After she feeds me, I’m too stunned to kiss her finger, but that’s understandable, because I am also too stunned to breathe, or chew, or…anything. When I’ve finally collected myself, she’s finished the main charcuterie platters and is bringing them to the table.
Standing there, overlooking her work, she wipes her hands off on her apron as though the action isn’t devastatingly beautiful, then she pulls her hair together, leaving her hands clasped around the locks at the base of her neck, elbows jutting forward, resting atop her breasts. Casually stunning, she shifts her attention to me. “I think it’s time to call everyone.” She releases her hair, and it flutters around the nape of her neck. “Are you ready to eat?”
I look down at my masterpiece—all Clara’s favorites of what we bought, collected in patches of as many hearts as would fit on the plate. “Yes. I am done.” For.Done for. I am done for. Completely and utterly.
“’Kay,” she chirps, heading toward the dinner bell that rings to the main corners of the house.
Just weeks ago, she didn’t feel comfortablesummoningeveryone to meals. Now, she’s humming while she does it.
Confidence looks so beautiful on her.
I wish she’d give my heart a break and look less beautiful, perhaps for just five minutes.
Ten seconds?
At least long enough to fill my lungs once…
Alas.
There she is.
Her.
“Tiny sandwiches,” Kyran murmurs as he comes, yawning, to the table. “Score.”
Clara giggles, and I want to assault my brother for making her laugh. That’s an honor formeonly, thanks. It’s bad enough she makes himpersonal sandwichesbasically every day. Frowning, I seat myself in my usual spot at the table, remember thatmyplate is special, and find a majestic array of meat roses amid cheese flowers. It’s lovely. Delicate. Carefully assembled. And also…floral. Not a single heart.
The sound of my heart breaking accompanies other chairs scooting in, compliments about how lovely it all looks, Clara’s giggles and softthank you’sto people who are not me.
Lifting my attention, I find hearts on the main platters. Hearts on Kaleb’s plate as he fills it. A heart at Viktor’s lips.
My eye twitches.
Okay, I’ll admit it.
It’s a disease at this point. I cannot be this jealous for no good reason. My plate isglorious, and her precious hands put it together just forme. Yet I have the audacity to wantmore? I knowwanting moreis an affliction that has plagued me for decades, but let’s exercise some gratitude, maybe, hm? Just a little bit of gratitude for my beautiful girl.
Who is, must I remind myself,notactually mine.
If Clara ever wants more of me, I need to train myself not to destroy either of us by demanding more than is ever going to be possible. My flowers need to be enough, because everything Clara is must be enough. She needs to be enough for me. Because Iwanther to be. So badly. I want her to be enough for me. I just suppose I didn’t realize how desperately I wantedallof her down to the marrow of her bones.
Lifting a tiny flower, I fight for zen—then I freeze and stare at the little heart in my plate, beneath the flowers, tucked away, secretly.
The pathetic heart in my chest soars as I uncover more little cheese hearts hidden beneath my flower field. There’s a tiny ocean of them amid crackers and pieces of bread and meat arrangements, stowed away like gems.
Leaning into my shoulder, Clara whispers, “Do you like it?”
I tilt down to kiss her head. “Yes. I love it.”
Palpable joy surges off her, and she remains nestled against my side as she eats.
Around us, my family does their own thing, existing in this warmth that we’ve all reclaimed after our childhood of horrors.
While Kyran builds tiny sandwiches out of the arrangements, Morana mutters, “You are a disgrace.”
He mutters back, “Let melive,” before murmuring, “Do you want one?”
Inconspicuously, she nudges her plate an inch toward his.
Across from Clara and me, Crimson is discussing business with Viktor. Per usual, Maelin and Zakery remain in their own little honeymoon world further down that side of the table. Crisis is Crisis. Kaleb is Kaleb.
And Clara and I are almost, but not quite,us.
Smiling, I find another little heart and wonder if it’s possible for all thislovein the air to somehow fix the absence of it I feel inside.
