Alex
Me too.
Dillon
Watch it, your woman is my sister.
And so the bickering between them continued until everyone else said they were free.
Me
La Fortuna? 9 pm?
Everyone agreed, and so our weekend plans were set.
I strode into the gym, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber filling the air, clad in a fitted black tank top and gray shorts. After a quick warm-up, I powered through bench presses, squats, and deadlifts, each rep burning through my muscles. The final weight crashed onto the rack with a metallic clang, sweat dripping down my temple as I checked the time—one hour, asplanned. My breath slowed as I reached for my phone, and the screen lit up with a message from Rachel.
Rachel
Don’t forget therapy with Dr. Saad at seven.
I exhaled sharply. As if I could forget. Skipping therapy wasn’t an option. Not if I wanted to keep my head above water.
I drove home, the steady rhythm of the tires on the road filling the silence. A quick shower, a change into something presentable, and soon I was back out, heading to Dr. Saad’s office. The waiting room was quiet, sterile. I had barely sat down before she opened her door.
“Ronan.” She nodded, a soft smile on her face. “Come in.”
I stepped inside, lowering myself onto the couch, elbows on my knees. No small talk, no pleasantries—I didn’t have the patience for it today.
“I know I shouldn’t be getting close to a patient,” I said, running a hand over my face. “But she reminds me so much of my mother. Her condition is critical, but I can’t stop being there.”
Dr. Saad studied me for a moment. “Tell me more.”
I exhaled, the words heavier than I expected. “It’s like watching my mother all over again. The same frailness, the same fight in her eyes, even when her body’s failing her. I walk into the hospital room, and for a second, it’s like I’m back there, sitting at my mom’s bedside, wishing I could do something—anything—to stop the inevitable.”
She nodded, thoughtful. “You’re grieving, Ronan. Grief doesn’t end because time passes. It transforms and lingers in unexpected ways.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “So what? I just live with it?”
“No,” she said gently. “You learn to carry it differently. To let itexist without letting it consume you.”
I looked away, jaw tightening. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“You’re already trying, and you’ve been trying for years,” she said. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re showing up for her, even if it’s painful.”
I closed my eyes for a beat, letting the weight of her words settle. She was right. The grief would never leave, but maybe, just maybe, I could learn to hold it without letting it break me.
And for now, that had to be enough.
After therapy, I drove straight to pick up dinner for Nina. I had no idea if she’d even be home, but that wasn’t the point. It was an excuse. A reason to see her.
I ordered rich, homemade pizza and pasta from a small spot near Bryant Park, knowing she missed authentic Italian food. And because I couldn’t help myself, I grabbed a bouquet of peonies because I knew they’d make her smile.
When I knocked on her door, I braced myself. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her.
The air in my lungs vanished. She stood there, barefoot, wrapped in a sweater that slid off one shoulder, her hair a little messy, her lips slightly parted in surprise. It genuinely felt like if I looked away, she’d disappear.
Snap out of it.
