of a whole. Me and her, fused together.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It hurts.”
“I know.” I sigh, the burning in my chest intensifying..
“What else?”
“I miss my dad,” I rasp. “I miss my brother. They moved away from this town, and I guess it’s okay now. But for a long time I pretended I was fine with it. It wasn’t okay. It felt like…It just felt like?—”
“You lost everything.”
“I did,” I whisper. “I did lose everything. I hate saying it or thinking it, because I’m grateful for everything I have. I worked hard, but my dad sent me to culinary schools and cosigned on my business loan. I’mgratefulto him and for everything I have.But I’m still processing the grief I’ve had since I was a kid.”
Natalia hums in understanding, her fingertip drawing shapes again.
“But then what?” I breathe. “The grief is gone and so is everything else? If that’s the case I’d rather feel like this forever if it means keeping attachments to her.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” she says quietly. “Grief is… it’s horrible, but I don’t think you need to suffer the feeling of it just to feel attached to her, Rowan—she wouldn’t want that. And grief isn’t the only proof of love.”
“Then what is?” My voice cracks.
“You have things on your menu named after her,” she says. “You have her photo in your kitchen. You have a handwritten note in your car tucked into your visor. Grief doesn’t just disappear, but it turns into something else, I think.”
“Maybe, yeah,” I say. “I cry a lot, you know?”
“You?” she jokes. “No way.”
“Yeah, me.” I chuckle. “Sometimes, if I find a candle that smells like what she used to smell like, I have to buy it. But I never burn it. I have a collection of candles in the cabinet under my TV. I have a collection of her favorite perfume too. In our old bathroom, I found an old bottle of it so I bought a bunch online that day.”
“Is it discontinued?”
“No, I just didn’t want to risk it,” I tell her.
“You see?” she insists. “Grief is just a form of love.”
All the things that were left behind, I keep now as evidence, I suppose. Evidence that she was here once—she existed—her soul had a form that allowed me time with her.
“I think,” she whispers, “if I ever see you cry, it’ll kill me. Is that what it feels like for you?”
“Yes.”
She kisses my chest. “I hate that your mom died.”
“I hate it too,” I say and kiss her head. “But now it’s your turn.”
Natalia lifts her head to face me. “No, this is about you,” she says. “Keep telling me things.”
“Am I making you fall in love with me or something?”
Very, very quietly, she whispers, “Or something.”
And that’s enough for me.
“I was a mama’s boy—you know that.” I laugh. “Everyone knows that. But I kept wishing it had been me and not her.” Her arm wraps tight around me. “I wanted it to be me, Natalia.”
“No, don’t say that,” she breathes.
“My dad was still out of it for a while. He didn’t know what to do with two kids and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t have known what to do either. But… I had to get some help eventually. I wasn’t doing well in school, and I didn’t even quit the soccer team, coach kicked me off it. And I was sotired.”
