Page 74 of Pining for You

“No, that makes a lot of sense.” I don’t detect any judgment in her voice. “I miss my mom all the time.”

And now I wish she would drop that damn tamale tray so I could take her hand in mine, but then she abruptly cocks her head, like something just dawned on her.

“Hey, didn’t you get her a tree yesterday? How’d that turn out?” she asks.

“It didn’t.” I shake my head. “She wound up working late, and I’ve actually seen you more in the last couple of days than I’ve seen my mom. I don’t even know if she noticed it. Anyway, it makes me kind of… I don’t know…”

“Angry?” Eve says, finishing my sentence.

I nod, because it’s true. Even though I haven’t really said that before.

Maybe I should have kept that part to myself. Anger isn’t giving Let’s make out.

“Sorry—sad girl vibes,” I say, but Eve waves that off.

“Seriously? I just told you a sob story about my dead parents,” she says.

I laugh a little. “True. That was pretty intense.”

“So intense,” she says. “But… I don’t often get to talk to other people about their hard stuff too. Most people just, like, shut down.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I don’t talk about it a lot. My mom wants us to, uh, not ‘air our dirty laundry.’ But the way you shared made me feel less alone.”

“They call that ‘trauma bonding,’ Strudel,” she says, and she playfully pushes her shoulder against mine. The contact sends shock waves through me.

“Oof. Not exactly the stuff of holiday conversations, maybe?”

“Please, the holidays are all about trauma!” Eve says.

“I respectfully disagree,” I say. “The holidays are all about—”

“Magic?” Eve interjects, stopping to look at me now. “Yeah. You’re pretty predictable, Strudel.”

“I prefer consistent,” I say. “Like a tradition.”

Then she stops walking entirely. I figure we’re probably at the bar even though I don’t see it anywhere, and all I can think is, Way to blow the time alone with her, Bosley.

But then I realize Eve has stopped just to look at me. Really look me in the eyes.

“Seriously, though, that’s some major stuff, Strudel. Obviously I don’t know the full story with your sister, and I’m sure your mom is going through it, but you deserve attention too.”

When she says it, it doesn’t sound like a judgment of my mother, which I’m always worried about if I say it. When she says it, it just sounds… true.

“Thank you,” I say around a lump in my throat. “I think I’m just now realizing I might need some help. With all of it.”

I tell her about my conversation with Audra, and Cobble House, and how I’m trying to become more informed, and she listens.

“That seems like a healthy and mature way to deal. And community, connection—all that stuff matters for real.”

“Wow, you’re kind of like a therapist, huh?” I say. “I haven’t ever told anyone all that.”

“Funny, that’s actually what I want to be someday,” she says.

“Really?”

I want her to say more, because I want to know everything about what Eve wants.

“I had a few sessions with someone right after my parents died, and it was really helpful. And I’ve been trying to research how to help Hugo get, ya know, back to ‘normal’ or whatever. Even though I think that language is garbage and our entire cultural vocabulary is so ableist. But yeah, it’s interesting stuff.”