I go backto bed until the warm scent of vanilla and sugar wakes me in the middle of the afternoon. There are a few missed calls from Aurora and a long text message.
Nate called me yesterday, and he seemed sort of shaken about George. I wasn’t sure what to say. I mean, he left you. HELEFT YOU! But I didn’t want to sound heartless, either. I told him he should be relieved you’re moving on. I hope he can move on, too. I want you both to be happy!
Nate could have been honest with me. He didn’t have to leave me with only a note and my own insecurities. I frown at the screen and then I call her.
“Nate can go fuck himself,” I say when Aurora answers. Although, in the back of my mind, I know he did me a favor.
“Hello to you, too.”
“I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do or what I’m supposed to think.”
“What happened?” I hear her worry in the pitch of her voice.
I tell Aurora about the glorious last few days and their cataclysmic conclusion. “George kept this huge thing from me for years. I was going to marry Nate, and he would have drifted further and further away. He wasn’t planning on telling me when we were in Tofino, either. I was the one who pushed things.”
“Well, yeah. George couldn’t own up to his feelings when you were getting over Nate.”
“Iamover Nate.”
“George didn’t know that. He let you take the lead.” She sighs. “It’s pretty romantic when you think about it.”
She’s such a sap. I tell her so.
Aurora ignores me. “We’re always so caught up in our own experiences and interpretations of our partner. But they’re telling themselves a different story. Try to see things from George’s point of view. Think about the rejection George has faced withhis dad. Maybe he couldn’t believe you’d ever see him as anything but a friend.”
I sigh. It’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about since my conversation with Darwin. “But I’ve seen George naked now. There’s no going back.”
She laughs. “Onward, then.”
• • •
Downstairs, my momis taking cookies out of the oven.
“Chocolate-chip,” she says, setting the tray on the stovetop. “Nothing fancy. Those should be ready to eat.” She points to the batch that’s cooling on a wire rack.
Mom professes her love with sugar, butter, and eggs. I sit on the stool across from her at the counter and bite into a cookie. The chocolate is still gooey. The cookie is warm and soft, with just the right amount of salt.
“How are they?” she asks as I’m chewing.
I answer with a full mouth. “Five stars.”
“I doubled the recipe so I can send some home with Darwin for the girls. And I thought I’d make that lemon loaf you like. Want to help?”
I slide off the stool, find a second apron in the drawer, and tie it around my waist.
We work in quiet synchronicity, my mom measuring ingredients, me zesting and juicing a lemon. This is where we are most aligned, working in tandem in the kitchen.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks as I put the pan in the oven.
“No. I think I’d like a break.” I need a George breather.
When we’re done, Mom fills the sink to wash the mixing bowls, and I pick up a tea towel and stand by her side.
“I think this would be a good time to tell me about your whales,” I say as we’re finishing. “I could use a distraction.”
“Is there anything in particular you want to know?” She looks at me with violet eyes, just like my own.
“I want to know why you love them.”
