I blinked.
"You don't have to say anything," she said as she walked toward me. "But I will. You're one of the strongest women I've ever met, April. The problem with that kind of strength is that people start believing you're indestructible. They think you don't bleed and that you don't need anyone."
She knelt in front of me and gently took my hands.
"But we both know that's bullshit."
She squeezed my hands lightly.
"Even the strongest people need somewhere to fall, somewhere to rest, and somewhere to break. And when you do, I'll be there. I'll catch you. I swear it."
I did not cry. I simply closed my eyes and sat there holding her hands as if they were the only solid thing I had left.
Chapter 2: Marshmallows and Minefields
Sometimes I replayed the first day we saidI love youand slept together like it was a movie I had watched too many times, one where I already knew the ending but still pressed play anyway.
I did not replay it because I missed him, and I did not replay it because I wanted him back. I replayed it because I needed proof that it had been real. I needed to remember that there had once been a time when I laughed and felt beautiful, wanted, and chosen before everything fell apart and before his words turned into blades.
The day started with a challenge to make the perfect marshmallow. We were supposed to be hiking, but somewhere around the fourth mile Ellis suddenly stopped walking and declared it was time for snacks. He pulled out a tiny portable firepit and a pack of marshmallows along with what turned out to be a tragically confident roasting technique.
"You're turning it too fast," I said while watching the sugar blacken.
"I'm giving it an even sear."
A second later the marshmallow burst into flames.
I snorted.
"Yeah, because nothing says gourmet like cremation."
He flailed, blew on it, and dropped the burnt mess into the dirt.
"Ah yes, rustic caramelization."
I laughed then, really laughed. It was the kind of laugh that bent me in half and made me forget how tightly wound I usually felt. I nudged him with my own marshmallow stick.
"Surrender now and I might spare you."
"I can't surrender," he said while lifting his arms dramatically. "I've already dishonored the campfire gods."
I leaned toward him and poked him in the ribs. He caught my wrist while he laughed, his eyes bright like he had won something simply by making me laugh. We ended up collapsing into the grass together, tangled and breathless.
"You're ridiculous," I told him.
"You're perfect."
We spent the rest of the afternoon stretched out under the sun. Our fingers brushed now and then, and laughter never felt far away. By the time we drove back, I felt lighter than I had in years.
Later that evening he picked me up from my cabin and told me to dress comfortably.
"You say that like I own anything uncomfortable," I said.
I wore jeans, a dark green button down shirt, and my nicest boots. I put on chapstick and skipped makeup. I thought about dressing differently and trying something softer or more feminine, but none of it felt like me and I did not want to pretend.
When I stepped outside and saw him waiting beside the truck with a basket and a ridiculous grin on his face, I finally relaxed.
He drove us to a quiet overlook where the sky stretched endlessly above us. He had already set up a whole picnic with wine, cheese, and a playlist full of cheesy early two thousand love songs.
