"He needs his son to be okay more than he needs another person trying to hold everything together." Evan pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with concern and love in equal measure. "You're allowed to grieve, Nate. You're allowed to fall apart sometimes."
"What if I can't put myself back together?"
"Then I'll help you." His hands framed my face, thumbs catching tears I hadn't realized were falling. "However long it takes, whatever it costs. We'll figure it out together."
The promise broke something loose in my chest, and suddenly I was sobbing against his shoulder like a dam had finally burst. All the grief I'd been holding back, all the anger I'd been trying to transform into purpose, all the fear that Iwas fundamentally broken now—it poured out of me in ugly, desperate waves.
Evan held me through it all, one hand stroking through my hair while the other pressed against my back, keeping me grounded to something solid when everything else felt like it was falling apart. He whispered reassurances that didn't need to make sense to be comforting, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of my breakdown.
"I miss her so much," I gasped when I could finally form words again. "I miss her voice and her laugh and the way she'd hum while she cooked. I miss having someone who knew exactly what to say when everything felt impossible."
"I know." Evan's voice was thick with his own unshed tears. "I miss her too. She was... she was like a mother to me too, in ways that mattered."
Mom had loved him like family, had seen something in the quiet, careful boy who'd stolen her son's heart and decided he was worth keeping.
"She would have liked the rebuilding plan," I said, voice muffled against his shoulder.
"She would have had opinions about every single detail," Evan agreed, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "She would have driven you and your dad crazy with paint samples and furniture catalogs."
"And we would have loved every minute of it." The truth of it settled into my bones like recognition. “We would have been so happy to be driven crazy by her again."
"Maybe that's how we honor her," Evan suggested gently. "By rebuilding something beautiful. By choosing to be happy again, even if it looks different than it did before."
I pulled back enough to look at him, taking in the careful hope written in his expression, the way he was watching me like I was something precious that might shatter if handled wrong.
"Is that what you want?" I asked. "For us, I mean. To rebuild instead of just... surviving?"
"I want whatever makes you happy," he said simply. "If that's rebuilding your dad's house and filling it with new memories, then that's what I want too. If it's traveling the world and never looking back, I want that. If it's staying right here and learning to be okay with quiet mornings and coffee in our kitchen, I want that most of all."
Our kitchen. The casual possessive made my heart skip in ways that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with hope.
"Our kitchen?" I repeated, testing the words like they might disappear if spoken too loudly.
"If you want it to be." Evan's cheeks flushed pink, vulnerability making him look younger. "I know we haven't really talked about... what we're doing here. But I want this. You and me, figuring things out together. I don't care if you're angry or falling apart or ready to take on the whole damn world. I just want to be here for it."
The words hit me like sunlight after weeks of storms, warm and real and carrying promises I was almost afraid to believe. Because this was what I'd been terrified of, wasn't it? Letting myself want something this much, letting myself hope for futures that stretched beyond just getting through each day.
"I want this too," I whispered, the words feeling like coming home to something I'd thought was lost forever. "You don't run when things get messy. You just... stay. Even when I'm impossible to deal with."
Evan's smile was brilliant, bright enough to rival morning sunshine. "So we're doing this? Building something together?"
"We're doing this." I leaned into him, letting his warmth chase away the last of the cold that had been living in my chestsince Mom died. "Whatever it looks like, however long it takes. Together."
He kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promises about futures we'd build from the ashes of what we'd lost. His lips were warm and sure against mine, tasting like hope and coffee and the kind of love that was strong enough to survive anything.
When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, breathing warm against my skin. "The coffee's probably ready," he murmured, but made no move to pull away.
"Coffee can wait," I said, hands fisting in the waistband of his sweatpants to keep him close. "I just want to stay here for a while. In our kitchen, drinking terrible coffee and figuring out how to be happy again."
"The coffee's not terrible," Evan protested, but he was laughing, the sound bright and genuine and exactly what I needed to hear.
"It's awful and you know it," I said, grinning back at him. "But I'll drink it anyway because you made it, and because this is what normal people do. They drink bad coffee in their kitchens and argue about paint colors and complain about their jobs."
"Is that what you want? Normal?"
I thought about it seriously, considering the weight of the question and everything it meant. Normal meant vulnerability, meant opening ourselves up to the kind of happiness that could be taken away. But it also meant choosing to believe that some things were worth the risk.
"I want normal," I said finally. "I want boring grocery runs and arguments about whose turn it is to do dishes. I want lazy Sunday mornings and terrible movies and the kind of problems that feel manageable."
