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Brahms: We have people we trust. Ellie can get anyone from the city within an hour.
Sephie: No. But thank you for the offer.
Brahms: Done, they’ll prepare us food. Dinner will be served at seven-thirty.
Sephie: I’m busy.
Brahms: Take the night off.
Sephie: That’s exactly what I’m doing, see you tomorrow morning.
Brahms: Don’t be so fucking stubborn.
Sephie:Stop pushing me. I can’t be there tonight.
Brahms:I’ll still have him make you dinner, like old times. See you tomorrow.
I want to yell: “Like old times before you killed my siblings, or after when you pretended to be a victim of the plane crash and not the cause?” But there are too many people around that don’t need to hear my rant.Still, anger courses through me at his attempts to romanticize our past. He misses how things used to be, but that was all fabricated.
All that was a lie.
Everything.
Did I like how things were between us back then?
Obviously. He was my fucking best friend. I thought I knew everything about him and there weren’t secrets between us. Until I learned everything he had kept from me. Not only do I hate him, but I hate myself more. And yet, some nights I crave those days when he took care of me. Remember them fondly . . .
* * *
(Then)
Exhaustion weighed on me as I pulled into the driveway after a long day of classes and clinic work. I planned on heading to the kitchen, preparing sandwiches for Brahms and me, and then watching a show. My parents were in Switzerland—Mom insisted on getting a second opinion. Dad’s prognosis couldn’t be: he’ll never walk again.
According to her, there had to be a treatment that’d cure him. Even though I knew realistically he wouldn’t walk again, I supported this journey. His recovery was the only thing that kept Mom going.
I only prayed that this trip would give them a new life. I missed my parents almost as much as I missed my siblings. They were a couple of ghosts going through the motions without being present.
With the last fumes of energy I had, I dragged myself inside, ready to crash. As I bent to remove my shoes, a familiar voice stopped me.
“If I were you, I’d keep those on.”
I glanced up to find Brahms grinning ear to ear, his brown hair endearingly ruffled. My heart caught at how handsome he looked. Over these months together, I’d fallen seriously in love with him despite myself.
“But I’m tired,” I mumbled, almost fainting. “I just need my pajamas and food.”
He tilted his head. “Come on, I have a surprise for you.” He held out a hand. He was steady on his feet, supporting himself with just a cane.
I couldn’t help but watch him as he walked beside me. His steps were steadier than before. I noticed his back was straighter, his posture smoother and more confident. After months of therapy, his hard work was truly paying off.
Though slowly, he led me through the house and out to the patio. I gasped when I saw the space transformed. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees surrounding the patio table, which was elegantly set for two. Candles flickered, casting a warm glow over the scene. And Brahms stood waiting with a shy smile, looking unfairly handsome.
“Welcome home,” he said, pulling out my chair. “Thought you deserved a nice dinner after everything you do.”
My stomach rumbled as I sunk into my seat. “You didn’t have to do all this but thank you. You’re very thoughtful.”
After sitting down, Brahms uncovered our plates with steaks nested on crisp greens, flaky roasted potatoes on the side.
As I cut into the steak, the first tender, savory bite almost made me moan. After the endless stressful day, this was exactly what I needed. We ate leisurely, savoring the delicious food Brahms prepared with the help of his father’s personal chef.
