Aspen #4
Safi gave her space, asked questions without accusation. Adjusted herself around Nai’s distance as if it were temporary. She believed love was something you could tend.
Standing out on the balcony now, Nai felt the shape of that realization without its heat.
She knew what it had been. She knew what it meant.
She had watched Safi stretch herself thin for her and call it love and patience.
But bit by bit she was giving up pieces of herself.
That was what had made leaving inevitable.
Nai had known, even then, that Safi deserved someone who chose her without effort. Someone whose love came easily, reflexively, without calculation or pause. Someone who didn’t have to concentrate to stay.
Nai hadn’t trusted herself to become that person again. And so she had left before Safi could hollow herself out trying to save them both.
The memory settled quietly, not as guilt, but as understanding. Something logical, not emotional. She pressed her palms together, enough that she could feel the dulled sensation of her skin. The house behind her laughed again, muffled but bright.
Safi’s kindness had never been a flaw. It had simply been unbearable to receive when Nai could no longer return it.
She exhaled, breath ghosting white into the night. Some losses did not come from lack of love. They came from knowing when to stop taking more than you could give.
The door opened behind her. Just for a moment. No doubt someone reaching for one of the bottles kept in the snow to chill. Warm air spilled out against the sharp night, carrying the sounds of laughter and the clink of dishes. And something else—a sweet, fruity scent that prodded her memory.
Pineapple tarts.
Her chest tightened reflexively with recognition. Her fingers rubbing the pendant as if by instinct as the memory hit her, full force.
Safi standing at the counter in her childhood kitchen, hair pulled into a messy bun, a dusting of flour along her forearm.
Safi’s mother stood beside her, occasionally reaching in to adjust the tray or brush something gently aside.
They’d worked quietly, the radio low in the background.
The smell of caramelized pineapple filled the small house until it clung to the curtains, to their clothes, to everything.
Safi had laughed when Nai stole one fresh from the oven and burned her mouth. Her mother had scolded them both, smiling even as she did, and pressed a glass of water into Nai’s hand.
Be careful, she’d said, but there had been no real warning in it. Instead, her voice was laced with warmth and care.
Nai had only ever experienced that sort of care at April’s, where Mrs. and Mr. Hart treated her as if she was part of their family.
She spent more nights at April’s and Safi’s than she did at home with Dad and Allison.
They usually only noticed her absence when they were running the risk of losing the child support her mother had to send.
The door shut again behind her, pulling her into the present. Nai swallowed, throat tight for reasons she could catalog but not feel. Of course it would be food. That was how Safi’s world had always reached for her—through cooking together, her favorite flavors, and laughing over shared meals.
The night felt even colder suddenly, the contrast almost cruel. Nai closed her eyes for a brief second. And slowly, not entirely unwillingly, she let the memory take shape.
The house was modest but welcoming. The hallway was cluttered with shoes and jackets, and that one floorboard always creaked no matter how carefully you stepped inside.
A dark wooden staircase hugged the left wall, leading up to the second floor, while a long corridor stretched ahead toward the far end of the house. To the right, the living room opened up wide and bright, flowing easily into the kitchen beyond. It was a space made for gathering and laughter.
Nai and the girls had spent too many nights in there playing Sigils & Swords, Safi’s mother enjoying their company from the couch or kitchen. She’d pretend to not care much for their tabletop game, but Nai had caught her glance at their figures and laugh at their encounters more than a few times.
The Lestari household always felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the heater.
Nai could picture it as if she was still there.
At Christmas, multicolored lights blinked in the windows that fogged easily from all the cooking.
The radio murmured old songs in the background, occasionally drowned out by laughter.
Pots simmered from mid-morning onward, never quite left alone.
The door opened and closed as people arrived in waves.
Aunties first, arms already full. Tupperware stacked with food, scarves looped loosely around their necks.
Uncles followed, loud and affectionate, voices booming through the house as they greeted Safi’s mother with easy familiarity.
Cousins drifted in behind them, shedding coats, already calling out to one another.
Someone argued about where to put the extra shoes.
Someone else complained about the heat. A child darted through the hallway, chased by another, their laughter bouncing off the walls.
Nai stood just inside the door, boots still on, scarf half-unwound, unsure where to put herself.
“You’re freezing,” Safi had said immediately, already reaching for her hands, pressing a shy kiss to her lips. “Come in. Mama’s been cooking all day.” She hadn’t waited for an answer, just taken Nai’s hand in hers and pulled her along.
The kitchen was crowded in the way only lived-in kitchens were.
Every counter occupied. Bowls nested inside bowls.
Ingredients half-prepped and resting wherever there was space.
Safi’s mother moved effortlessly through it all with, stepping around bodies, shifting pots, and responding to questions without ever pausing her hands.
Safi said something to an auntie who threw her arms out with a delighted ‘ah,’ said something in Bahasa, and motioned for Nai to sit down beside her. The auntie giggled, tilted her head, and said something else that prompted Safi to blush, saying something flustered back.
Safi grabbed Nai’s shoulder, giving her a stern gaze. “Whatever she says, just say no.”
“No English,” the auntie had grinned at Nai.
“Yuni, don’t scare the poor girl,” Mrs. Lestari tutted, walking up to them. Then, with a smile to Nai. “You’re here.”
“Thanks for letting me come over, Mrs. Lestari.”
“It’s Ibu for you, dear.” She pressed a plate of nasi uduk into Nai’s hands. Steam curled from the coconut rice, carrying a delicious fragrance of fried shallots, crisp tempeh, and spiced eggs.
“Eat, Nak,” Safi’s mum said, her voice gentle and fond. “It’s Christmas. You need something good in your belly.”
Nai blinked down at the food, wondering why someone who’d known her only a few months was kinder to her than her own parents.
When Safi stroked her hair and kissed her temple, it was all she could do to keep from crying into her warm bowl of rice.
“Terima kasih,” she whispered in a thick, shaky voice.
The entire table erupted in hoots and claps. Safi’s mother laughed, delighted, eyes sparkling. “You’ll be fluent soon.”
Nai blushed. It had taken her a whole day just to get the enunciation right, but they all reacted as if she’d aced her SAT.
“My clever girl.” Safi grinned, nudging her with her shoulder as Mrs. Lestari was swept away by a cousin. The joyful commotion picked right up, laughter and chatter tumbling over one another.
An auntie reached past Nai to grab a spoon.
An uncle leaned in to inspect a pot, offering unsolicited commentary that Safi’s mother completely ignored.
Around her, the house continued to fill and rearrange itself.
Cousins squeezed onto the couch, arguing over music.
Aunties leaned against counters, talking over one another.
Another uncle wandered in, stole something from a pan, and earned a playful tap from Mrs. Lestari’s wooden spoon against his hand.
He cackled and quickly left the kitchen.
Somewhere else in the house someone laughed too loudly and was shushed.
Safi helped her mother in the kitchen, tasting, adding spices, and stealing bites when she thought her mother wasn’t looking. She brushed past Nai more than once, resting a hand at her back. Or she’d turn to throw a smile over her shoulder.
Safi drifted towards Nai again and again, as if tugged by some invisible thread.
Every now and then she’d sit down next to Nai, their thighs touching.
Her fingers curled around Nai’s thigh as if she couldn’t possibly get close enough.
Nai loved it. Loved the comforting feel of her warm presence and the way she just let Nai exist as herself.
“Try this.” Safi slid her plate over, spearing a golden-red cube that looked deliciously crispy at the edges, glossy with chili oil and scattered with slivers of fried shallot. The scent was bright and mouthwatering: sweet, spicy, and rich with garlic.
“It’s so good, but, different. You can’t say anything until you’ve had at least two bites. Deal?” Her smile was teasing, but Nai could see the hope in her eyes.
She obliged, taking a cautious bite. The heat hit first, blooming sweet and fiery, followed by the earthy comfort of potato, everything clinging together in that glossy sauce.
Safi watched her, holding her breath for the verdict, her hand hovering just close enough to squeeze Nai’s knee under the table if she needed reassurance.
“It’s so hot.” She let out a breath trying to cool off her tongue.
Nai had eaten spicy food, but then there was Indonesian-spicy food.
And that was an adventure every time. Ever the expert, Mrs. Lestari had already put a glass of cold milk on the table for Nai.
She took a few quick gulps. “But so good.”