A sharp laugh bubbled out of me, the first real one since that awful night at the hospital. For the first time all week, my heart felt like it could actually breathe again.
But Elliott was relentless. After what felt like the fiftieth time mom had to turn him away at her front door, she finally begged me,"Mi amor, dime ahorita qué pasó entre ustedes?"She desperately wanted me to tell her what had happened between us.
“He hurt me, mom,” was all I said, because I knew if I said a single syllable more, I would completely crack.
It had taken me this long just to say those words without collapsing into a heap of tears. That was the real reason I hadn’t told her sooner; I knew she would be the absolute hardest person to look in the eye. I refused to go into detail—reliving the specific choreography of his rejection would rip me wide open again, and I didn’t have the emotional strength left to bleed out in front of her. I was already hemorrhaging internally; stopping any further damage was all I could manage.
When I looked into mom’s eyes, I didn’t see disappointment—I saw an unrelenting anger. It instantly wiped out any affection she had ever carried for him. Her kids came first, always. If he had shown up on her porch right at that exact moment, the look in her eyes told me she would have murdered him where he stood and helped me bury the body. No questions asked. Having her fierce protection in my corner meant everything.
I hugged her so tightly I probably bruised her ribs, and I finally cried into her hair. Even if she was hurting for me, she didn’t flinch.
Mothers really were magical creatures. We truly didn’t deserve them.
thirty-eight
VANESSA
Two weeks later,I knew I would inevitably have to see him.
It was Morgan’s wedding day. Morgan, Penelope, and I had spent the night before together, reminiscing and mercilessly teasing her—reminding her that this was the last "first" she would ever get. She was carrying his baby; in a few short months, she would be a mom. Her bump was noticeably rounder than it had been weeks ago. We had to let out her dress a bit, but shewas so radiantly happy she could have worn a Walmart plastic bag and made it look like couture.
Both Pen and Morgan wisely avoided mentioning anything about Elliott, and I deeply appreciated it. The time was filled with my absolute favorite pastime—being completely dumb and silly, being our true selves without worrying about boys, jobs, or grown-up problems. Maybe it was a touch of Peter Pan syndrome. I didn’t care. We had all been through more than enough—that night, we chose to forget. It was rejuvenating, and I desperately needed that armor before seeing Elliott. I needed to remember who I was, and that I was enough on my own.
The next morning, in true Morgan fashion, she looked at me and asked, “You ready for this?”
I nodded, because at the time, I genuinely thought I was. I mentally rehearsed my lines and tried to imagine what it would feel like to look at him again. Morgan was my best friend, which meant he would always be a permanent fixture in my life. My goal was simple: numb myself to it. See him just enough that we could eventually become comfortable strangers, trading meaningless small talk.
My heart quickened as the hour for Morgan to walk down the aisle approached. Suddenly, the door clicked open. The exact second Elliott stepped inside, Penelope and Morgan rushed out a little too fast, their skirts whispering against the floor as they fled—all too eager to leave the two of us alone.
I considered trying to dodge the giant elephant in the room, but my eyes inevitably found him. His were already locked on me. He was effortlessly handsome, marred only by the deep, heavy frown pulling at his mouth. I hadn’t seen him in what felt like an eternity, and the sheer sight of him stung. I missed him. God, I missed him. It absolutely killed me how easily his home had become mine, and how my family had become his.
He fumbled for words, and a dark part of me hoped his struggle would keep him feeling just as small as he had made me feel. I didn’t want to hear a scripted apology or desperate bargaining. I was already on the absolute edge of caving just by standing in the same room with him, and I refused to give in this time. My whole life, I had been the one to cave first. I was always the one to bite the bullet and make the sacrifice. Not now. I deserved better than that. I was sick to death of being discarded and used whenever it was convenient. I wanted more.
I moved toward the door, desperate for a breath of fresh air, but he was already steps ahead of me, blocking my path.
“Talk to me.” His voice was raw, and the sound of it split my chest wide open.
“I think we should only talk about work or Morgan,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
“That’s bullshit, Ness. Stop doing that. Talk. To. Me.” He gritted out those last three words, refusing to budge from the doorway.
Good—he was angry. Fine. I wasn’t anywhere near done being angry either.
“It’s been weeks,” he pleaded, his anger instantly fracturing into something desperate. “You won’t talk to me. Please, just talk to me. I know I fucked up. I know how I acted and what I said was completely wrong. I just…” He ran his hands through his hair, a frantic gesture I knew all too well. “I know sorry isn’t enough, but I’ll say it every single day if that’s what it takes, Ness.”
I sidestep-pushed right past the apology. Weeks weren’t nearly long enough for how long I planned to stay angry, but I tucked that thought away because I was just so incredibly exhausted. This—he—was utterly exhausting.
“You know, my whole life I’ve been entirely unimpressed with the guys I’ve met,” I said, the words slipping out quietly. “I never understood why, or maybe I just refused to see it.”
A genuinely puzzled look crossed his face.
“I love you,” I blurted, completely dropping the pretense.
His entire body went rigid.
“I’ve been in love with you forever, and a part of me always will be. You were the first boy I ever loved. I don’t know if you knew that, but there it is.”
Hot tears finally slipped down my cheeks. He reached out a hand toward me as if my confession meant I was surrendering—but he had absolutely no idea what surrender actually meant for me.
