Just Friends(80)

“That’s true,” I mutter, going inward.

“And didn’t you mention that Gwen was the one who wouldn’t let you through the door when you were trying to visit Declan all those years ago?” Roshi adds.

“Well, technically Declan told her he didn’t want to see me.”

“And why didn’t he want to see you?” Faye asks.

“He said it was because he didn’t want me to see him… in that state.” My voice peters off.

“Like, injured, and bedridden, and weak?” Roshi supplies for me.

I nod. “I wouldn’t care what state he was in. I just wanted to see him. Be there with him.”

They nod in unison and something stirs in my chest.

I just wanted to be there with him.

Through every emotion he was having. Anger and shame and heartbreak, complete despair. And that’s what he wanted with me, now.

It was like Declan and I were reliving our past—but in reverse this time. He hadn’t wanted me to see him weak, and now I shuddered at the thought of him being with me at my lowest. Both of us believing we were protecting the other from pain by hiding our suffering.

But hadn’t the past two months taught me how much I disagreed with that? I had to force Lottie to let me stay by her bedside as she was dying, and I watched my mom refuse to ask for help even as she drowned before my eyes. In the end, they caused the very pain they were trying to protect me from. And though their intentions were good, I couldn’t keep doing the same—to Faye and Roshi, and most of all, to Declan.

And besides, there is little I wouldn’t be willing to do for Declan. The thought clangs through me as if dropped into my mind from above. Swiftly, the flutter of fear follows it. I want Declan, and not just in the emotional-safety-blanket way.

Not because he dampens the stomach-churning effects of grief. Not because he’s a distraction. If anything, he was the exact opposite. He was the one who led me through my tears. Led me to face the life-altering reality when I wanted to pretend it wasn’t real. And even at the bottom of my grief, I knew, deep in my gut, I would still have it in me to be there for him. It would be my joy to pull myself out of my world to be a part of his. The realization is startling. I couldn’t picture wanting anything close to the depth with which I wanted Declan. So, why did I feel so terror-stricken?

“Oh my gosh,” I breathe. “The thing Lottie always used to say—it’s happening to me.”

Faye and Roshi were still, waiting for me to snap out of my strange inwardness and explain.

“Lottie used to always say this phrase.” The familiar, painful knot forms in my throat and I berate myself to keep it together. I take a moment, try to breathe, and continue. “She would say, ‘the fear part only comes when it’s love.’ But you know, she would say it more in her accent that I never heard until other people told me she had one.”

Roshi laughs. “Relatable.”

“And I never understood what that meant, but she said I would know it was real love if it felt so big, it became scary to admit. If I felt transformed by it, felt like I’d be losing a part of myself if I lost it. And I do feel that fear now, but not because I don’t think it will work between us, but because I think it really will. Except, on the horrifying condition that I have to let him in on my grief as it happens. Which you guys know I’m terrible at. I’ve never even cried in front of you guys until now. But these days I really have no control over it.” In perfect irony, my voice crumples like a soda can being crushed and I bow my head to hide my contorting face.

Faye and Roshi scootch from their sections of the couch to reach me in an instant. I feel both sets of arms wrap around my shoulders and I finally allow myself to let go in front of them for the first time. My tears are for Lottie, because I did feel like I lost a tiny part of myself when I lost her. But they were also for the fear I felt, because I couldn’t escape the way I loved Declan.

The surge of emotions pours out now that I’ve let myself admit them. I did feel entirely transformed since seeing Declan again. Staying in Seabrook despite the grief that awaited me at every corner felt possible because of him. He was the insistent voice that reminded me of my love for writing. So much so, I was angry at him at first for reminding me of the dream I tried so hard to forget. But he pushed back on my self-doubt. Believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. And now, I had a nearly completed manuscript on my computer. In so many ways, being near him brought me closer to myself. And that was what scared me most. I had already been in love with him. I had never fallen out of love with him.

“What are you feeling right now?” Faye asks gently once my breathing calms.

“I’m thinking about how—”

“I asked you what you’re feeling, not what you’re thinking,” she protests, but her delivery makes me laugh. “You are such a thinker. Think, think, think! I’m convinced all your problems would be solved if you just let yourself feel your emotions.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” I burst out. But after a moment of silence, I let my head fall into my hands as I release another wave of sobs.

“There you go!” Faye points at me. “Would you look at that. You are a very fast learner indeed. You’re getting the hang of it right there.”

I look up and pin her with a glare through teary eyes.