Ris sucked in a sharp breath at his words, catching them like something he’d flung. She didn’t understand how he could ever think he didn’t matter. Ainsley’s head dropped back, the fight he’d seemed intent on picking for a moment shriveling before it had a chance to fully form. He looked as exhausted as she felt, but thought she understood. Ris closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his broad back, relieved when he slumped against her.
He navigated them to the sofa, sitting in the mostly-empty living room. The sofa wasn’t as good as in his arms, but still — it wasstillbetter than standing out in the hallway, looking at his closed door.
“We’re here for a minute and then we’re gone. None of us matter, I guess.”
His voice was heavy and defeated.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Merely held him, gratified when his long arms snaked around her, squeezing tightly. This year had exacted a terrible price.
“I’m so sorry your friend is gone,” she murmured. “I know he was your family and that his absence hurts. But don’t convince yourself for even a second that you didn’t matter, Ainsley. You mattersomuch. To everyone that knows you. It’s impossiblenotto love you.” His breathing was ragged and Ris pressed herself to him, feeling the solid thump of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. "You’re right, we don’t,” she agreed eventually. “We don’t matter in the cosmic scheme of things. Not really. None of us do. What counts is loving each other when we have the chance. Loving and living while we can. Because if none of us matter in the big picture, doesn’t that mean we all matter equally in the end?”
Ainsley’s head lifted from where it had dropped. Cocked to the side. From her vantage below him, Ris grinned through her tears, almost able to see the wheels of that beautiful brain spinning back into motion. This year had exacted a terrible price, which made every moment of it more special, she thought.
“I love the way your mind works, Nanaya.”
“Good. Now show me where the bedroom is. I’ll have to notify my building. Although, they’ll have it filled before I even start packing. Also, there’s an exhibit that just opened at the place up on the corner that’s going to blow your ever loving mind.”
“I would like to be blown by you first. And then pizza. But I would like to go to the museum tomorrow, please.”
His life was such a small vial of sand, she thought, as he scooped her up. Two percent was negligible when he was so perfect for her. The ninety-eight percent was well worth the compromise.He needs to start grief therapy. Otherwise, this is always going to be hanging over him and he’s going to be clingy like an eel . . . but you can talk about that tomorrow.
After all, talking was what they did best.
Silva
They were in Bridgeton, at some swanky restaurant with a long, gold-plated bar running through the center of the dining room. Silva had no doubt Tate would have found the bar itself rather gauche, but one could not claim the theatrical cocktail mixing skills behind it were not drawing a crowd ringing the shiny, gilded horseshoe.
Berricin and Aubreen were a couple from the club, older than her and Tannar. Silva knew Aubreen from some fundraisers she had worked on in years past, and Tannar had played racquetball with Berricin on more than one occasion. Silva wasn't sure how the invitation to meet them for dinner in Bridgeton had come up, but she'd agreed with a bright, Silva of the Daytime smile, no thoughts of dissension in her head.
"Well, I heard he's trying to join regardless. Going to make it go to a vote. I don't know why anyone would go out of their way for that sort of humiliation, but . . ." Berricin trailed off, shrugging, and Tannar and Aubreen laughed.
Silva looked away, refusing to join in. She knew her reaction wasn't on script, but every theater had an off night. She'd already heard the buzz ofthisparticular bit of gossip in the dining room. A longtime resident of Cambric Creek, having grown up there his whole life, moving away to marry, was now planning on returning to Cevanorë with his second wife in tow, a huldra, and now they wanted to join the club together.
“I mean, if he wants to be the laughingstock out on the pitch, go right ahead, but if I were his parents, I’d be stopping the entire farce —”
A small melodic chime, rising in volume and insistence issued forth from the seat beside her, and Berricin cut off with a slight scowl at the interruption, pursing his lips. Silva flushed, fumbling with the futzy jeweled closure of her bag. Across the table, Aubreen offered her a serene smile, waving off the noise as Silva stammered an apology.
"I'm so sorry, I don't even have my ringer on! That's my alarm . . ."
Beside her, Tannar’s thumb flipped open the latch easily, tilting the now open clutch for her. She scooped up the phone hurriedly.Book club w Ris. Silva had glanced down at her phone earlier that day, seeing the calendar reminder on her screen. She'd swiped it away at the time, pushing the thoughts of the things she used to do with her friends away. Her earlier swipe had not cleared the notification. Silva felt the familiar, heavy stone turn over in her stomach before settling back into its comfortable, permanent confines.
She hadn’t been back to book club in months.
Tonight was the evening she should have been there with Ris, should've been discussing whatever latest highbrow literary fiction sensation written by some middle-aged, horn-rimmed glasses-wearing goblin who'd chronicled his alcoholism and infidelity with women half his age. 860 or moreexcruciating pages that she was meant to pretend was somehow groundbreaking and enjoyable, was what would have inevitably been chosen by the werebear in charge.
She had meant to delete this notification already. Every month it surprised her, left her feeling stricken and floundering, and she needed to remove it from her phone altogether. It and all of the photos stored in her cloud that did nothing but lance her heart fresh every time she scrolled to one in the middle of the night, soaking her pillow until she was guaranteed to wake in the morning with a pounding headache. It was a very specific form of self-torture, and she needed to rid herself of the temptation, along with this calendar notification.
"I hope it's nothing serious?" Aubreen offered from across the table. "If you need to —"
"It's nothing," she cut in, swiping away the alarm and setting her phone todo not disturb. "Just a notification I really need to delete. I used to go to a book club once a month with a-a work friend, but I haven't done that in several months. I need to just delete the reminder."
"A book club! That sounds so fun! We should really think of starting something like that at the club."
Beside Aubreen, her husband snorted. "Why do I have a feeling that would be nothing but a wine and gossip hour? You'll spend ten minutes discussing whatever silly bodice ripper the group picked and then the rest of the hour wagging your tongues over who had a better table at the spring fundraiser."
Silva forced lips into an approximation of a stilted smile. Beside her, Tannar chuckled as Aubreen laughed in outrage.
"It's adorable that you're under the impression that your golf outings and squash matches are anything other than gossip hours. You lot are worse than old women! And give us a little bit of credit, we wouldn't be picking any silly romances, right, Silva? This would be a group for serious intellectuals."
