Mom always makes dinner on Christmas Eve. Wendy and the boys will be coming over tomorrow. Anxiety twists my gut at the thought of seeing my sons.
Noah's wariness, Liam's irritation.
Inhale, hold, exhale.
When we're done, we stand in silence for a bit, the momentstretching until it becomes uncomfortable.
Fuck, I've known Wendy since we were kids, and it's never felt uncomfortable between us. We've always been able to just exist together, completely at ease.
I also know I'm delaying the inevitable.
"If..." I start, my voice cracking slightly. She looks at me, her eyes softening and giving me the courage to speak.
"Could we talk?"
Her eyebrows raise, "Oh."
"Do you have to go get the boys? Because we can talk later."
She laughs, "No, Noah's with Taylor, and Liam's at his friend Birdie's house—"
"Birdie?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in amusement.A girl?
"Yeah, she's his best friend,” Wendy smiles. “A real sweetheart."
"Are they..." I trail off with a grin.
"He's fourteen," she shrugs, glancing down with a fond smile on her face. "We were twelve."
The words warm me, and I smile. Our young love survived time, because even if we're not together, it still survives.
I love Wendy, always have, always will.
We walk into the living room, and Wendy sits at her normal spot on the couch. I pause, motioning to ask if I could sit next to her.
Only after a moment's hesitation, she nods, and I ease myself down. I catch her scent in my nose, and the warm vanilla wraps around me like a blanket.
God, I've missed that. I've missed her.
"How are you feeling?" She asks me, catching me by surprise. Her expression is open, curious, and so kind.
"I'm... I'm doing better," I say honestly. "The rehab really helped me. I feel more in control now..."
"You look better," she observes with a true smile.
I blink. "I do?"
"You seem less tense."
"Youlook..." A million adjectives battle their way out of mymouth, and I land on, "Beautiful."
She blushes, and after all these years, I feel proud and so fucking happy that I can still make her blush. "Thank you, Atlas."
"Not just your appearance," I say, clarifying. "You're always beautiful, but... you seem different—in a good way."
"I feel different. I feel... new," she admits, huffing a laugh. "I feel more confident in myself."
I smile, genuinely happy even though I ache to just reach out and pull her in my arms.
