Another sniffle, and then three little words: “My heart hurts.”
So does mine.
But I sigh heavily. “I know.” I reach out without thinking to stroke the top of her head, but I freeze when my fingers are inches away. I debate for only a second before giving in and closing the distance. Sometimes it’s best to follow your instincts, especially in situations that are as emotionally sensitive as this.
So I stroke her hair lightly, feeling the softness, the warmth. “Let yourself grieve,” I say. “It might take some time.”
She nods. Then she speaks again. “Aiden.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you keep food in the fourth drawer for me?”
A hint of a smile touches my lips. “If I say no?”
“I won’t believe you.”
“Why ask if you’re not going to believe what I say?”
“Such a pain in the butt,” she murmurs sleepily, pressing her head further into my palm like a kitten begging for affection. My smile blossoms, but I just continue stroking her hair, silky against my fingertips.
We stay like that until shefalls asleep.
The next morningI slip out of bed before Juniper wakes. It’s not hard to do, since I’ve spent the entire night hugging the edge of the bed for fear of crossing boundaries. I grab some clothes and dress in the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible. Then I head out to the kitchen, my laptop in hand, and shoot off an email proposal to the principal, explaining the hunger banquet idea I’ve been working on. There’s no point in doing more work on it without her go-ahead. Hopefully I’ve compiled enough compelling research and planning to catch her attention.
When I leave the house twenty minutes later, Juniper is still asleep in my bed.
It’s weird, that knowledge. I haven’t had a woman in my bed in years. And even though her presence there wasn’t sexual, it still feels intimate, somehow; my bed is a space where no one else goes.
But she’s there. Her tears and probably snot are on my pillow, which probably smells like citrus.
I’m going to wash it, though. I’m definitely going to wash it.
Eventually.
At some point.
I huff at my absurd thoughts; this is getting ridiculous. As much as I hate the idea, I need to talk to Caroline. Goodness knows I can’t make sense of everything going on in my heart and my mind.
I call her just as I’m pulling out of the neighborhood.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she says back. “You never call me this early.”
“Yeah. I need—well.” I flex my hands on the steering wheel. “I need your help,” I say, my voice grudging.
“Okay,” she says. “What’s up?”
I clear my throat once. Twice. “I—well—it’s complicated.”
“I’m not surprised,” she says without pity. “You makeeverything more complicated than it needs to be. But I’m not dumb. Break it down. I’m sure I can keep up.”
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. There might be some truth in what she says. “Fine. I feel like a stupid teenager asking you this. But…how do normal people know if they have feelings for someone? I don’t seem to operate like other people,” I add quickly. I’m positive my cheeks are a vivid red right now. “You were right. I don’t really become attracted to someone physically unless I’m attracted to them mentally.”
There’s silence on the other end, and I can picture exactly the struggle Caroline is having. Her first instinct will be to tease me or make fun of me—she’s my big sister, after all—but I hope she’ll also be able to hear in my voice that this is something I don’t want to be teased about. I just want answers.
Finally she speaks. “Is this about Juniper?” I’m relieved to hear that there’s nothing but curiosity in her tone.
