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When I finally open my eyes, Finn is looking at our joined hands. He squeezes one more time before focusing on driving, and for that, I’m thankful. I really can’t die today. I’m just now figuring my shit out. And I am really, very happy.
“You’re not a burden, Ellie.” His hand tightens on the steering wheel as we round another curve. “You’re wanted. And you don’t have to be perfect for that to stay true.”
I will not cry in this fucking Jeep. I cannot cry in the same Jeep I came in just days ago.
“I could see how much your mom loved you in that photo, and from what you told me, I think your aunt feels the same way. You needed her once. It’s not like you’re never allowed to need anyone again.” Finn squeezes my hand again, and it starts to feel like a pulse–one that reminds me I’m still alive and breathing–still living this adventure with him. “When Storm died, my family was a fucking mess. I needed my mom and my sister more than I ever had before. It was embarrassing since I was a teenager, and obviously thought I had all my shit together. We’re closer for it. You can let yourself lean on people. It’s hard, but just know that you can.”
For the first time since we started talking on this ride, I squeezed his hand back. “Thanks,” I say.
“For telling you the truth?”
My smile widens, my chest swelling with the past few weeks. I can’t believe he’s real. “For being terrible at swing dancing,” I say.
When Finn laughs, I drink in the sound. “Oh, my darling, Ellie,” he starts. “I was the star of the class.”
My stomach decides to do weird flips and turns as we walk through the door of Finn’s parents’ house. It’s basically an acrobat, and I’m one Cirque Du Soleil move away from throwing up on the concrete.
Finn calls out when we walk through the door and onto the landing, taking off our shoes before climbing the small set of stairs to the upper level. When we enter the living room, my eyes track to the tall woman on the couch. Her black hair glances just off her shoulders, and she wears a nose ring.
“Hey, Shitface.” She hurls a pillow at Finn, and he quickly deflects it.
When he picks it up off the floor, he returns the favor. “I haven’t seen you in three months, and this is how you greet me?” he says, but they’re both smiling widely.
“Skylar,” a woman’s voice cuts through the air from what I assume to be the kitchen. When she strolls out, I instantly know who she is. Finn’s mom wipes her hands with a rag and tosses it at the girl on the couch. “Show some respect. We have a guest in the house.”
When she turns to me, I hear Skylar’s soft laugh just beneath the sound of music floating in the air.
“Ellis,” Finn’s mom says, drawing me into a warm hug. “I’m so happy to finally meet the woman who inspired my son to cometo the house for an extra visit in search of flannels and cowboy hats.”
She lets go, her hands still gently grasping my shoulders.
“It was very fun. Thanks for letting us borrow the shirts.”
Skylar chokes on air as another girl, shorter with auburn hair braided down her back, walks into the room. “Wait,” Skylar says, nearly laughing. “You made your girlfriend weardad’sshirt?”
“Oh, Griffin.” the new girl says before throwing herself on the couch and draping her legs over Skylars.
When I turn back to Finn, his cheeks are pink. He gestures to the couch. “Skylar and her partner, Brooke,” he says.
Finn’s dad walks in, quickly introducing himself and wrapping his wife in his arms. He twirls her around the living room as everyone else chuckles–including me.
There’s so much warmth cluttered in every corner of the house, like the eccentric items stuffed wherever anyone could reach.
I love it.
“So,” Finn’s dad begins from his dance near the fireplace. “What is it you do, Ellis?”
I clasp my hands in front of me, trying to settle my nerves. “I work in marketing.”
“She also draws,” Finn quickly adds. “Her sketches are fantastic.” He smiles at me, and I commit it to memory, just like all the others.
His parents stop dancing. “Oh my God!” his mom says. “You have to see the sunroom.” She’s grabbing my hand, dragging me down the hall to the back of the house. “I wasjustworking on this painting, and I have plenty of art supplies.” Finn shrugs when I look back at him, the light in his eyes letting me know he is not going to save me. “We can chat and get to know one another.”
Finn calls from behind us. “Mom, that might be too intense.”
I smile when she stops, looking into my eyes with so much hope it’s like staring into the sun. “I think I’d like that,” I say.
Finn followed us into the sunroom, but quickly left when we both found our seats and got to work. It felt good to sketch, and it felt good to talk to Finn’s mom.
