And every whisper sounds like her name.
Cove.
She’s in the walls now. In my skin. In the goddamn gaps between each heartbeat. I can feel the shape of her absence like a bruise forming under the surface.
I haven’t showered. Haven’t eaten. Barely slept. My mom’s stopped asking questions out loud, but every time we video chat, I can see her watching me with that worried-mom look that I used to find endearing. Now it just makes me feel like I’m being dissected.
Tanner stops ignoring the issue on day three. I’m lying in bed under my blanket staring at my phone, willing her to answer my text. I've been doing this thing where I almost text her. Like muscle memory. Like maybe if I just type something, she’llrespond and everything will rewind back to before. Before her name became a weapon. Before her bloodline made me sick with guilt.
“Bro, you alive?” He pokes my back through the blanket.
“No.” I answer, pulling the blanket from over my head and looking at him.
He sinks into the armchair across from me and studies me like I’m a museum exhibit.
“You get dumped or find out she was married or something?” he jokes. “Because you look like someone canceled Easter and pissed on your dog.”
I almost laugh. Almost. But my throat clamps shut around the sound. Instead, I rub my palms over my face and stare at the ceiling.
“I can’t talk about it,” I say eventually.
Tanner frowns. “Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
He’s quiet, which is rare. Tanner always has something to say. But I guess there’s something in my voice that tells him this time is different.
He stays for a few more minutes, awkwardly flipping through his phone, pretending he’s not checking on me. Then he stands, pats my shoulder, and says, “I don’t know what happened, man. But if it’s about her? She had you looking like you got to have your favorite dessert every night. Don’t lose that.”
I close my eyes. That’s the problem.
Shewasmine.
Later that night, someone knocks on my door and I sigh but get up to answer it.
My mom’s voice comes through the door. “Sweetheart? Can we talk?”
I don’t answer right away. My hand hovers over the door knob.
“Everest, I know you’re in there!” My mom knocks harder and I open the door just a crack.
“I’m not in the mood to chat, Mom.”
She nudges the door open and forces her way past me inside. She’s got that look. The one that says she’s been practicing what to say all afternoon.
“Everest, this is crazy. You can’t keep moping around over this.”
“You don’t understand. I thought she was the one. This wasn’t some college phase or first crush. It was real, deep. She was mine,” I argue.
“You’re young,” she says gently. “You’ll move on.”
I laugh bitterly. It tastes like metal on my tongue.
“I don’t want someone else,” I snap. “I wanther.”
Her expression softens with something that might be pity. It only makes me angrier.
“She’s not a phase, Mom. Not some crush I’ll outgrow. She’s—she’s it. She’severything.”
