Chapter Five
Nico
When Alex leaves just before nine, I swear the temperature in our apartment drops at least ten degrees.
I pull on his sweater—the one he was wearing before he changed clothes to head to campus—and I crawl back under the covers on the bed, scooting over to his side so I can sleep on his pillow.
Bundled up in his sweater with my head on his pillow, I feel warm and loved and cared for.
“. . . you won’t be alone. I’ll be here with you . . .”
I close my eyes and imagine he’s still here, his arms holding me tight. I don’t fall asleep, but I get a lot of thinking done. More back and forth, except now with a bit more perspective and maybe a tiny bit of confidence. And I make a decision, finally.
I’ll call her, and I’ll do my best to listen and be open to whatever she has to say.
But I’ll make sure Alex is with me when I call, in case it doesn’t go well.
It’s too easy to remember where I was at that summer nearly six years ago—the devastation of knowing she chose Patrick over me, the hopelessness, the dark thoughts, fleeting but terrifying.
I haven’t been back to the top of those metaphorical stairs since. And a huge reason for that is Alex.
He says I’m stronger now than I was, and he’s right. I am. But I’ve also learned to lean on him when I need to and that it’s okay to need to. That’s why I’ll wait until he’s here with me to call. Maybe tonight, even.
I’m still in bed, not sleeping, several hours later when my phone vibrates from the nightstand. With a groan, I roll over to grab it.
Text messages. A string of them.
Alex (11:48 a.m.): so
Alex (11:48 a.m.): i did a thing
Alex (11:48 a.m.): and i hope u dont hate it
Alex (11:49 a.m.): also
Alex (11:49 a.m.): dont freak out, ok?
Nico (11:50 a.m.): What?
Alex (11:50 a.m.): ;)
Nico (11:51 a.m.): Winky face emoji tells me nothing
Alex (11:51 a.m.): i know ;)
There’s a knock at the front door, and even though Alex literally just told me not to freak out, I instinctively flinch and flip over to face the front door.
“Who is it?” I call out. There’s no answer, which doesn’t help but also doesn’t surprise me.
Nico (11:52 a.m.): Who is at the door?
Alex (11:52 a.m.): shrug
Alex (11:53 a.m.): ;)
Nico (11:53 a.m.): Ugh. You know I don’t like surprises
Alex (11:53 a.m.): i know
Alex (11:54 a.m.): thats y i warned u
I roll my eyes at the phone, wishing he could see me, then I push the covers back and drag myself out of bed, still gripping my phone in my hand. A quick look through the peephole shows nothing; whoever was there is now gone. So I unlock the door and inch it open.
The fragrance hits me first—floral and fresh and strong. Then I see the mass of dark-red blooms, at least a dozen of them, arranged perfectly in a clear glass vase.
Roses.
He bought me roses. Beautiful, perfect, gorgeous red roses.
Hands shaking, I type out a quick message and send it as I kneel down.
Nico (11:55 a.m.): Holy fuck, Alex
There’s a plain white card stuck right in the middle of the flowers and a small box sitting next to the vase. I shove my phone in my pocket and then carefully lift the vase and box and head back inside, kicking the door closed behind me.
I set both things on the table and then sit down, overwhelmed.
He’s randomly done a few sappy things like this over the years, like our first Valentine’s Day together when he attempted to bake and decorate a heart-shaped cake (I have photo evidence of how spectacular that fail was), but this is hitting different today.
It feels like much more than just a show of support and love.
My phone vibrates, and a string of red heart emojis greets me when I pull it back out of my pocket. I really don’t want to cry again—I did enough of that earlier—and so I blink back the tears and send him a short reply.
Nico (11:59 a.m.): You didn’t have to do this
Alex (12:00 p.m.): u havent opened the card yet have u?
Nico (12:01 p.m.): =P
Alex (12:01 p.m.): ;)
Nico (12:02 p.m.): They need to invent a better eye roll emoji
Alex (12:02 p.m.): open it <3
Sighing, I set my phone back down and pick the card out of the flowers. Inside the envelope, there’s a single piece of white cardstock embossed with a red rose. I run my finger over it, then flip the card over.
I love you
with all of my heart.
- Alex
Just like the flowers, the words hit hard, and I screw my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry. Tears slip out anyway, and I shake my head and wipe them away so I can see well enough to text Alex back.
Nico (12:04 p.m.): Fuck you
Alex (12:04 p.m.): ah
Alex (12:04 p.m.): thats the reaction i was expecting
Alex (12:04 p.m.): also im free tonite
Nico (12:05 p.m.): Jesus
I swipe at my cheeks again, laughing through the tears, and then I open the small box. Inside, two very large chocolate-covered strawberries drizzled in white chocolate sit on a plain rectangular plate, a little pink heart-shaped candy with luv u stamped on it positioned between the strawberries.
I close my eyes and laugh again, and then I pick my phone back up.
Nico (12:06 p.m.): These strawberries are massive. Guess I don’t have to worry about making lunch
Alex (12:07 p.m.): perfect
Alex (12:07 p.m.): just takin care of my man
Nico (12:08 p.m.): Again, need a real eye roll emoji
Nico (12:09 p.m.): But seriously, thank you so much. You don’t know how much I appreciate this. Really
Alex (12:09 p.m.): I love you <3
Nico (12:09 p.m.): I love you too
Alex (12:10 p.m.): c u l8r
Alex (12:10 p.m.): ;)
Shaking my head, I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes, and then I just sit there, staring at the flowers and card as I let my heart settle.
The gratitude and love I feel are overwhelming, an intense warmth spreading outward from my chest, and it’s only after a few minutes that I’m finally able to breathe.
I send him one more text—a short row of red heart emojis followed by a rose emoji—and then I push back my chair, pick up the box of strawberries, and move to the bed again for an afternoon of wasting time playing video games.
“Ready?”
“No.”
Alex laughs, and then he scoots closer to me on the edge of the bed, kisses my cheek, and wraps me up in a tight, warm hug. “You can do this,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m here with you, and no matter what she says, she can’t hurt you anymore. You’re stronger than that.”
I nod, trying to feel the truth in his words. “You’re right.”
I straighten up and glance down at my phone as Alex’s hand finds my lower back.
“One step at a time. She called you, she’s—”
“—the one who should do most of the talking,” I finish for him, and he nods. We talked about this earlier, so I’d hopefully have some idea of what to expect. But that doesn’t stop me from being nervous now. “Okay.”
I blow out a short breath and slowly type in her phone number—the same one she’s had for as long as I can remember. Then I pull my feet up onto the bed, lean against Alex, and press the call button.
It rings. And rings again.
“Hello?”
Her voice sounds exactly as it always has—slightly annoyed, like she’s in the middle of something and has somewhere else to be and something else to be doing. It’s familiar but also just as painful as I expected it to be.
I close my eyes as Alex’s hand rubs up and down my back. “Um, hi, Mom.” Once the words are out, my chest tightens, and I shrink into myself a little, curling up against Alex. His hand slips around my shoulders, and he gives me a gentle squeeze.
The silence on the other end of the line is suffocating, like it’s taking up all of the space around me, sucking the air out of the room. Then there’s a sharp sound, followed by my mom’s voice again, different this time, softer but strained with disbelief.
“Nico?”
“Yeah.” When she doesn’t respond, I add, “You left a message for me a couple weeks ago.”
“I did. I did,” she says, and she sniffles, though I can hear she’s trying to cover it up. “God, I—god, it’s so good to hear your voice. I-I didn’t—I didn’t think you were going to call me back.”
I’m not sure whether to say I almost didn’t, and I can feel my shoulders tightening up, my jaw clenching, my teeth grinding. So instead, I just skip that and any other pleasantries that might normally be considered appropriate, and I get right to the point. “Why did you call, Mom?”
Alex kisses the top of my head and whispers, “Breathe.”
And I shake my head and pull the phone away from my ear. “I am breathing.” Then I take a long, deliberate breath as I bring the phone back up.
My mom is still quiet, sort of. I can hear her sniffling and taking short breaths, like she keeps trying to say something but nothing comes.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, sorry, sorry. I’m . . . I wasn’t expecting .
. .” There’s a clearly muffled sob this time, and her voice trembles as she says, “I called because I—I needed to hear your voice. I’ve missed you so much.
And I . . . I know how much I messed up.
I know that now. I hope you’ll let me apologize, and I hope we can try again. ”
I’ve wanted to hear those words for so long that it almost doesn’t seem real. I turn and press my forehead against Alex’s chest, and his arm squeezes my shoulders again. “It’s been six years, Mom.”
“I know, I know,” she says. “Please, please, can I explain?”
I take another slow breath in and out, and I nod into Alex. “I’m listening.”
There’s a short pause, and then she says, “Thank you.” In the background, there’s some rustling and then a jingling, like keys being set down on a counter. “Um, so . . .”
She hesitates again, and in the silence, I pretend that I can picture her as she is now.
Probably much the same as she was, maybe with a little gray hair and a few more wrinkles.
And maybe she’s standing in the kitchen, still wearing her work uniform, one hand resting on the counter while she closes her eyes, trying to figure out what to say.
I open my eyes and shake my head. “Mom?”
“I was selfish that summer,” she finally blurts out.
With a sad sigh, she continues, her voice wavering as she speaks.
“Just before you graduated, Patrick came back to town. He told me all sorts of things, how it would be different this time around, how he would be different this time around. And I believed him. I believed everything he told me. When I found out how he hurt you again, I kicked him out, but I . . . I still didn’t .
. .” She pauses, and there’s another sniffle and a quiet sob.
“Nico, baby, I messed up so much. I had myself believing things that weren’t true, about you, about me, about everything.
And I kept digging myself deeper into that hole.
Patrick went to jail after what he did to you, but he was out again after a year, and he came back, again, a-and I .
. .” Her voice catches as she stutters through her next words.
“I-I . . . I let him, again. But the winter before last, around your birthday when you turned twenty-three, it finally really hit me, how much all of my decisions had hurt you and me and us. I . . . I became depressed. Patrick left me, moved down to Florida or something, I don’t even care anymore.
And everything got so bad I was almost fired.
Melinda, my boss, finally convinced me to get help. ”
“Get help?” I echo, and I feel Alex’s fingers brush my cheek softly, wiping away a tear.
“Yeah.” She lets out a ragged breath and says, “I . . . I started seeing a therapist in Omaha. Twice a week at first. Now I go once a week.”
My heart clenches in my chest, and I cling to Alex and force out a weak “oh.”
With what sounds like renewed conviction, she continues.
“It was the first step I needed to take to get my life back,” she says.
“And I’ve been working very hard on myself every day.
I . . . know I hurt you, Nico, and—and I’m your mom, and I shouldn’t have done that.
Ever. I can’t take back what happened, but I’m working hard, still, all the time, to be sure I’m no longer that person.
I hope . . . I hope you’ll believe me when I say I’m so sorry for everything I did to hurt you.
I also understand if you can’t trust me, but I would really, really like the chance to show you that I’ve changed—that I’m working to be who you need me to be. ”
I’m shaking, my breathing fast and stilted, and I bury my face against Alex as he holds me tighter. “I want that,” I say, and I sniffle and turn so I’m not mumbling into my boyfriend’s chest. “I missed you, too, Mom.”
She breaks down then, crying, and she doesn’t try to hide it. She repeats a lot of what she just said—how sorry she is, how much help therapy has been. And she tells me that she loves me and that she’ll do everything she can to show me that.
When she finishes, I’m still shaking, but Alex hasn’t let me go. He holds me gently, kisses my cheek, and whispers in my ear that he loves me and that I should breathe again. I laugh and elbow his side.
“Ow,” he complains, but he’s smiling when I look up at him. I close my eyes and settle my head back on his shoulder.
“Who are you with? Was that . . . Alex?” my mom asks, though her tone is almost reluctant, like she’s scared to say anything that might make me hang up. Or maybe like she knows she’s not entitled to any information about my life if I don’t want to share.
But I do want to share. I’ve wanted her to know how happy I am, how this life I’ve built with Alex is everything I ever dreamed of. So I nod, curl up against him, and give her just a little bit.
“Yeah, it’s Alex. We live together out here in California. He’s my boyfriend.”