She cups my cheek for just a second, the way she used to when I was a kid. “They should. You’re special, Ella. And no one should ever make you feel like you aren’t.”
For a moment, my throat feels too tight to speak.
So, I change the subject.
“Speaking of special,” I say, reaching for another plate. “It looks like Scarlett finally became a mom.
Her face brightens instantly. “Oh, yes. About a year ago, I think.”
“Really?”
“She adopted,” my mom says. “After everything she went through trying to get pregnant… I’ve never seen her this happy. And Aurora is a lucky little girl to have her.”
I smile. “Yeah. It’s amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Scarlett this settled.”
Somewhere behind us, Ashton is loudly arguing about whether a hot dog counts as a sandwich.
The party keeps going.
The drive home is quiet at first.
Then Ashton breaks. “I mean… seriously? Again?” she says, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “First, the dinner. Then, your family thing. At some point, it stops being bad timing and starts being a pattern.”
I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy watching the lights blur past the window.
“I get that he’s going through something,” she continues, softer now, but still frustrated. “I really do. But you can’t keep being the only one who bends.”
“I know,” I say. And I do.
She sighs. “You deserve someone who shows up, Ella. Not just when it’s easy.”
I turn to look at her. “I don’t think he’s doing this because he doesn’t care.”
She glances at me. “Then why is he doing it?”
I think about that for a second. About the way he looks sometimes, like he’s carrying something too heavy for one person. About the way he apologizes like he means it. About the way he keeps reaching and then pulling back.
“I think he’s stuck,” I say finally. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with me.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” she says gently.
“I know. I’m not saying it does.” I swallow. “I’m just saying… until he figures out whatever it is he’s carrying, I don’t think he could really be with anyone. Not the way a person should be.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “That doesn’t mean it hurts less,” she says.
“No,” I admit. “It really doesn’t.”
When we get back to the building, she hugs me and tells me to text her if I need anything. I promise I will.
In the elevator, I stare at the buttons longer than necessary. Then I press six. I’m not angry. But I’m tired of guessing.
His door is slightly ajar when I reach it.
I knock twice. “Nathan?”
No answer.
Louder now. “Nathan, are you in there?”
