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“My partners and my relationship is no one’s business but our own, but in the interest of fostering trust, and since each of you will be reporting to me directly, I wanted to let you know the truth. The truth is that Callahan and Raleigh are the lights of my life. God willing, I will go to my grave loving them the way I do today. If that’s a problem—”
“Then we can discuss it privately,” says my grandmother, resuming control of the meeting. “Any questions at this time?”
The clip ends.
The silence in the kitchen is deafening, the tension in my gut mounting every second.
“You outed yourself at work?” Raleigh’s voice is faint, exchanging a look with Callahan.
“Not just me,” I say, wincing slightly. “All of us. But everyone in that room had already signed an NDA. None of them will want to test that in court.”
Callahan looks at me first, tears in her eyes, breaking my heart all over again.
“You mean it?” she asks, and my heart can’t take it anymore. I drop to my knees at their feet.
“You shouldn’t have to ask me that. Give me a chance, and I’ll make sure you never have to ask me that again.”
31
Callahan
A few weeks later…
The snow won’t last. It never does. But it’s pretty and makes the whole world feel like a feel-good holiday movie for a little while. After the way this year has gone, by God, we’ve earned it. So I take all the time in the world to sip my tea and nibble at today’s batch of bread and watch the snowflakes dance across my kitchen window, wondering idly whether it’ll be enough to shut down the city like it used to.
I suspect it won’t. Not because it’s not enough snow, but because it turns out we’re all a lot more resilient than we thought we were. A little inclement weather is nothing compared to what we’re able to withstand. A few months ago, that thought would depress me further.
Now it just gives me hope.
Dr. Attenboro says hope is one of the positive emotions I should focus on when I come across it. I’ve been attending therapy now for more than a month, and I like to think we’re making progress. Leaving the house is less of an issue than it used to be, though Dr. Attenboro is careful to remind me not to get too hung up on my mental scoreboard. For the most part, that imaginary ticker is gathering dust; I just don’t use it much anymore.
There’s a new one up there, though. Today it reads thirty-seven. That’s the number of days since I last spoke to my brother.
I imagine this must be what it’s like losing a limb; it’s not quite the same as grieving the death of a loved one, but the terrain still feels familiar.
Luckily, West and Raleigh keep me too busy for me to spend much time dwelling on it. West especially goes out of his way to keep me occupied. Whether it’s because he feels the same loss, or because he feels guilty for being part of the cause is anyone’s guess.
The familiar sound of a truck door slamming startles me from my perch at the window. Leaning in to peer around the corner, I can just see the back of Finn’s truck, marking the first time he’s been here in at least a week. That I know of, anyway.
The knock at the door a moment later is even more of a surprise.
I pull open the door to see Finn standing on the porch, knocking mud and snow from his boots.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says. “Can I come in a minute?”
It breaks my heart to hear him even ask, but given the way he left things between us, I don’t think he wants to hear that from me. I step back and let him in, shutting the door against the cold.
“Do you want some tea?” I ask, unsure and hating myself because he’s not a stranger but not knowing what else to say. “Or I can make coffee.”
“No, thanks,” he says, shaking his head. “I just stopped by to bring you this.” Finn holds up two keys, then lays them on the counter. “Key to your house, and to the loft.”
“Finn—”
He shakes his head. “I found a place in town. I’ll text you the address in case you need it for something, but I have to ask that you call before you come over.”
“Finn.” I learned a long time ago Finn hates seeing women cry; it’s a sure way to get him to leave the room. And the tears start falling anyway. I can’t help it.
