Hers or mine? I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.
CHAPTER 42
YOU HAVE A FACE.
DARCY
“So this is the real deal, huh?” Leo hands me another plate and I load it into the dishwasher.
“Definitely,” I answer, not needing to ask what he means. He means Beth, being in love with her, knowing this is forever.
“And how does it feel?”
I shut the dishwasher and straighten, the smile on my face so wide it hurts. “You know exactly how it feels, brother.”
Leo chuckles, nodding. “And you’re doing okay? Otherwise, I mean?”
It’s the elephant in the room. The thing he knows I’ve been withholding, waiting for the right time to open up about.
“I am now, yeah. Therapy is helping, and so is the medication.” His expression doesn’t falter. He simply listens, willing to hear whatever I’m ready to share. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I started having panic attacks. I didn’t know what was happening, why it was happening. It felt like I needed to have a better grip on things before I could… I don’t know. I needed to process. But I am sorry I shut you out of that part of my life. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
My best friend reaches for me, brawny arms wrapping around me in a tight hug.
“I’m proud of you, Darce. So fucking proud of you.” He steps back, clocking the confusion on my face. “You’re telling me now, and something tells me you’ve already shared this with Billie. You’re doing the work; you’re taking care of yourself. And you’re happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
I blink back my tears, because I know he’ll join me if I start. And then we’ll relentlessly make fun of each other until the end of time. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Peter.”
“I love you too, Leo.”
The weight of hiding something from my best friend is lifted. One more piece of my puzzle clicks into place, and it feels really fucking good.
Mom corners me in the kitchen while I’m making coffee.
At first, she doesn’t say anything, just stands next to me and watches me measure the grounds with the careful attention of a woman who has something to say and is choosing her moment. Dana Darcy is many things, but subtle has never been one of them, so her restraint is almost alarming.
“Just say it, Mom.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have a face.”
“I always have a face. It came with the rest of me.” She picks up a dish towel and folds it, then unfolds it, then folds it again. “She’s wonderful, Peter.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. She’s hardworking, obviously adores Leo and Neve. And the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching?—”
“Mom.”
“Don’tMomme. I’ve earned this.” She sets the dish towel down and turns to face me. “I watched you disappear. For years, I watched my son become someone I didn’t recognize—someone who worked until he couldn’t breathe and smiled through all of it because that’s what Darcys do. And now I’m standing in this kitchen, in this beautiful house in Nova Scotia, and my son is back. The real one. The one who laughs loudly and cares too much and falls in love like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
My throat tightens. “Mom?—”
“Don’t let this go.” She says it simply, without drama, as if he’s telling me to grab a jacket on a cold day. Essential information, delivered without fuss. “Whatever you have to figure out in Toronto with work and all of that—figure it out. But don’t let her go.”
“I’m not planning on it.”
