Page 50 of Based on You

"Come on," I said to Olivia, and we walked fully into the kitchen.

Violet produced a lighter and lit the candles. Olivia closed her eyes tight and stood over the cake, her chin tilted up, her lips pressed together in a wish.

"Make it a really good one," Violet said.

Olivia blew them all out.

We cut into the bright green cake. Olivia claimed the first slice, crossed the kitchen, and handed the plate straight to Violet.

"I'm really glad we found each other," Olivia said. "I'm really glad you're here."

Violet took the plate with trembling hands. She looked at Olivia, and her dark eyes filled with tears, and she didn't even try to stop them.

She reached out and pulled Olivia in by the shoulder.

We spent the rest of the day taking photographs. We played silly board games. We ate far too much cake. Somewhere deep in the lazy afternoon, Olivia dramatically announced she needed a sugar-crash nap and retreated upstairs, leaving the kitchen quiet around the two of us.

"I'll help you clean this up," I offered.

We moved around each other, clearing the table. I picked up the sticky plates. She pulled the streamers down. I set the stacked plates in the sink and turned to face her.

"Thank you," I said, my voice thick. "For today. For all of it."

She shook her head. "I told you to stop thanking me."

"I can't stop."

"Try harder."

"Violet." I set my hands on the counter and looked right at her. "You made me feel what my sister used to make me feel. I haven't felt that warmth since she died."

She went still. Then she murmured, "I didn't realize our relationship was familial."

I shook my head. "That's not what I mean."

My hands tightened on the counter's edge. "Seeing you here today, it feels like home. The last time I really felt that was when Elena was alive, and ever since she died, I've felt homeless." I searched her face. "Do you understand what I mean? I'm not expecting you to."

She was quiet a long moment, looking down at the marble counter.

She cleared her throat. "I understand," she whispered.

She dried her hands on the dish towel, then looked back up at me.

"I grew up with parents who loved me with conditions," she said, her voice shaking a little. "I spent years trying to fit myself into a shape they approved of, hiding the parts they didn't like, giving up things I wanted because wanting them was inconvenient for the perfect picture they had of me."

She set the damp towel down. "I moved out on my own, and I still chased their approval. I hid the things I loved. I kept making myself smaller and smaller, hoping eventually I'd be the right size." She looked at me steady, her eyes shining. "If that isn't homelessness, Simon, I honestly don't know what is."

I didn't say a word. I just listened.

She swallowed hard and went on. "I'm finally learning what home actually feels like. Right now, standing in this house." A heavy pause. "It feels good that you could find a home in me after losing your sister."

I stared at her.

Something settled inside me, deep and final. Happiness was part of it, but this went deeper, and it felt permanent.

I took a step closer to her. "Do you feel at home with me?" I asked.

She looked up at me, her dark eyes wide. "I'm learning to," she confessed.