Chapter 33 - Nico
THIRTY-THREE
Nico
The honey crystallizes in the jar. I run my thumb over the lid.
It’s the same kind she stole off the hotel breakfast buffet, pretending to be discreet as she shoved two into her purse.
I teased her about it. She told me to live a little and made me taste-test a dozen honeys on her belly that night and rank them.
This was the winner—dark, smoky, with a strange tang of wildflowers.
I mail it to her first.
No note. Just the honey.
It’s ridiculous. I know it’s fuckin’ ridiculous. Izzy tells me it’s ridiculous. “This is not Amélie,” she says. “This is not Love Actually. She is not going to get the honey and realize you are soulmates.”
“Soulmates in hell,” I correct.
I can hear her rolling her eyes at me over the phone.
I rub a hand over my face. “I just want her to know I’m still thinking about her.”
“She knows.”
“Then I want her to know that I’m not done trying.”
Izzy laughs. “Then maybe stop mailing her groceries and try giving her the truth.”
I don’t sleep much anymore.
There’s a spreadsheet open on my laptop—six tabs, twelve columns, tracked expenses. After paying off Ma’s bills and her entire mortgage, I have so much money I don’t know what the hell to do with it. And for the first time in my adult life, I’m not surviving. I’m secure.
Annie was right about that, too. About everything, really. She made me want things that felt impossible—honesty, intimacy, a future with someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a fuckin’ embarrassment.
She looked at me like I was inevitable.
And I broke that.
The second thing I send her is sorbet. Or at least, the recipe.
It’s scrawled in her handwriting on a page she left in my notebook. She’d titled it “Sorbet for Illiterate Gorillas” like a little joke she knew I’d find, eventually. It lists three ingredients: black sesame, coconut, and honey. It’s the one we made in Michelle’s kitchen.
I recreate the whole thing from memory. I tweak the proportions a bit, adding my notes in the margins. I circle the part where she wrote, Don’t you dare add rosewater, you pretentious fuck. I underline it twice and scribble back,
Noted, Ali. Miss you.
P.S. The honey makes it fucking delicious.
Izzy doesn’t know about this one.
I mail it with trembling hands and a stupid, stubborn hope.
I ship the gold dress and the shoes to Izzy’s apartment.
The truth.
Then maybe stop mailing her groceries and try giving her the truth.
After an hour of watching the sun creep onto my bedroom wall, I finally call Ma.
I’ve been avoiding it for months—years, really. But Annie was right. Ma deserves to know.
The phone rings twice. She picks up with her usual, “Hey, Nico. You good?”
“Hi, Ma.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a…”
“It’s a no,” she finishes for me.
I sit on the edge of my mattress, the sunlight dragging its way across the floor like it’s too tired to shine. “Ma, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I figured. You only call this early if someone’s dead, in jail, or pregnant.”
“I’ve literally never called you for any of those things.”
“Well, it’s the sentiment that matters.” There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I mean—no.”
“Talk to me.”
So I do.
I tell her everything. Everything. Not just about Harlot and NakedReactions—although I do avoid the more salacious DMs I get.
I tell her about my PhD program, my choices, why I moved back home.
I tell her about Annie. About the girl who made me brave.
Brave enough to admit it to my mom. About the week that changed everything.
About the night I didn’t believe her, not fast enough, not loud enough. About how I lost her.
I wait for her disappointment. Or judgement.
“Huh,” she says. “I wondered.”
I brace myself. “What?”
“I wondered how a grad student could suddenly pay off my medical bills and start sending me care packages from Eleven Madison Park.”
“You… you knew?”
“I didn’t know, Nico. Didn’t I just say I wondered? But I’m your mother. I knew something. I thought you were a drug dealer, to be honest.”
“What?!”
“Oh, please! Is being a drug dealer better or worse than being a porn star, huh? Listen, times are hard for the ninety-nine percent, in this economy, everyone’s gotta make sacrif—”
“But me? Drugs?! The guy who invented and experimented with lembas bread recipes until he found the ‘accurate’ one?!”
“You always have those pocket gummies!” Before I can remind her that they are now legal in the state of New York, there is a loud crashing sound, and I know Ma has thrown her hands up in exasperation and her phone has gone flying.
“But truly?” she says over the rustling of the retrieval of her phone from the ground. Her voice warms. “I’m proud of you.”
My throat tightens. “Even with how I did it?”
“You betcha bottom dollar,” she snorts. “You think I care if you showed your ass online to keep us afloat? Half the women on this block would pay to see you shirtless. I brag about you at bingo.”
“Ma.”
“You took care of your family. That’s what a man does.”
“But I wasn’t honest.”
“Well, now you are.”
I clear my throat to try to rid it of the sudden onset of thorns. I attempt the question that’s been keeping me up for years. “Do you think Dad would’ve been okay with this?” my voice cracks out.
She’s silent for a long moment. “Baby,” she finally says, her voice trembling with emotion. “Honey, Daddy died proud of you, so I think at this point we can consider it a permanent sentiment.”
“But—”
“And I know, I fuckin’ know,” she continues, voice still wavering, “that if there is such a thing as heaven, he’s throwin’ a fuckin’ party and dancin’ bachata with Jesus and all his buddies up there, drinkin’ Nebbiolo and havin’ it catered by whatever shitty Italian restaurant they may have, celebrating everything you’ve done to take care of us. ”
The tears are flowing freely now. “Okay,” I say after a swallow.
Something in me settles, a weighted blanket of peace.
Her voice softens. “But that girl—Annie. If she’s the one who helped you believe in more than just surviving… then you better fix it.”
I wipe my face and exhale. “I don’t know if I can.”
She pauses. “Nico, your whole life, you’ve been taking care of me.
Putting yourself last. I had no freakin’ idea you didn’t go to the best program in the country so you could be home with me.
That must’ve been hard as hell. This is the first time I’ve ever heard you talk like you wanted something for yourself.
Don’t throw that away just because it’s hard. ”
I swallow.
“She still loves you,” she says, certain.
“How do you know?”
“Because you still love her,” she says. “And no one, not one fuckin’ person on this planet, loves my son halfway.”
“She hasn’t said anything.”
“She doesn’t owe you that yet,” Izzy tells me.
I nod. “I know.”
“She hasn’t taken your sweatshirt off, though. It smells kind of rank.”
A spark, from deep inside my gut.
“Try something big.”
I open the document on my laptop. No more hiding. No more shame.
The truth.