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Exhaling a low breath, I mentally curse the idiot. I grate a touch of parmesan onto the vegetable omelette before folding it in half.

“He’s been at the rescue helping Anita out,” I update her, seeing as Maxi has failed to do so. Sliding the omelette in between the halved focaccia, I remove the sweet chilli from the fridge and drizzle it on, then slide the plate over to Rosy.

“He’s…been volunteering? Every weekend?”

“Pretty much.”

Her eyes glaze, staring down at the food in front of her, but not really taking it in.

“Do you want to tell me where your mind’s at?” I ask, taking the plunge and hoping she’ll open up a little more.

“I just…didn’t expect him to do that. I love that he is…I’m just not sure what else I’m feeling. To be honest, most of the time I’m either feeling too much or nothing at all,” she confesses, and I nudge the plate closer, urging her to eat something. “The first one is a lot. It’s exhausting and draining. It’s the second—the nothing part—that scares me the most. Because what if that becomes the new normal?”

Even though Rosy’s the one baring her thoughts, there’s a part of me that finds it cathartic too. Everything she tells me, it has a little hope trickling in. If she’s not going through all of this alone, if she stops bottling it all up, then there’s a chance we can help her get through it. There’s a chance she’ll keep choosing me when so many people haven’t.

My heart cracks at hearing how deeply she’s still feeling. We might’ve all experienced our own different traumas, but I’m at a loss for how to navigate this. Selfishly, when I was hit with the grief of our parents’ loss, I wasn’t able to see or notice Noah in his. I wasn’t there for him like he was for me. Now I’m struggling to know how to be there for Rosy. How to be strong enough for her, when all I want to do is succumb to the cloying pit growing inside me.

Rosy went through the trauma, not me. So why does it feel like I’m drowning too?

Selfish boy.

Ignoring my mother’s sniping voice, I reach across the island and clasp Rosy’s hand in mine.

“It wouldn’t be possible for you. You feel too much and too hard for it to all disappear. Even when you thought I’d just hurt myself, you were fussing and worrying over me…because you care. So no, I don’t believe it will become your new normal.”

“Thank you. For saying that, for being here and listening to my repetitive, endless insecurities and still not walking away.”

I laugh and place a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“The only way I’d be able to walk away is if you asked me to. Now please eat?”

She huffs, but a light smile curls at the corners of her mouth. Picking up the focaccia sandwich, Rosy takes a bite, and her eyes flicker closed.

“Mmm, this is so good,” she says behind the hand covering her mouth. Swallowing, she quickly takes another bite, her lower body wiggling in enjoyment.

The satisfaction that rolls through me is languid, basking in the heat of her pleasure. This is something I know I can do, that I can offer her. People need sustenance to survive, to thrive, and I’m providing her that.

Swiping open my tablet, I scroll through to check the cookie quantities needed before I start weighing out the flour, no longer needing music when Rosy’s contented sounds fill the space.

FORTY-TWO

ROSY

“Have a good session,” I offer as my arms wrap tightly around Nate’s waist, accepting one of my favourite bear hugs from him.

“Won’t be long. Call if you need me,” he responds, then tugs my chin up and leans in to press his mouth to mine. I sway in closer, hoping he’ll finally deepen it. But just as I’m about to part my lips, he pulls back. He gives me a final squeeze, then lets go.

Disappointed. Again.

Apparently talking to Noah and Bry the last couple of days has given me a little confidence, because now my concerns are morphing into something laced with agitation and irritation.

Whether it will last or not is a different matter, but for now I want kisses dammit.

Nate closes the front door behind me, and I release an exasperated gust of air, then spin around.

Noah’s at his desk doing some work, Bry’s started on cooking dinner to my right, and Max…is sprawled on the sofa to my left. Now is as good a time as any to have a conversation with him.

Except my feet are stuck.