Page 99 of When We Were Young

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

He tilts his head and fixes his gaze on me. “Tell her being with those women was never about wanting another woman.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

“You refused to let anyone in. I’m betting when the pain you were in became unbearable, you used the physical to outrun everything you didn’t want to feel anymore. A distraction. Something to quiet your head for a little while when the hurt got too loud.”

I stare at him because he’s right. Completely right.

“It never really worked,” I admit quietly. “Maybe for a few minutes my brain would rest, but that’s it.” Shame settles heavily in my chest. “Honestly, I’m embarrassed by it.”

“There’s nothing shameful about struggling,” Harrison says. “People cope with pain in all kinds of ways. But it also doesn’t mean you have to stay stuck there forever. Jesus, you’ve spent a decade hurting because you lost her. Isn’t that long enough? Maybe it’s time to shoot your shot and make it your best.”

The woods go quiet around us again as I contemplate what he said.

“Let me ask you something. Why haven’t you dated anyone all these years? Really dated someone. I’m sure some of those women were wonderful. Beautiful. Smart. So why not try?”

I stare straight ahead toward the trail.

“You sure that isn’t rhetorical?” I ask, even though I know it’s not.

I glance over at him, and he gives me the older-brother look that says, ‘Stop being an idiot.’

And suddenly I know the answer. Maybe I’ve always known it.

I swallow hard. The confession leaves my chest like something is breaking open.

“Because they’re not her. It wouldn’t matter how beautiful another woman is. It wouldn’t matter how amazing or smart she is. No one would ever be her.”

My breath catches, and I rake both hands through my hair.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever said that out loud.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lizzie

Today might be the most fun I’ve had in this kitchen since I bought it.

“Ruthie, have you ever heard the story of the little red hen?” Layla asks.

“Is that the one who thought the sky was gonna fall? I know that one. My sister’s kinda like that.”

“Ruthie,” Tillie scolds, “that’s mean.”

“It’s true, and I’ve said it to her face. She needs to have a more cheerful outlook on life, like me.”

Delaney snickers, and Lydia, Holden’s mom, watches from the opposite end.

There are six of us gathered around the long stainless-steel workspace that sits in the middle of the kitchen, with bowls of frosting in front of each of us and the smell of baking cinnamon rolls in the air. It’s a wonderful way to spend a Saturday morning.

Layla giggles and shakes her head at Ruthie. “No. The little red hen is the one that was making bread, and no one helped her. None of them. And so, when it came time to eat the bread, the little red hen said only the people who helped could have some.”

“What are you trying to say, kid?” Ruthie asks teasingly.

Tillie speaks up. “I think she’s saying that you’ve not helped with the cinnamon rolls. You’ve just sat on that stool trying to get fresh gossip from each of us.” The affection she has for the woman is audible in her voice.

“Whatever. I’m helping Ladybug over here.”