Este has therapy this morning, and she went upstairs early to catch up with her sister. Which gives me plenty of time to sit and stew in my own fucked-up feelings.
It’s been a whole week since Este and I kissed, since we wiped away the tattered lines I was helplessly clinging to. And it has been… life changing. Before we even made it to the lookout, when Este woke me up and held me as I came down from my nightmare, I knew I was gone for her, and it’s only built over the past seven days. It feels like she’s rearranging me, taking all of the hardest, darkest parts of me and softening them, giving them light. Giving them hope—hope that’s twenty-one-years younger than me, lives in Illinois, and is the daughter of the only friend I’ve somehow managed not to lose.
We stopped pretending last week. This counts. It’s not just sex, and I don’t think it ever was. We’re two broken people, clinging to each other because we’re the only ones who get it. But Este is twenty-six. She’s only six months past the crash, and over my dead body is she going to endup like me. Este has a future. The best I can hope for at this point is a better relationship with Shay and to manage more frequent trips into town to visit her.
I apologize to Earl as I dare to stand up, forcing him to move his tail an inch, and head for the sink, dumping my tea down the drain. Before Este got here, I had a bad habit of never opening the curtains around the cabin. Granted, I spend a lot of time outside, and when I’m inside, I’m usually hiding. But it does seem like a waste, now that I think about it, to shut away this view. I peer out at the forest as I wash my cup. The ground is still covered in snow, but it’s slushier than it was a few days ago. There are a few patches where the sun has hit enough that green is peeking through, and it hasn’t snowed in days. The mountain is thawing as much as I am.
The road is always the last to clear, since the trees shade it from the sun, but, if past years are anything to go by, we have two weeks at most until it’s passable. Not with Este’s car, that’s for sure, but my Jeep could handle it. I could realistically put off calling it safe for an extra week, but time is ticking.
I thought I knew what loneliness was before, but I already know it’s going to be worse when she leaves. It’s been so long since I’ve let someone in that I forgot what it was like to enjoy being around another person. I don’t want to go back to how things were before she got here.
Este never feels great after her therapy appointment. Getting her to rest is a struggle, but getting her to eat is always worse. In the past few weeks, though, I’ve learned a lot about her. Like how she likes to start her morning withtea, but if she doesn’t have one coffee by midday, she gets a little grumpy—I think she’s cute when she’s grumpy, personally, but she always feels guilty after, so I make sure she’s caffeinated. And how she needs a half hour of quiet after washing and blow-drying her hair, because she finds the sound and heat of the dryer overwhelming. And how she would rather dress in next to nothing and curl up under a blanket in front of the fire, rather than dress for the season.
For right now, the most helpful thing I’ve learned is her inability to resist Italian food.
I stockpile a lot through the summer months, and I have everything I need to make Este’s favorite tomato and eggplant pasta sauce. I have the rigatoni boiling, and I’m just getting started on the sauce when my phone screen lights up with a message. From Bryan.
Bryan
How’s E doing? We haven’t called in a couple of days, but I know she has therapy today and I don’t want her to think I’m hovering.
I’m no stranger to invested parents—parents who care. Before Georgie died, the three of us were close with our parents. We didn’t tell them everything, especially not when it came to our personal lives. They never knew who we were dating, or even that Shay and I were bi. They only found out last year when Shay and Noelle got together, and we finally admitted that the “friends” they met when we were in college were actually our partners. Georgie refused to tell them she and Shay were moving to Paris for a yearuntil the month before, because she knew they wouldn’t like them being so far away. They didn’t. But Mom and Dad checked in all the time after we moved out, and we knew they were there if we needed anything.
Since Georgie died, it hasn’t been the same. Shay and I take turns calling once a week, but we never talk about anything serious. She thinks they struggle to have a relationship with her because she looks so much like Georgie. I think they struggle with me because they blame me for her death. Either way, they’re not texting to check in these days.
I know things aren’t perfect with Este and her dads. They’re clearly in denial about how much the accident has affected her if they’ve been pushing her to go back to work. But it’s clear how proud they are of her, how much they adore her. They text every day, and call every other day, and Este always seems happy to talk to them. Which I should’ve expected, I guess—how many twenty-six and twenty-three-year-olds would willingly go on vacation with their parents to stay with an old friend they’d never met if they weren’t close? Both Este and Sloane coming with Bryan and Chris had never been a question. As soon as I texted Bryan to invite him, he told me how excited he was for me to meet them.
He’d probably have a different opinion of things now if he knew how Este and I had been spending our time.
I turn down the heat on the stove and pick up my phone, leaning against the counter to reply.
She’s doing great.
She’s doing well.
She seems good.
I sigh. It’s a shitty response, but I don’t want to come on too strong, like I know her too well.
I think she likes the fresh air. She takes the dogs out a lot.
It’s not a lie. It just does nothing to capture how settled Este is here.
That’s good. Is she sleeping much? Eating okay?
She’s been sleeping better, I think.
I know. But I can’t exactly tell him she’s been sleeping soundly almost through the night since we started sharing my bed.
And she’s eating normally. I’m making her pasta for after her appointment.
You’re a lifesaver, Nico. Thanks for taking care of her for us. I knew I could trust you.
Well, fuck. I lock my phone and turn it face-down on the counter, so I don’t sit and stare at the message, letting my guilt consume me. It’s tempting, but Este did ask me to cut back on the self-loathing, and the last thing I want to do is make her feel bad. I don’t thinkshe’sdoing anything wrong here. I’m the one who should know better.
It’s not just her age that’s the problem. It’s who she is.Her age is far from ideal, but if she weren’t Bryan’s daughter, it would be easier to come to terms with the age gap. I’m sure I’d still feel like an asshole for wanting someone so much younger than me, but at least I wouldn’t feel like I was betraying my best friend.
I knew I could trust you. In so many ways, he can. The second I laid eyes on her, I was ready to do whatever it took to keep her safe. And now… I feel even more strongly about that. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
