A ghost of a smile. “That Burberry perfume you love.”
“Okay.” I breathe in with him, putting his hand on my chest so his breathing can follow mine.
He lets out a broken little laugh, then his face crumples again, and I move an inch closer, resting my forehead to his. “You’re allowed to hate this,” I say. “You’re allowed to feel all of it and not be ‘proud’ of anyone for anything today.”
He exhales. “It’s just…a lot to process. I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready for this to be all gone…”
I just nod, letting him talk about it when he’s ready.
“I feel like my heart is beating out of my chest. My head is spinning…”
I place my hand on the side of his face. “You’re still here. You know the panic only grows if you feed it… Don’t feed it,” I tell him in a whisper. “You know what it is, name it, take away its power.”
He watches me, nodding.
“I used to…” he starts. “I used to hate that this room was never touched after she died, hated that they couldn’t let go of it, hated always seeing it… Then it kinda changed. I looked forward to passing it or coming to sit in it when I came home. It was the closest I could still feel to her. I couldtrick my brain for a moment into thinking that she was still here, and it didn’t hurt as much for a little while.”
His eyes close, fingers tightening around mine like I’m a line he’s grabbing. We sit there until the room feels less like a fresh wound and more like a safe space again. Until the air isn’t so thin anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually says. “You didn’t need to see me—”
“Be human?” I cut in. “I’ve seen you be human now. I like it. It’s my new favorite.”
When he finally looks at me again, the panic has released its grip. He touches my cheek like he needs the proof I’m real. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For…that. For being you.”
“As many times as you’ve steadied me,” I say, thumb brushing his jaw, “I can do the same. We don’t keep score.”
His eyes soften on me. “I love you.”
It lands warm and perfect. “I love you, too.”
Dinner is gentler. He apologizes to his parents for how it came out, and they apologize for how it happened. Nobody tries to make the other person’s feelings less than what they are.
There’s smothered turkey legs, all the sides you could imagine, and the kind of small talk that feels like building a bridge plank by plank. By dessert, his mom is showing me baby pictures of Bash in a Santa suit that I will absolutely be stealing.
Later, the house quiets, and we’re lying on the couch under a blanket.It’s A Wonderful Life,painting the room black and white. He told me it was a Christmas staple, and I rolled my eyes and then cried at the part with the bell because, of course I did.
I turn in his arms to face him, and he smiles at me in a way that warms my entire body and makes me want to brand this feeling onto me.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“For what?” he asks gently.
“For everything, for being you, for showing me what a soft, safe kind of love feels like, for making me fight for myself when I don’t want to fight, for believing in me, for staying when you could have just walked away and saved yourself the trouble. I know I’m not always easy, and we’re still figuring this whole thing out, and I say or do the wrong things a lot still…but you don’t ever make me feel less than when I mess up. You just hold my hand and let me work through the parts I need to work through, and help me through the parts I’m strong enough to ask for help with.”
He takes my hand and folds our fingers together, squeezing them. “You’re worth every second of this journey. You’ve pushed me to grow and heal in ways you don’t even realize. You’ve let me knock down walls I thought would be up forever. You make me want a future I never even let myself picture before.”
I can’t help my blush, and I let out this little laugh, thinking about who I’ve become lately. Kinda shocked, actually. “If you had told me seven months ago that I could feel this close to someone, this known, this intimate, especially without…the sex part needing to be what proved the feelings, I would’ve told you you were delusional.”
He pulls me closer into him, wrapping his arms around me and smirking. “That part is feeling pretty hard right now with you looking at me like that.” He takes my chin, pulling my face closer, and kisses me, then slowly pulls back a little. “But some things are worth the wait. Especially something as special as you.”
“Okay, Romeo,” I tease, breathless.
He pulls back and fishes a tiny box from behind one of the pillows. “Before Christmas is over.”
I sit up next to him. “You got me a gift?” He nods, handing it to me, and then I open it—a beautiful gold bracelet with the engraving.Isaiah 43:1.
I laugh because the universe is a comedian. “No freaking way.”
