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It was the happiest I’d been, maybe in my whole life. And somehow the saddest I’d ever been too.

I hadn’t talked to Mike.

Xavier texted me updates letting me know Mike had come back from the cabin a few days ago. He’d come home with a black eye and a mild concussion from when I’d hit him, to find Larissa moved out.

I’d thought about texting him. Then I remembered how he’d almost killed her and how Donna had treated her after, and I changed my mind.

I focused instead on getting Larissa set up with what she needed. We got the small business loan and we’d spent the past week shopping for boards and plates for her graze table mock-up. We went to antique stores and boutiques and consignment shops looking for the perfect ones for the vision she had. Then I’d take her to lunch somewhere, a new place she hadn’t tried with a safe menu. At night we cooked together. Read.

Talked.

We talked for hours sometimes. And then when we went to bed, we’d text from our rooms. I could hear her laughing through the wall.

Last Thursday, New Year’s Eve, we went shopping and got the charcuterie meats and fruits and cheeses she needed. Then we spent the evening on the sofa together rolling salamis into roses and watching Times Square on TV. When the ball dropped, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I still felt it, days later. Like her lips left a tincture on my skin.

I was not free to love her. But at least now I was free to take care of her. I could help her and didn’t have to hide it or pretend it was someone else doing it. I could spend time with her and look at her and be what she needed.

I was in the kitchen, making eggs for us while Larissa was in the shower. We were going thrifting later to find more plates. I was standing over the stove when the phone rang.

It was Mike.

I stared at the screen, debating whether to answer. Whether I was ready to hear what he had to say.

“Hello,” I said, picking up after the fourth ring.

There was a long silence and I thought I’d answered too late. “Hey,” he said finally.

He sounded bad. Not drunk. Just bad.

I turned off the flame, moved the pan from the burner, and went to the garage.

“I’ve been wanting to call you,” he said.

I nodded like he could see me. I shut the door behind me and sat on the steps, looking at the side of my car.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine too,” I said.

“She’s staying with you?”

“She is.”

“Good,” he said. “Thanks.”

Another silence.

“My mom said she quit the café—”

I scoffed. “Is that what she said? Your mom put nuts on the menu. Larissa didn’t have a choice.”

“Wait… what?”

“Yeah.”