Emerson bumps my shoulder again. “What?” I snap, more annoyed with myself than with her, but the frustration is in my voice regardless.
“Don’t be an ass,” Emerson grits through her teeth, her voice low, not wanting to bring attention to us. “You’re the one who looked like you were about to strangle someone five seconds ago.”
I hesitate for a moment, not sure how to explain myself.
“And I know that wasn’t the case because no one was standing too close to Rumi.” My sister smirks, her features so similar to mine sometimes. She’s teasing me, obviously catching on to my growing feelings toward Rumi, even when I thought I haven’t given much away.
I know her and Luke have been rooting for something to happen since they helped me move three weeks ago, but I’m still careful with any details I give my sister, or Luke, when it comes to Rumi.
I told Emerson and my mom about the night they came over, and Emerson—having been a nanny all through college in addition to her job as a barista—was the perfect person to help pick out the necessary items I needed at my house for if—when—Rumi brings Evee over.
They tried to hide their excitement over my friendship with Rumi, but my mom’s comment about not wanting to be too old of a grandparent one day and Emerson’s teasing about putting even more roots down than the house gave them away.
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I try to sound nonchalant, but it comes out forced.
“And don’t try to make some shitty excuse,” Emerson argues. “I thought therapy was helping.” Her voice takes on more of a worried tone, her tattooed arms crossing over her chest. She shakes her bangs out of her eyes as she tilts her head, looking up at me.
“It is.” I cross my own arms, feeling defensive suddenly. I haven’t told my mom or Emerson much about my sessions, just that I’m going twice a week, and they’re helping.
We’ve started talking more about the night Bennett died, my therapist having created a safe, nonjudgmental space where I finally feel like I can open up without any pressure from anyone else. He’s let me do things on my own time which has made the whole process easier—even when I was convinced there was no fucking way talking about that night would ever happen, let alone help.
It’s kind of embarrassing to admit how much his low, gentle voice asking structured questions helped me talk through the night at last week’s session—how I was able to walk him through what happened and my feelings throughout.
There were moments that I felt myself falling back into the night, the grief threatening to take over and push me into a panic attack, but my therapist knew how to ground me, how to keep me focused on my current surroundings and remind me that I was safe.
I’ve begun to make sense of what happened, and I never thought I would.
“Are you sure?” my sister asks. “I know you told mom things were going well in your sessions, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.”
“I said it’s helping.” I try to keep my voice even, making sure neither of us raise our voices enough to gather any attention—or more attention than the pretty blue eyes I feel on me.
Turning my head toward Rumi, she’s still talking to Ava, but I meet her eyes, giving her a small nod of my head, hoping to ease any trepidation I might have caused her. If Emerson could tell something was off with me, I’m sure I wasn’t hiding it well enough for Rumi to not have noticed.
“It’s helping, Emmy,” I repeat, turning back to her.
Emerson looks toward Rumi, having followed my gaze—not that I’ve been trying to hide how hard it is for me to take my eyes off her today. “I like her,” Emerson says, looking back at me. “I’ve gotten to know her these last few weeks working with her.”
I nod, curious to see where she’s going with this.
“But she doesn’t need your shit on top of all her own shit,” Emerson says, poking a finger into my chest.
I rub the spot with my hand, but I can’t fight the smile that forms on my lips. Emerson told me the same things I told myself not too long ago. “Agreed,” I tell her.
Emerson pokes me in the chest again, a little less hard this time. “She needs good, solid people in her life. Not people who leave when things get tough.”
While Rumi is my friend, and I’m starting to feel better about opening up to her more, the same way I hope she wants to do with me, I’m putting the work in to be someone she deserves in her life.
I’m still trying to put all the pieces together of who she is and the past she comes from, but I’m dying to see the whole picture; dying to be someone worthy of it.
I turn to look at Rumi again, but she’s surrounded by more than just Ava as she stands next to Evee’s high chair, now completely covered in green frosting. Evee’s eyes are starting to look droopy, her sugar high coming down almost as quickly as it came.
I let out a sigh before saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 24
RUMI
“Do you have a second?”The low, gruff voice sounds in my ear, sending goosebumps all across my skin. The warm breath from his lips is such a contrast to the cool early evening air.
