“You did great, sweetheart,” I rasp. “So fucking young and sexy.”
I hold her up as she sags against the wall. Her forehead presses to my chest, and she’s laughing, gasping, half-crying. I want to remember this forever.
But the house isn’t silent—never has been. Somewhere, a voice calls out, the sound of footsteps growing louder, and reality crashes back. I pull my hand away, smooth her dress, and step back as if nothing happened. Mary Kate blinks, dazed, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
We stand there, hearts beating so loud I think the whole party must hear it, and then she smiles, a secret so sweet between us, and slips away down the hallway, hair streaming behind her like a flag.
It’s been years now, but I replay that moment every night.
Mary Kate is still talking,her voice sweet and low, but my mind is lit up like an x-ray. I stare at the pale line of her throat, the way her lips move as she sounds out the syllables, and my hand tightens around the spine of the book I picked up without thinking.
She has no idea,I think.Or maybe she does. Maybe she always has.
“—you listening?” she says, and I realize she’s staring at me, one eyebrow arched in challenge.
I cough, try to hide the flush crawling up my neck. “Sorry. Long day.”
She smirks, the left side of her mouth curling up. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
I force a laugh. “Just thinking about some of the times we’ve shared in the past.”
She bites her lip.
“Which times, exactly?”
I think about lying, but the moment is too intense, and I decide to go for it.
“That Christmas. And Thanksgiving,” I rasp.
Mary Kate’s eyes go wide, the blue almost drowning me. She bites her lip. “You remember?”
I nod, slow and deliberate. “I remember everything.”
She looks away, a blush blooming high on her cheekbones. For a second, she seems so small, so fragile, that I want to pull her into my lap and hold her, just to feel her heartbeat against mine. But I don’t. I stay where I am, rigid, every muscle wound tight.
She clears her throat, voice barely above a whisper. “I remember too.”
The silence between us is electric, the library heavy with old dust and the scent of impending rain. I watch as Mary Kate traces another line on the map, her hand trembling ever so slightly.
In that moment, I know: I’m never going to let her go.
The first thingshe does is set the guidebook aside, closing it with a thumb pressed between the pages, as if to hold her place in that other, safer world. She folds her hands together, the knuckles blanching white, and looks at me with an intensity that reminds me how little separates her from the teenaged girl I first met years ago. Then, she says:
“Mom left already.”
It lands with a soft thud, like a pebble dropped into the thickest part of memory. I keep my face still—an old surgeon’s trick, the art of looking unflappable even as the world unspools around you. “I know,” I say. “Jeannine told me she’d be taking the job as soon as the contract came through.”
Mary Kate’s mouth makes a perfect “O,” then collapses into a half-smile. “I thought she’d at least give it some time. I didn’t think she’d be on a plane so fast.”
I shrug, keeping it professional. “She said you two talked already?”
The beautiful blonde nods, gaze drifting to the shelves behind my head. “Yeah. Jeannine sounded… excited? I don’t know. She said you were only slightly ill, and that I should just keep you company.” The words are laced with uncertainty, as if she can’t believe this is happening either.
I walk to the window, hands clasped behind my back, and let the silence grow. It’s not awkward; if anything, it feels appropriate. The city outside is blue and smudged, the sky just beginning to surrender to night.
Behind me, Mary Kate clears her throat. “Are you really okay, Kent? Jeannine asked me to move back because of your, ah, medical problem. So it can’t be nothing.”
I turn, slow and deliberate, and this time I let myself look at her fully. She’s bracing for bad news—maybe cancer, maybe worse. But I don’t want to play that game. I sit on the edge of the window seat, just across from her, so close I can see the faint sheen of lip gloss on her mouth.
