Jo shakes her head, covering my hand with hers. “It’s not weird. Of course we won’t say anything. You’re Elliot’s, so you’re ours too.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly, emotion tightening my chest at this easy acceptance, and I think Elliot feels it too because he lays a hand on my leg under the table, squeezing gently, and he doesn’t let go.
And when Jo just smiles and says, “We’ve got you,” I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I belonged anywhere, but I would really, really like to belong right here.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ELLIOT
“This is me.” I point to the brownstone in the middle of the block, and Amelia slides into a spot in front, putting the car in park and turning in her seat. The ride home from the diner was quiet but not uncomfortable. Usually when I feel the darkness creeping in, I want to be alone; being around anyone but Cece makes me feel like crawling out of my skin.
But the rules don’t seem to apply to Amelia.
The only way I was able to get through breakfast with my brothers and Jo was because she was sitting next to me. And when she told everyone Gabe is her brother to keep the focus on her and not me, without even knowing why I needed that, I knew, maybe for the first time in my life, what it was like to be well and truly seen.
“Pretty,” Amelia says, her eyes steady on mine. “What do you need?” she asks again. I don’t know what’s going on between us right now, or whether it means anything other than what’s always been between us, which is two people who should be together but can’t, but having her here feels like a gift. And whenshe asks what I need, I know she really means it. That’s a gift too. So, I tell her.
“Can you come in? I mean, I’d like you to, if that’s something you want.”
She smiles, hitting the button to turn off the engine. “I’d like that.”
I unlock the front door to the brownstone, and we climb in silence to my third-floor apartment. Pushing open the door, I let Amelia in first, laying a hand on her back, and even that small touch settles a part of me. And when I close us into the apartment, I take what feels like my first full breath of the day.
Amelia barely glances around the apartment. Instead, she turns back to me, reaching out a hand and linking it with mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I squeeze her hand, so fucking grateful that she’s here. “Only if it’s you I’m talking to. Do you mind if I take a quick shower first?”
“Not at all,” she says, just as Killer comes skidding into the entryway and immediately jumps, planting her front paws on Amelia’s legs. She laughs and lets go of my hand, bending down to scoop up my dog. “Looks like I found a playmate to keep me occupied.”
I start towards the hallway to my bedroom then hesitate, thinkingwhat the hell. Turning back, I lean in and kiss Amelia on the cheek, lingering just a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary, breathing in her sunshine scent. “Thank you for being here,” I murmur, my mouth close to her ear. “My apartment feels happier with you in it.”
I feel happier with you here. And when the darkness hovers, that’s no small thing.
She rests a hand on my hip, so lightly I shouldn’t feel it at all, but I feel it everywhere. “I’m happier here too.”
Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in sweats and a hoodie, I head back into the living room just as Amelia walks out of the kitchen with a mug in each hand, Killer trailing behind her with her laptop shaped dog toy hanging out of her mouth.
My heart twists at the sight, and I have the crazy thought that everything I need in the entire world is right here, right now.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking one of the mugs she hands me.
“Hot chocolate,” she says, sitting down on the couch and tucking her legs up under her, gesturing for me to sit too. Killer curls up on her dog bed in the corner and promptly falls asleep. “When I was little, and I was having big feelings, my mom would always make hot chocolate for us to drink while we talked. The habit kind of stuck, even after she died.” She cups her hands around her mug and studies me intently, smiling softly. “You seemed like you were having some big feelings. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m happy just to sit here with you in your very pretty and freakishly organized apartment and drink this hot chocolate.”
Her gesture and the ease between us has me opening my mouth before my brain registers I’m speaking. “I’m depressed. Clinically, I mean. Sometimes they call it major depressive disorder, but anyway, yeah. That’s me.” The words come out in a rush, and I realize that it’s the first time I have ever said them out loud. It feels right that the first time is with her. Especially when she sets her mug aside and takes my free hand, her eyes never leaving mine. She doesn’t say anything, just gives me the space to explain when I’m ready. I’ve never been ready before, but with her, I am.
“It started when I was about seventeen, but I wasn’t formally diagnosed until my junior year of college. For the first few years, it was mostly manageable. I’d get sad for no reason, and I wouldn’t understand why or how to pull myself out of it. It always passed in a day or so, and I never told anyone except forCece. Junior year of college, I had an impossible course load in my second semester. By the time my last final rolled around, I had been awake for what amounted to like three straight days, only sleeping for an hour or so at a time so I could study and surviving on caffeine and sugar. I have no idea how I powered through, but the second I handed in my last final, I crashed hard. I slept for almost two days, and once I woke up, I couldn’t get out of bed. I wasn’t eating or drinking or doing much of anything except staring at the ceiling, barely existing. My roommates freaked out and called my parents, who came immediately and took control. They’re good like that. They found me the right doctors, and I started taking medication and I was in therapy consistently for years. I still go occasionally when I feel like I need it. I understand it now, and it’s pretty well controlled, but sometimes that darkness I felt in college seeps in and kind of hovers.”
I stop talking for a second and take a sip out of the mug. “Holy hell, this isn’t the powder I had in my cabinet.”
Amelia scoffs, reaching over and grabbing her own mug. “As if I would give you powdered hot chocolate. There’s only one way to make hot chocolate and that’s with actual milk and chocolate and a pot on the stove. Luckily you had all of those things, although if I’m going to be spending more time here, your fridge really needs to have whipped cream in it.”
I smile as the first lightness I’ve felt all day fills my chest. “You planning on spending more time here, Mystery Girl?”
She picks up my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, and my heart does a long, slow roll in my chest. “I would really like to do just that. Do you want to tell me the rest?”
The fact that she wants to be here, even with all the complications between us, and even after everything I just told her, has the words coming more easily.
“It doesn’t happen often, the darkness. I understand my triggers, and I know how to take care of myself. I try and get enough sleep, and I’m a runner mostly because I love it and also because exercise helps when I start to feel dark. I buy plants that look half dead and bring them back to life because I like the challenge and also because there’s something about taking care of something else when I’m feeling my worst. It’s hard to explain, but it helps too. I have the right meds, and I have Cece and my parents when I need them, and my mental health is pretty stable. But sometimes, things set me off.”
