15. It’s Love
Chelsea
“Good morning,” I call as I fly through the door of Robbie’s apartment.
He wanders out from the bedroom. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”
My stomach clenches with worry. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re here, and Trevor isn’t attached to your face.”
I mock laugh. “You’re soooo funny.”
“I am. Hilarious.”
“Well you can feast on your jokes for breakfast then, instead of the very fancy breakfast sandwich and home fries I brought for you.”
“I mean, I love you. And you’re sooo pretty.”
“Much better.”
We sit down at the table, and I slide his container over to him.
As he opens his, he says, “Not making fun, but genuinely curious… what has you up so early?”
“I took an early shift at Promise this morning. Since it’s close ish to the best little breakfast spot in Old Lake Town, I figured I’d be nice and bring you something.”
“Ah the first date spot you won’t stop raving about?” He takes a bite of his sandwich and groans. “Nevermind. It’s all true. Holy shit, this is delicious.”
“Told you.”
“Well, it’s impossible to believe anything actually is as good as you make it sound if you experienced it with Trevor. He makes your brain all mushy.”
I sigh dreamily. “He does.”
Robbie snorts at that. “Oof. If I have to listen to love-drunk ramblings, I need coffee. Want any?”
“No thanks. I’m meeting up with the girls at the coffee place downtown after this.”
He stops halfway to the coffeemaker and smiles at me.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just happy for you. I like seeing you find your people.”
I smile too. Over the last few weeks, my friendship with the girls has only deepened. I spent more time with them at Rae and Aaron’s wedding. Including getting ready with the girls—and Rae and Sarah’s mom and other female family members. It was beautiful. The whole day was absolutely perfect, and I’ll remember dancing in Trevor’s arms like that forever.
I’ve also spent a little more time with the girls in smaller groups, including hanging out alone with Sarah and then with Mackie and Amanda, all while Rae was on her honeymoon. They all make it a point to include me in their lives and seek me out. Until I had friends doing that for me, I didn’t realize I’d been missing it before from my high school and college friends.
“I’m happy too.”
“Good.” He returns with his cup of coffee. “I know how important that is. That reminds me, I talked to Nadine today, and she’s planning something that might interest you.”
I perk up at that. Part of the reason Robbie moved here—and away from the family campground—is because he went to college here and found his tribe. We may be the closest people to each other, but he has the queeries—his group of besties, all of whom fall on the LGBTQIA spectrum and met as students at SUNY FL. They’re called the queeries because one of the guys in the group—who is now a full-time author—was querying a manuscript, and one night when a few of them were high, another person said, ‘Whoa. Queries sounds like queer-ies. Like us. We should totally call ourselves the queeries.’ And since they were high, it sounded like a brilliant idea. The rest of the group will never let them live it down and kept the name as a punishment for their ridiculousness. The whole group is all snarky and hilarious and give each other shit—a lot like Rae and everyone else in the hive mind.
Nadine is the hippie free spirit of the group, but she’s also a badass feminist and considers herself a witch.
“You have my attention. What did Nadine say?”
“She’s organizing a women’s festival. It’s part hippie stuff but mostly feminist driven and she’s looking for help with planning and organizing it all. I mentioned you might be interested.”
“Might be? Uh, that sounds amazing. Plus, Nadine is the perfect person to do something like that. She’s both brilliant and so out of the box that I’m sure it’ll be amazing. How do I sign up?”
He laughs at my bouncy puppy energy, but I’m so in. It sounds like the kind of festival Gran would have taken me to as a kid. Helping to plan it? I’m so in.
He grabs his phone and fires off a text. “There’s her number. Just send her a text and she’ll give you all the info.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Nadine will be lucky to have you and all your feminist passion. If only she knew she was getting Gran’s energy wrapped in a spicy, slightly feral, bat-boy-loving package.” He gives me a shit-eating grin.
“Wow. Just rude to me like that?” I glare at him, then casually reach for the container in front of him, but he swats at my hand.
“You’re really pretty. That’s all I said.”
“Mhm. See if I ever bring you breakfast again.”
He makes a heart with his hands. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah. Eat up.”
But as he dives back into his breakfast sandwich with a happy groan, I can’t help but smile.
I finally feel like I’ve emerged from the darkness.
Who knew sunlight was kinda great?
The bell above the door chimes as I hurry inside Buzzing Brews and toward the table where the girls are sitting.
“Sorry I’m late.” I slide into the empty chair at the end of the table. “I got caught up talking with one of Robbie’s friends who’s organizing a women’s festival at the college camp in the spring.”
“Ooh, that sounds awesome,” Amanda says. “Are you helping plan it? Because that’s totally your jam. Love your shirt, by the way.”
I look down because I don’t even remember which one I put on this morning. It has silhouettes of women of all body shapes and sizes, and says, all bodies are beautiful .
A gift from Gran. She will always be my feminist idol.
“Thank you. Oh my gosh. I hope you all get to meet my grandmother at some point. She’s the one who got this for me, and whatever energy of that type you see in me, I definitely got it from her. She’s a true feminist badass. She has a framed picture of her being hauled away from a protest by police… topless . It’s iconic.”
Sarah and Rae glance at each other.
“She and Gram would get along,” Sarah says with a smile.
“Definitely,” Rae agrees.
A waitress appears next to me. “Can I get you something?”
“I’ll have a butter pecan latte and a chocolate croissant.” Because life is far too short to not eat chocolate croissants.
As the waitress walks away, Mackie looks at me. “So a women’s festival?”
“Yeah. It’s all in the early stages, but the plan is to have workshops and speakers and just general vibes that are all about women. Oh, and promoting local businesses that are women centered too.”
“You should talk to Kristen,” Rae says. “She loves to get Promise involved with local things.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. I’ll mention it to Nadine—the person organizing it. Promise having some kind of booth there might help women who need support to find it. I didn’t know where to look, but God knows I needed it after—”
I stop, glancing between Rae and Amanda. Rae knows my whole story. Amanda knows something happened. I’m guessing Sarah and Mackie have assumed.
My gaze drops to the table. I hate the immediate feeling of shame as I think about telling someone new. Someday, I want to get to a place where that’s not my gut reaction. I guess I have something specific to work on with my therapist now.
Rae rests her hand on my arm. “You okay?”
I take a deep breath and look around at the girls. “Just working up the nerve to… tell my truth.”
“You know you don’t have to,” Sarah says.
That’s exactly why I want to.
“This is what real friends do. They rely on each other. Or so I’m learning. I don’t want to get into all the details right now, but I guess I want you to know what I’ve been through.”
Sarah’s eyes find mine, filled with understanding. This is me offering up vulnerability. Giving them a piece of my trust. I never thought twice about it with Bridget and Lex, and yet they didn’t give me the support I needed. These girls—women—are different. I see it in the way they act and I feel it in my heart when I look at them.
“So, I’m just going to say this, and then we’re going to move forward like you’ve known the whole time, okay?”
They all nod.
“I was raped at a party in college. It’s why I left school. I went through all the testing and stuff after, but they never caught the guy. Not sure if they ever will. Oh, and Trevor might have known him since we went to the same college and the guy maybe played baseball. I went through a whole dark period, then I moved here because my uncle, who is more like my older brother, went to college here and lives here now. So that’s it. Now you all know.”
For a beat, no one says anything, but finally Amanda looks at me.
“Just know, if they ever find out who did it, it’ll be a No Body, No Crime situation. We’ll handle it all, including alibis.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh. A wicked, unhinged laugh. Because I could see them doing it.
If one—or multiple of them—committed a crime like that, no one would ever be able to catch them because their alibis would be foolproof.
“You might have to fight Trevor for that.”
Sarah gives me a knowing smile, like she’d expect nothing less, but it’s Mackie who speaks.
“He’d want to. But if it came to it, we wouldn’t let him. He’d be the obvious suspect. That’s where we come in.”
Laughing, I look around the table. “I love you ladies.” The words slip out before I realize what they are, but the moment of panic I’m expecting doesn’t come. I’m completely calm. Because despite the short time, I do love them. They’ve shown me what deep female friendships can be, and I’m never going back to being treated like crap by supposed friends again.
“We love you too,” Rae says. “In fact, since we’re all here—minus Hyla, but she’s already claimed you, anyway—I think it’s time to officially indoctrinate you.” She grabs her phone and types something out. “We’re adding you to the Girl Gang group chat.”
“Yes!” Amanda agrees.
My phone chimes, but Rae continues.
“Fun fact: before our parents adopted Sarah, I was an only child. I didn’t want to be, so I made it my mission to start collecting friends. It started with Joel, then Mackenzie, then Aaron.” She looks at Sarah, emotion brimming in her eyes. “Then my sister. Then Miles. Along the way, there were lots of others—Hyla, Trevor, Nick—then Amanda. I love the friend group we’ve formed, but nothing means more than this. This sisterhood, the tribe of incredible women who I can trust with my heart and my life. We’d be honored to have you be a part of it. If you’re willing to drink the… coffee.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m in.” I hold my cup out and they all touch theirs to it, then we drink.
It’s sweet and silly and fills me with joy.
My phone chimes again, and I grab it, checking the group text.
Chelsea Winters has been added to the group.
Rae: Time to make Chelsea one of us!
The next message is from Hyla.
Hyla: Woohoo! It’s about time. Love you all.
Me: Back at you.
After I type out my reply, I change the name of the group chat to Girl Gang.
The ache of my past friendships hurts, but this is separate. This is joyful. This is my future. And I want to let the roots of these friendships grow deeper.
“Feel any different?” Amanda asks.
I nod slowly. “I can already feel the chaos creeping in… and the tug of the hive mind.”
“Yes, she’s officially one of us,” Mackie says, throwing a hand up in celebration.
I lean back in my chair and allow myself a moment to soak in this… love . I’ve never experienced this kind of platonic love before, but I want to be a part of this tribe as much as they all want me here. Even though it means dealing with my complicated feelings about my friends back home, the only people I want in my life now are the ones who want to be here and who truly support me. There’s no doubt I have it with this little group, and I get the sense that wherever I end up, I always will.
I go to turn my phone screen off, but then something catches my attention. The text I sent to Trevor hours ago. He usually responds to me faster than I respond to him.
I must make a face because Amanda asks, “What’s wrong? Tired of us already?”
I muster a little smile. “No. But… did any of you talk to Trevor this morning? We weren’t planning to meet up today, but he usually texts me back quickly. It’s weird that he hasn’t. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Crap. I was going to mention that to you,” Amanda says. “It slipped my mind, but no, he wasn’t around this morning. I went to check on him before I left, and he didn’t answer his door. But then I told him it was a wellness check, and he told me he was still alive.”
“That’s weird,” Mackie says.
Then Sarah’s eyes go wide, and she grabs her purse. “What’s the date today?” She rummages through her bag, trying to find her phone, but I flick my screen on first.
“November thirteenth.”
“Today’s the anniversary of his dad’s death.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Why didn’t he tell me?” It’s only after the words are out that I realize I said them aloud.
“Because he does the caretaking. He doesn’t ask for it in return,” Sarah says. “Which I’m guessing you’ve figured out based on the look on your face. The first year we were together, he didn’t mention it until the day after. I felt like crap for not realizing—because I knew him when it happened—but my dad helped me understand I didn’t do anything wrong. Still, I made it a point to mark it on my calendar so I’d know. And then I just started conveniently showing up.”
I stand suddenly and grab my coffee and croissant. “I need to go. Sorry to bail.”
“No, don’t be. We all get it,” Rae says. The way her eyes shimmer tells me she’d do the same for Aaron—likely has plenty of times.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Sarah says.
“We’ll bring pizza for dinner,” Amanda says.
“Thank you! Bye!”
They call goodbyes after me, but I barely hear them. As much as it drives me crazy he didn’t tell me, I’m learning Trevor has to be bullied into support. He loves being a caretaker and protector, and that’s fine, but he needs to learn I’m as fiercely loving and protective as he is, and I will always be there when he needs me, whether he asks for it or not.
Trevor
I don’t think I’m okay.
I said I would be okay.
That’s what I told myself. That’s what I told Hyla when she texted yesterday. It’s what I told my mom when I convinced her she didn’t need to come up here today.
But I don’t think I’m okay.
Maybe it’s because this is the ten-year anniversary of my dad’s death, but I think it’s more about how the last year of my life has been. Throughout high school, and especially early college, I took on this playful, shit-giving, sometimes grumpy role. Usually with an air of I don’t give a fuck. When it comes to people who don’t know me… I don’t. I don’t care what they think of me. But I played all of those things in trying to find myself again after losing my dad, and I never realized how much they became a coping mechanism. Something I latched onto.
Are those things still me? Yes. But they’ve hidden the broken bits well enough that I forgot how many there were.
This morning I woke up and immediately, everything felt wrong. Dark.
I hate that darkness. I will always hate it. It’s like an extra thief, robbing me of my father’s joy.
In an attempt to tune that out, I thought I’d go through pictures of him, remind myself of his smile and how happy he’d be to see where I am now.
But then I started thinking of specific memories and looking for those pictures. Now I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, surrounded by every photo I brought with me—and there are a lot—looking for one I can’t seem to find. It’s from my ninth birthday. I’m standing with my parents, Hyla, and the mascot from the Binghamton team at the time. A giant bee. My dad’s smile was massive. My mom was looking at him instead of the camera. Hyla was vibrant and happy because she was surrounded by love. And I’d never been so damn happy in my life.
But I can’t fucking find it. Now my brain is trying to gaslight me into thinking it doesn’t exist. That I made the picture up. The logical side of me knows I didn’t, but I also can’t stop looking for it. I don’t know what time it is or how long I’ve been doing this. I only know I have to find it. Have to figure it out.
I pull my knees up to my chest. It’s all too much.
Ten years since my dad died.
Almost half my life without him now. It makes me sick. In a few years, I’ll have spent more of my life without him than with him. And that’s not fucking fair.
Where’s the picture?
I just want to remember. Feel it again. Live that moment for a few seconds. Feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders and the unending happiness I always had with him.
My breaths get sharp and heavy.
I hate this.
A picture catches my eye. One of him and my mom. She’s making a silly face, and he’s looking at her like she’s the entire world.
I should call Mom and see how she’s doing. This is harder for her than me.
I need to check in with Hyla too.
She’s not okay for a whole list of other reasons.
I lost my dad, but she never really had parents. Not ones who count anyway. If you can’t do the bare minimum and love your kid, can you even be called a parent?
Hyla’s not okay. Mom’s not okay.
I need to take care of them.
I need to get myself together.
My eyes roll over the mess in front of me again.
I need to find the picture.
“Trevor?”
I jump and spin, only to find Chelsea standing there, wide-eyed.
She sets whatever she’s holding down and walks toward me.
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I thought you might be sleeping. I wanted to see if you were okay.”
I look down at all the photos, unsure how to answer that.
Part of me says I’m fine. Because I have to be. I have people to take care of.
But the array of photos and the absolute need to find the one I can’t says I’m not fine at all. The weight sitting in my chest and making it hard to breathe says I’m far from okay.
Chelsea delicately steps around photos before sitting down next to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is soft and even. There’s no judgment, only concern.
I grab a handful of my curls and tug them through my fingers in frustration. Or resignation. I’m not sure.
“I didn’t think I’d struggle this much.”
“I’m still here to support you.”
I let out a breath and say the truth. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
She loops her arm around mine and rests her head on my shoulder. “Lucky for you, the girls told me anyway. You don’t need to hide your hurt from me. I’m here for you, and I want to see every version of you. Even the hurting ones. The broken ones.” She gestures to all the pictures. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m looking for a picture, but I can’t find it.”
She rubs her hand over my back in soft, soothing circles. “What’s the picture of?”
“Me with my family on my ninth birthday—the one I told you about.”
“And why do you need to find it?”
“I don’t know.” My voice catches. “I just need to see it. Maybe my skin will stop crawling if I do.”
“Okay. I’m assuming you’ve been through all of these multiple times.”
I nod.
“Do you have any other pictures here?”
I shake my head.
“Come here.” She wraps an arm around my back, guiding me off the floor, but all I can do is look back at the pictures. “Trust me?” she whispers.
My eyes lift to hers, and all I see are those intoxicating eyes full of vulnerability and something else I’ve known for a while and have been afraid to say.
With a heavy inhale, I stand up. After all the trust she’s given me, I can at least give her enough to get off this damn floor.
She leads me over to the bed and pulls me onto the mattress with her. I lie flat on my back and she wraps her body around mine, like a weighted blanket. Her head rests on my shoulder, and she lets me settle for a moment before speaking again.
“Why is this picture so important?”
I can’t answer for a second because my emotions have gone crazy and I can’t rein them in.
“Because I want to see it. Stare at it. Remember every detail. Pretend for a minute that if I open my eyes, he won’t be gone. Sometimes… fuck, it doesn’t make sense after ten years, but sometimes it still feels like yesterday that I saw him, and if I close my eyes and breathe, I’ll wake up from a bad dream and he’ll be here. I want to see it and live in that fantasy for a while.”
“Okay.” That’s it. A simple okay . She doesn’t even question me. “Would your mom have a copy?”
“Maybe.”
“Why don’t you call and ask her?”
“I don’t want to put that on her. Make her go through all those photos. It’s not easy for her.”
She nestles in closer. Her body is pressed so tightly to mine we might as well be one. Then she mindlessly twirls a finger around one of my curls, and it calms me in a surprising way.
“I’m sorry you have to relive this pain. But if this picture will bring you peace, it’s okay to ask your mom. She’s an adult, and if going through those photos is too much, she can say that.”
“She won’t though. If I ask, she’ll do it. And it’s my job to take care of her.”
“As the child, it’s never your job to be emotionally responsible for your parent.”
“Not just emotionally. I—” I blow out a breath. “It became my job the second my dad died. Not because anyone forced me into it, but because he always took care of her—and everyone. That void needed to be filled, so I filled it. My mom never asked. She doesn’t rely on me in ways she shouldn’t, but it’s important to me to be there for her.”
“But if you’re always trying to be there for her or take care of her or take the perceived burden of your needs off her, who’s taking care of you?”
Her words land with every bit of force intended.
“You can’t carry the weight of the world or even the responsibility of caretaker for everyone in your world. I love that you’re protective. I love how much you care for the people in your life. But you’re doing all of them a disservice if you don’t take care of yourself—let yourself be taken care of—too.”
Her words shatter something deep inside me, and I roll over, burying my head in her neck.
And then tears come. Tears of grief. Tears of anger. Tears of relief. Because as she holds me, I don’t feel like I have to be on. I don’t feel guilty or hyper aware of the fact that I’m crying. I just let go. This is safety. She’s my safe space. I don’t know when it happened, but I love that it has. Even if this level of vulnerability doesn’t come easily for me.
Chelsea runs her fingers through my hair, playing with the strands.
In time, my chest aches less, and though the desire to find that picture is still there in the back of my mind, it’s not clawing at me.
When I’m finally breathing normally again, I force myself to look at her, only to find her resting against my pillow with her eyes closed, still soothingly running her fingers through my hair.
“Chels,” I whisper, and her eyes flash open.
She runs her hand over my cheek, a soft smile appearing. “Hey, baby. You look a little better.”
I nod, even though everything inside me is still twisted up.
“I think I’m broken.”
Her voice is soft when she speaks. “Why? Men are allowed to have feelings.”
Slowly, I push myself up to sitting and wipe my face. “It’s not that. But I felt like I was drowning when you walked in. I was stuck and couldn’t figure out how to break out of that thought process.”
She tilts her head. “Has that happened before?”
“Not really. Not like that.”
“Sometimes people experience hyperfixation in response to anxiety or depression. What this day triggers for you is probably a messy mix of those things.”
I blow out a breath and try to root myself in reality again. That’s when I notice the achy pain in my stomach.
“I haven’t eaten,” I say numbly.
Chelsea smiles and climbs off the bed, bringing over a bag and then grabbing my water bottle. Inside the bag I find a croissant.
“It’s a chocolate one,” she says with a smile.
“Thank you.”
She kisses my cheek. “No problem.”
While I eat, she taps away on her phone, like she’s on a mission.
Once I’ve finished and moved on to chugging water, she turns to look at me with a serious expression.
“Does your mom know that you do that? Try to be the man of the house or whatever you want to call it?”
The cool water soothes my scratchy throat. “Yeah. She’s called me on it before, but I can’t help it. She deserves to be taken care of too.”
“She does. And I know you feel the same way about Hyla, but there has to be a line. You can let them rely on you, but you need to rely on them too—and trust them to take care of themselves.”
I know she’s right, but it’s my natural instinct to want to protect the people I care about—all of them. My mom, Hyla, and now Chelsea are at the top of that list.
Chelsea leans in and brushes her lips over my cheek. “Don’t worry. I won’t think you’re any less of a sexy, fantasy book boyfriend if you do.”
That gets a rough laugh out of me. I turn and press my lips to hers. “Thank you. For being here. Taking care of me.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I mean it. I’m happy to do it. I want to do it. But you have to let me. I told you that you’re my person. The one I want to run to in my best moments and my worst. Am I that for you?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop shutting me out. I know you want to take care of me and protect me, but I don’t need you to be my protector. I need you to be my partner. Which means it’s not one-sided. You take care of me, but I get to take care of you too. Let me take care of you.”
Fuck . I can’t even explain what those words do to me. They crack something open deep inside me. A lock I didn’t know was there.
I lean in to kiss her, overwhelmed by her desire to care for me, by how much it means to me—but then her phone vibrates on the bed between us, and I almost laugh, until she quickly pulls away and grabs it, a smile growing on her face as she looks at it.
“What?” I ask.
She turns the phone sideways and hands it to me, and there on her screen is the picture I was so desperate for.
Tears rim my eyes again, but I blink them back, wanting to see the picture with clear eyes.
Chelsea curls against me again, looking at the picture too.
“Where did you—”
“I texted your mom and asked. Turns out she had a copy on her desk.”
I almost facepalm. I can see it so clearly now. That’s why I thought of the picture. Every time I’d go to her office, I’d always see it there.
“I’m an idiot.”
Chels shrugs. “You were spiraling. We all have our moments. Some people kiss a really cute guy, run away like their pants are on fire, and think they’ll never see him again.”
I grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Good thing I found you.”
She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs softly. “Yeah. It is. I kinda like you.”
I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Back at you.”
“Now, a chocolate croissant is tasty, but nothing close to a meal. Can I go make you something to eat? I’m not a sandwich connoisseur like you, but I do all right.”
“Yeah.” I grab her hand as she climbs off the bed. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No. I mean thank you for coming here. For caring for me even when I tried to stop you. For not taking offense to me not telling you. For seeing me. You always see me.”
She smiles, though her eyes are glassy, and leans down to place a gentle kiss on my lips.
“You always see me too.”
Chelsea made me the best sandwich I’d ever eaten, then I passed the fuck out. Apparently, emotional turmoil is exhausting. When I woke up, Chelsea was sitting next to me, all my pictures neatly stacked in piles at the end of my bed.
Now we’re going through them all together, and it’s awakening a whole other part of me to share these pieces of my life with her.
The last couple have made her bristle, though, because they’re pictures of me in my Syracuse baseball uniform with some of my teammates. Have I been watching her extra closely to see if there are any signs she recognizes any of them? Of course. She’s right that we should be partners—taking care of and protecting each other—but my protective heart will always lead with her. Especially when it comes to this.
Still, she hasn’t reacted like she’s recognized anyone, and I’m happy to move on to different memories.
My smile almost splits my face when she picks up the next one. It’s a picture of me with Aaron, Joel, and Miles, arms slung around each other, sweaty and covered in dirt.
“After we won our last game before the state championship. It was the farthest our high school team had made it in like twenty years or something. I think Miles’s mother orchestrated that photo. She’s tiny and terrifying and runs everything with a sugary sweet voice and a deadly glare.”
She laughs at that, and I grab the next picture, my smile only growing when I see it.
“Huh, look at that.”
It’s a picture of me with my parents under the sign for her family campground.
She smiles big too, then drags her finger over the blurry figures in the background, standing near a golf cart with the campground logo on it.
“That’s me.”
I turn to look at her, mouth hanging open. “Seriously? You’re sure?”
She nods. “It’s obvious to me. My hair was redder back then, and I’m standing next to Robbie, who had shaggy hair at the time—actually, he pretty much had an entire Shaggy vibe, like from Scooby Doo . I spent a lot of my summers riding around in that old golf cart with Robbie. We named her Bertha. Bouncing Bertha.”
“There’s that tether again. I can’t believe all this time I’ve had a picture of you. I guess that answers whether we ever saw each other. We must have.”
“Sometimes I wish I’d have felt that pull sooner. Looked up and locked eyes with you. There’s no way I wouldn’t have known.”
“Known what?”
“That you’re my person.”
I set the photos down and turn to her, my palm resting on her cheek.
“Sometimes I let myself imagine what would’ve happened if I’d met you at any of the previous points when our paths crossed.”
“And?”
I shrug. “It always would’ve ended up the same. You here next to me.”
She grabs my shirt and pulls me closer. “Always such a sweet talker.” Then she kisses me, quick and spicy, finishing with a nip of my bottom lip.
I laugh and kiss her nose, then she cuddles in close, and we get back to looking through the stories of my life.
After Chelsea and I spent the afternoon relaxing in my room and looking through pictures, she coaxed me out of my room for pizza at dinner time, where my friends gave me shit and reminded me they are also here for me. I know I should get better at letting everyone in, but I like being the one they can count on, either to talk to about hard shit or to make them laugh with my stupidity.
My day was better because Chelsea came over. Because she encouraged me to let myself be supported. She probably would’ve stayed the night if I hadn’t said I wanted to check in with Hyla and my mom.
I had a quick video chat with Hyla, who still looks exhausted and like she’s not taking care of herself, but I can’t fix that, so I’m trying not to stress about it. After that, I called my mom. I didn’t mention how much I was struggling earlier today, but I told her I was having a hard time. No surprise she was too. That’s why I want to be strong for her. I lost my dad, but she lost the love of her life. They’d been together for over fifteen years when he died, and they were still madly in love. She’s never even considered wanting to date again.
I pick up the picture Chelsea left sitting on my nightstand. The one of my parents, smiling and laughing.
I can’t imagine how painful losing him was for my mom.
But then a thought clangs through me.
I can.
Because if I lost Chelsea…
It hasn’t been fifteen years. Not even a whole year. But it doesn’t matter. What I feel for Chelsea is the same thing reflected in that picture. It’s the way my dad felt about my mom. The way he loved her. And while that’s terrifying, it makes my chest warm and my head feel light.
I’m stupidly in love with Chelsea Winters. I love her more deeply than I knew I could love someone. And I haven’t told her yet. If I lost her today, that would be the biggest regret of my life.
I need her to know how I feel, and I don’t think I can wait another day to do it.