Nate was surrounded by love and people who only wanted him to have the same. Yet here I was, in their home, feeding into the narrative that he had something he didn’t.
“I feel bad for lying to them.”
Nate inhales sharply, the lightheartedness to his tone now gone. “Me too.”
My eyes prick at the thought of having such a close family—one who loves you so deeply they would jump through hoops to make it known. It’s simple and obvious in the way they interact with each other.
Nate has that, and for a moment there, I felt like I had it too.
“My parents passed away when I was eighteen,” I confess.
The room falls silent, along with the restless crickets outside. Nate rolls over to face me, but I can’t bring myself to do the same. Not when I’ve only told most bits and pieces of this story, and for some reason, have the sudden urge to say it all to him.
It all comes back to me like a tidal wave.
The mysterious headlines, the lack of information, the blurry images. The tears come without warning, like they always do, and I barely recognize my own voice when I whisper, “They died in a plane crash.”
Nate’s hand lands on my shoulder, firm and reassuring. It’s meant to serve as comfort, but it feels like so much more. At this moment, he’s my anchor, keeping me grounded and stopping me from slipping too far into the hurt.
“It was the summer before I went off to university. They were nearing their twentieth wedding anniversary and planning a big getaway to Hawaii. They told me I could come with them, but I refused the offer.”
I press my lips together like it’s going to stop me from completely breaking down—completely falling apart. ButI’m starting to think I’ve been broken all along, the pieces of myself patched barely enough to look whole despite the gaps and cracks.
“They did so much for me, and I just wanted them to enjoy themselves without the added weight of their only daughter.”
The words are there, but unspoken. I was meant to be that on that plane.
For years, I’d run through every possible outcome—how would I have wanted to spend those last moments with them? How would my life look like if I hadn’t encouraged them to go? Would I be the same person I am today if it weren’t for this earth-shattering experience? I guess I’ll never know.
Nate’s hand moves from my shoulder to my hair, raking his fingers through the strands. My eyes flutter shut as I sink into his touch. I know I shouldn’t. I know I should keep my distance, but this feels right.Hefeels right.
“We talked every day while they were in Hawaii. They would send me pictures and videos, wishing I were there with them. It seemed like the trip of a lifetime—they looked like they were having so much fun.”
The tears fall fast and heavy, soaking the pillow beneath me. Gradually, they dampen the surrounding strands of hair until they cling stubbornly to the back of my neck.
“When they got on their flight back, I was so excited to see them again. They were only away for two weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. I called to check in on them when their plane was supposed to land, but it went straight to voicemail. Same thing three hours later. I refreshed the airport page continuously to see if they’d updated the landing schedule, and nothing.”
I sniffle hard, my nose so stuffed I can barely breathe.
“I thought there was a mistake—that maybe the plane took a detour due to weather reasons, but that was impossible. It was a perfectly sunny day. Clear skies. No wind. I felt it inmy bones—something was wrong. And as day turned to night, I opened up the news to find…to find that no one on that plane made it out. They crashed. But no further investigations were done. Everything was swept under the rug.”
I stare up at the ceiling in silence, wishing there was some texture to distract my mind. It’s smooth and white, with absolutely no distinct point I could fixate on.
The hand stroking my hair stills, and for the first time since this conversation started, I turn to meet Nate’s eyes. They’re filled with sadness and sorrow, but he doesn’t say anything.
There’s no “flying is safer than driving” spiel. That my parents were outliers in usually great statistics. And that brings me peace. It’s one of the reasons I don’t tell the whole story to anyone. I didn’t want to hear those things.
“That’s why you found me in the garden that night of your event. I couldn’t maintain my composure being so close to them.”
Nate doesn’t apologize, and I appreciate that more than he could ever imagine. Besides, there’s no need for words when the downturn of his lips says it all.
His thumb sweeps along the curve of my cheek, wiping an incoming tear. The gesture pinches at my heartstrings, and I settle onto my side, looking right at the man I once thought I hated.
Now, that couldn’t be further from the truth. AndI’m not sure what takes over me as I lean in to capture his lips.
A jolt of electricity sears through me when Nate’s hand grasps my cheek. There’s strength in his hold, but also care—and the kiss, though desperate, carries a tenderness I never imagined possible.
Out of desperation—an animalistic need to be closer to him—I roll over to straddle his lap.
