I clench my fists. “So instead of talking to me about it, you vanished like none of it mattered. That was your solution?”
“Itdidmatter,” she says, her voice cracking. “That’s why Ihadto leave.”
Silence falls between us, hot and dense. The air feels too heavy in my lungs.
I stand. “Maybe I should go.”
I don’t think she’s going to fight me about it at first. Her eyes are glassy, the wine forgotten on the table. She looks small on the couch, like she’s been slowly shrinking under the weight of everything she won’t say. Then, as I’m about to turn toward the door, she speaks.
“Don’t.”
I stop.
“Don’t go,” she says softly, her eyes locked on mine. “Please.”
I hesitate, every muscle in my body feels pulled tight, but I find myself walking back and sitting beside her. This is the first time she hasn’t told me to leave, or let me, willingly. It seems like she might be trying to make an effort and I appreciate it more than she’ll ever know.
We don’t touch or even speak for a while. The only sound is the low hum of the TV and the ticking of an old clock in the hallway. Finally, she whispers, “I used to think about it.”
I glance over at her. “About what?”
She pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. Her voice comes out more hushed like she’s telling me a secret I shouldn’t know and is scared someone will overhear. “The future. You and me.Here.” She looks around the room like she’s seeing something else entirely. “I used to picture fixing up this yellow house. Us repainting the porch. Putting up that stupid swing I always talked about. Feeding the chickens. Herding goats. Maybe three or four wild little kids running around with too much energy and your hazel eyes.”
My chest aches as she continues.
“I used to imagine all of it so clearly it felt real,” she adds. “And then I would remember that you hated me.”
“I never hated you,” I clarify immediately.
She laughs, bitter and quiet. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I was angry.” I admit. “You hurt me. But that doesn’t mean I ever stopped caring about you.”
She turns to look at me, eyes shining with built up tears that want to fall out but she won’t let them. “I always assumed you would’ve stopped after a while. I wanted to reach out multiple times when I was in New York, but I figured you had moved on or just wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
“That’s not true. And deep down somewhere, you know that I would’ve dropped everything for you. I still would.”
I reach out and run a hand through her hair, gently messaging her scalp the way I used to when she couldn’t sleep. Her eyes flutter closed almost immediately.
She exhales slowly, moving closer as her body melts into mine. “This is dangerous,” she murmurs. “Pretending.”
“I know.”
“But it feels nice, doesn’t it?”
I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. It really does.”
Her breathing evens out after that and I realize she’s already fallen asleep on my chest, hand curled lightly into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear in the night. I debate taking her to the bed but decide not to in fear of waking her up.
So instead, I hold her tighter and continue watching TV until the weight of everything presses down on me and I fall asleep next to her.
I’m not sure how many more nights like this we’ll get before reality hits and something goes wrong, but I’ll take whatever she’ll give me.
20
EMMA
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the lingering ache between my thighs—a slow, pulsing soreness that draws a lazy, satisfied smile to my lips. The kind of ache that loiters, reminding me something good happened, something tangible andreal.
