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“No, but his death was?—”
My throat suddenly felt thick.
“It’s getting a lot easier,” I said softly. “At first, I just wanted to cry. All the damn time.”
“And now?”
“And now, I—” I thought about my conversation with Macon in the car. “It kind of feels like home. I think I could be happy here. But when Curtis showed up, I suddenly felt guilty.” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Like I should be grieving more.”
And moving on.
“You’ve been grieving for five years, Marin.”
“I know,” I said. “I just always thought coming back here would be awful—like walking around a horrible nightmare. But if anything, I feel like I’ve just awoken from one.”
“Did you just call Curtis a nightmare?” she joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
But it made me realize something.
“I’ve been living two separate lives. Before Daniel and after Daniel. Curtis always asks me about my life before, and I always avoided telling him.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell him, then he becomes a part of it. Part of me. Right now, I’m in this safe little bubble.” I let out a breath. “I can tell myself I’ve moved on, without ever letting him in. But in reality?—”
“You haven’t moved on, because you don’t love him.”
I let out a long sigh. “Yeah.”
I knew I loved him—in a way. But I also knew I was not in love with him.
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to love him? To let him be part of your life?”
“I—” I thought about how I had felt when I saw him standing in my bedroom. That instantaneous need to run. “I wish I could. But no, I don’t think so,” I confessed, feeling like the worst kind of person. “What if this is all I’m ever able to give, Elena? Like, what if I’m just emotionally stunted and this is as good as it’s gonna get?”
“Or,” she offered up. “Maybe this is all you're able to give to Curtis. Have you thought about that?”
“I don’t think Curtis is the problem,” I sighed. “I definitely think it’s me. I’m broken.”
“Why would you say that?”
I’d never told her this because I was worried she would judge me. Or that it would cross a line since she was my sister-in-law.
“Well, aside from the inability to talk or share anything of myself. I’ve also never let him sleep over,” I admitted. “Two years of dating, and he’s never once slept in my bed?—.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Her voice was soft and full of compassion. “That’s…” She paused. “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Like I said, it’s me.” A wave of guilt swept over me. “He’s perfect and patient, and I feel like I’m stringing him along.”
“I doubt that’s how he sees it,” she countered.
“And…” I hesitated.
“And what?” she asked. “I can tell you’re stalling, even over the phone.”
“I haven’t…” I let out a frustrated groan. “I mean, when we…I just that I can’t—. Maybe that part of me died with Daniel.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. So much so that I pulled the phone away and checked to make sure she was still there.
