Page 34 of Yours, Forever


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"Uh—" Brooke stammers. "Well, we're all busy, right? Gosh, it's cold. Let's get to your place!"

Jerry carefully grabs the bags of boxed cupcakes from Brooke and leads the way. He's got a bit of a sneaky grin, but he doesn't say anything until we arrive at their building. It's a nice place. Understated and decidedly working-class with red brick and concrete accents. Jerry and Darrell live on the second floor.

Their apartment is obvious by the giant balloon arch in the hallway. Brooke and I follow him inside, where Darrell rushes to and fro, putting up the last bits of party decor before the guests arrive. Jerry whispers something to Darrell with a half-smile, then excuses himself to hype up the birthday girl.

"Thank you so much, Brooke—and thankyou, mister high school bestie. What are the odds?" Darrell grins like a cat. "Funny how you never saidanything. Very funny."

"Hilarious." Brooke deadpans. "Where's the birthday girl?"

"Getting her hair done by my mother-in-law. Are you planning to stick around? I suddenly haveso many questions."Darrell stares hard at Brooke, who (to her credit) does not break.

"Nope! We're off to the Cloisters for some culture." She pats my arm. "Dusty here has never been."

"Dusty? Oh, my god. Miss ma'am. You and I are going to have atalk."

I'm starting to think my presence might have been a mistake. Maybe I should have hung back at the station andwaited for her to finish up alone. What if this is how we get caught? Oh, god. Oh, fuck. What if we both lose our jobs, and Brooke hates me forever?

Brooke

Intheory,thewalkfrom Darry's and Jerry's apartment to the Cloisters should be fine. In practice? In the first week of February? Itsucks. I have half a mind to sprint back to my friends and promise to answer any—and all—questions if they'd just let me stand in front of their heater.

Dustin's been quiet since we left, as well. I can tell he's deep in thought, and I want to ask him if he's okay, but he's probably thinking the same as me. It's cold. Darry's questions were awkward. I don't feel like blasting my personal business all over the office, either.

"Oh, thank god," I whisper as the medieval doors come into view at the top of this curvy pathway. Truth be told, museums aren't really my thing. Too quiet. I mean, I can appreciate art as much as the next gal, but they were always Dustin's thing. Which is why I suggested it in the first place.

Two "suggested donations" later, we're slowly walking the halls of this veritable castle and slowly thawing out. Dustin's head is on a swivel, making sure he doesn't missa single thing. We stop and admire the paintings, stone carvings, tapestries, stained glass windows, and metalwork. He excitedly points out theHunt of the Unicornseries.

"It was a huge acquisition, and the craftsmanship is impeccable. The story is—well, you'll see." He snatches my hand and leads me to the beginning of the series, whipping his head between me and the art.

As I study the tapestries, the story of a unicorn unfolds. Men and dogs hunt in the woods, and a unicorn reveals itself, purifying the water for the men to drink. The men give chase, the unicorn fights—but it's too much, and it's captured.

I get it. I finally get it. Tears pour down my cheeks as I stare at The Unicorn in Captivity. A massive collar and heavy chain secures it to a tree in a disgustingly small enclosure. No other creatures in sight. Pomegranates fruit from the branches above its head, and a red substance—blood?—drips from its chest and hindquarters.

Dustin lays his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close, gently rubbing my arm. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. The unicorn is a trophy for those men, something to tell others about and boast about their hunting prowess. They don't care about its well-being. They don't care that itshouldn'tbe captured. They don't care.

All of the feelings I haven't allowed myself to really, truly feel since my divorce rush forward. I was never Calvin's partner—not really—but I was a status symbol. A tick box on his life plan. Never mind my own hopes and dreams. In his mind, I existed to further his goals. My career didn't matter. My baking didn't matter.

I didn't matter. And he proved it, time and time again, when I foundallof the evidence of him cheating.

"I matter," I whisper out loud between sniffling sobs.

"You matter so much." Dustin kisses the top of my head. "You are so important. You're brave and strong, intelligent, capable, competent… you matter so much, Brooke."

"And pretty." I manage to laugh.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, but don't do that." He cups my chin and I tilt my head back to look up at him through teary eyes. "Please don't deflect. I know you do that when you get compliments—it's understandable, but please listen to me. You're the moon and the sun. You're the whole universe, Brooke. You always have been."

"Always?"

"Yours, forever."

We ride the train back to Chelsea in relative silence. Dustin bought me a print of theUnicorn in Captivityfrom the museum shop—I tried to pay for it, but he'd snuck his wallet out before I could reach for mine. The rolled-up print feels heavy in my hand.

Calvin would never have done that. Even when we were dating, before things turned sour, when I was still excitedly in love. Sure, some of the signs were there—but I never wanted to see them. He was sogoodat being charming. He'd say whatever you wanted to hear. It all went a bit sideways after we got married. He got his status symbol; I got snide comments about climbing the career ladder.

But Dustin? He's so earnest. Truthful. I don't have to worry about him turning into a nasty clone of his former self. Every word he said at the museum—I believe them. Implicitly. I trust him.

Shit, I like him. I… more than like him.Yours, forever. I signed those words on so many notes and letters all those years ago. At the time, I never dreamed they'd be anything but true.