Chapter 22 #2
Eve nods, and there’s a glassiness in her eyes.
I glance at her now, while she’s looking into that store window, or maybe studying her own reflection in it, or just trying not to meet my eyes so she can hide her emotion.
And I know that even though I still want to kiss her—so badly—and help her experience Christmas magic again, I want so much more than that.
I want to give her the moon— our moon—and all the stars in the cerulean sky, to help her to have faith in all the good things, all year long, and to experience the comfort and joy that comes with really, truly believing in something. Something like love.
But I can’t say any of that. Not right now. So I just wait in silence beside her, until she speaks again.
“Anyway,” Eve says after a beat. “We moved in with Tía and Carlos after that, and we’ve been there ever since. They’re the best and we’re super lucky. It could have been way worse.”
“Well, they do seem amazing, and if you get to eat those tamales on the regular, it’s basically the jackpot,” I say, but I know how un-fun it is, always trying to make other people feel less uncomfortable around your pain, so I add, “But I’m sure that doesn’t mean it’s any easier without your parents, and that it’s probably been extra hard with your brother. ”
“Yeah, it is,” Eve says. She looks at me and there’s a softening, an opening, like a window cracked just enough to let in some fresh air.
“It’s, um… not something a lot of people get, ya know?
They’re just kinda like, Cute kid , and, Too bad about the talking—I’m sure he’ll come around eventually!
So… I appreciate you seeing that.” She tucks a soft curl behind her ear and takes a deep breath, then continues, “It seems like maybe you get it. You said you have a sister, right? Complicated communication?”
I’m kind of flattered that she remembered—that she was paying such close attention—even though I wish she hadn’t.
“I do indeed,” I say. “Very complicated, in all the ways.”
“So… you guys aren’t close, then?” Eve asks.
I open my mouth to answer with a quick no, but then stop. I’m grateful to Audra for the second time today. The first time for seeing me, and again now, because I’ve had a chance to sort of practice this.
Part of why I don’t talk about this stuff is that I don’t want to be the one to bring down a mood, but Eve has been so real with me about her family and her loss, showing me all her pain out in the open, it only feels right that I be honest and real with her in return.
So I inhale the cold air through my nose and use the breath to help me through what I’m about to say.
“We used to be,” I finally answer. “We used to do everything together, especially at Christmas… the tree trimming, the movie marathons, the cocoa and Christmas morning of it all. But not anymore. Not since she…”
I pause. I never know how to describe this.
Does Michelle have an illness or an addiction?
Is she “mentally unwell” or destructive and selfish?
Troubled or just in need of care? Is it all these things?
These are the details maybe I’ll have a chance to learn with a support group, like Audra said.
But for now I have to decide how I want to say it.
And suddenly the language seems really important.
Eve isn’t rushing me though. She’s quiet as she waits. Totally patient.
“Well, she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but she’s also had trouble with drugs. She’s been in rehab, and on meds and stuff. But honestly, I’m still kind of trying to understand it all…”
She slows her pace a little, and I match her.
“That must be really hard on you,” she says. “Even though she’s alive… that’s a big loss. Especially if you used to be close.”
“It was,” I say, realizing she’s right—it has been a loss. I’ve never framed it that way… like there’s grief involved. “It’s hard to describe sometimes. Knowing she’s still out there, living her life every day, but that the person I used to know might be gone forever…”
Does Eve ever worry about Hugo this way? Does she question whether she’ll ever talk to him like she once did?
“And so it’s just you two and your mom?” she asks.
“Yeah. But now my mom works constantly because there are a ton of bills. I got a job so I could chip in because I really want her to work less,” I say.
“Damn. That’s a lot for you to take on,” she says after a moment.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s really validating to have someone recognize that for me, especially Eve, because she is someone who would know.
Still, I have to share something else if I want to be really truthful with her.
It’s a part that feels hard to say out loud, but with another breath, I try.
“But… honestly? It’s kind of selfish. I want her not to have to work so much so she can spend time with me, too.
Maybe that’s kind of pathetic, ya know… wanting my mom’s attention… ”
“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 s ay 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. ”
“You know, you have a way of being, like, super compassionate and also very salty at the same time,” I say. She shrugs her shoulders all the way up to her ears with her hands still wrapped around the tamale tray, and we both laugh. “But for real, I can absolutely see you doing that.”
I gesture for her to give me the tray, so she can have a break, and she hands it to me.
“You think?” she asks after she thanks me, and half smiles, scratching behind her ear with that pinky again now that her hands are free.
“Definitely,” I say, lifting the warm tray to my face and inhaling deeply—I can’t even help myself.
But in my eagerness, I have made a critical error. I try to look back at Eve, but my glasses are completely fogged. “How are these things still so steamy?” I ask, confounded.
But she doesn’t answer, and in the silence, without my vision, my senses go haywire.
I smell her—that now familiar cinnamon getting subtly stronger, even with the tray between us.
Then I feel her, the warmth of her, getting stronger, more intense.
Closer. I can’t see a thing, but I’m certain she’s within kissing distance, so when she finally speaks, and it’s barely above a whisper, my heart skips, and I stop breathing.
“Well, Strudel,” she utters, as she reaches up to remove my glasses. “I blame you for that.”
The moment is a total blur, and not just because I can barely see three inches in front of me without my glasses.
“Can you see now?” she asks, as she delicately, ever-so-gently places them back on my face.
“More clearly than ever,” I say, holding her gaze as she comes into crystalline focus.
Is this it? Is this the moment? I thought I’d know but now I don’t know. Someone tell me, please!
“Well. Thanks for taking over,” she says, stepping back.
And just like that, if it was the moment, I’ve missed it.