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“You’ll enjoy yourself,” I add, the quiet mumblings sounding as fake to me in my head as it does out loud.
I’m not going to enjoy myself. Not even a little bit.
“You ready?” Orson asks, coming to where I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs. I avoid looking at him, and nod slowly.
Don’t cry, Nora.
Come on, don’t cry.
Please, don’t cry.
There’s no need to cry.
Fuck it, I’m crying.
Orson immediately drops my jacket and tugs me into his arms. His large frame wraps around me, providing me with so much warmth and safety.
How am I meant to survive this hellish weekend without him?
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. He reaches down, likely to kiss my head, but can’t reach and grunts under his breath. “It’s okay.”
That’s all he can do. Repeat reassurances and let me take the comfort I need from him. My arms barely go around his waist, but I don’t care. Being here with him is everything.
“You’re okay,” he soothes.
“You shouldn’t say that,” Griffin says, drawing both of our attentions. I pull away from Orson, and look at Griffin with tears still in my eyes, the wet marks still evident on my cheeks.
He sighs, his baby blue eyes raking over me, and he shakes his head as he steps towards us.
“I shouldn’t say what?” Orson asks.
“You shouldn’t say that she’s okay when it’s obvious that she’s not. It invalidates her feelings.”
“Umm, what?” Orson asks, sounding as confused as I am.
“Well, you shouldn’t say that she’s okay,” Griffin repeats. “She’s not okay. If she’s crying because she’s upset, then she’s upset. You don’t need to dismiss her feelings.”
“He’s not doing that,” I say, but when I think about it, he is.
Not maliciously. That word isn’t even in Orson’s vocabulary when it comes to me.
But Griffin’s got a point. Maybe.
“Not purposefully,” Griffin says. “But it is still something we should be mindful of.” Orson and I look at each other and nod slowly, and Fin smirks
“Well, whatever, clearly you don’t appreciate my tips. At least it stopped you crying.”
“It did,” I say, shaking my head. “I really tried not to cry.”
“Atticus has a fathead,” Orson says, and Fin and I kind of just stand there, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
That’s all he says.
“Okay, just because he has a fathead doesn’t change the fact that we’re going away for the weekend without each other,” I mutter, grabbing the jacket from the floor. Orson helps me into it, and when it’s zipped up, I sigh. “It’s awful, really.”
“It’ll be okay. It really will be okay,” Orson promises. “This one trip, and then it will be back to normal.”
“Until we need to go away again for one of Atticus’s business trips,” I say. “Or we go on holiday or for a weekend away.”
