Natalia tilts her head as she regards me. “You look…”
I sit back, cross my legs and arms, and feel my eyelids grow heavy. “Exhausted?”
“Sad. Lonely. Heartbroken.”
I exhale. “I’m notsad…maybe frustrated.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Isa asks.
I shrug. “Not much to talk about. You both already know.”
“Just because we might know what’s wrong doesn’t mean anything,” Natalia says. “You’re our friend and we’ll listen to you cry about the same thing a thousand times if we have to. We love you to death. But we don’t want to see this kill you inside.”
“Because it was killing you for years, Lana,” Isa adds quietly. “And we don’t want it to keep doing that.”
I sigh.
Was it killing me inside? Yes. It felt like a knife to the chest, stabbing over and over again. I don’t entirely blame Christian for putting the knife there. I blame his abusive father,hismother, his addictions. None of it was really him—he wasn’t himself anymore.
But now, he’s the one taking out the knife and stitching my heart closed.
“It isn’t…killing me,” I whisper. “I just still feel like maybe…there might be something missing?”
“Like what?”
I shrug. It’s been a week since his birthday and we made progress, I know we did. Or maybeIdid. He isn’t buying me things—he’sdoingthings.
He has offered to run my errands. He made me a garden to which he now tends to everyday. He bought me shoes but hisintentionswere important to me. And he wassleeping in his car. In my driveway,fortwo weekswith zero complaints. It probablywasn’t fair to make him sleep in that two seater, but I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let him off easy.
But now what?
He’s living in the guest room, gives me space he thinks I need, but still hasn’t told me anything. I don't know why, how, or where. I only know he’s here, and he’s better.
If he wasn’t, I’d smell it on him. I’d see it on him. His eyes don’t have those heavy bags anymore, his shoulders aren’t slumped with the weight of his sadness, and his smile isn’t pained.
I know Christian.Thisis Christian.
“There’s something he isn’t saying,” I whisper.
“About after he left?” Natalia asks.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Or New York, I don’t know…”
“Ask him,” Isabelle says. “He’ll tell you.”
“I have, Isa.”
“Then he isn’t ready,” Natalie ponders. “Knowing him, he’ll talk when he’s ready.”
I nod because she’s right. That’s exactly how he is. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, Lana,” Isabelle says softly. “Now go home and let us know what it was he brought home.”
I roll my eyes. “Groceries.”
“Didn’t look like it.” Natalia stands with a shrug.
Isa waves her hands at me. “Now off you go, boss lady.”
