“I know it hurts, honey.” Mom flipped off the gas stove and wiped her hands on her apron, turning to face me fully. “And it’s okay to hurt. Hurting is just as much a part of life as joy, maybe even more important. Falling down teaches you how to stand up.”
I traded a secretive smile with my brother. We’d heard this advice before, many times. But it hadn’t resonated with me until I’d become an adult.
“We’re making all your favorite foods. And we’ll have a feast tonight. We’ll curl up on the couch and watch one of those Jane Austen movies. You’ll stay the night, sleep in your old bed. And we’ll make breakfast together in the morning, crêpes suzette. I even have fresh marmalade.” As she said this she poured a cup of tea and crossed to the table, putting it down in front of my brother.
“That sounds really nice.” I smiled my gratitude, and it felt good to smile.
“I don’t want tea.” He frowned at the cup, then at Mom.
“You’ll drink it. And you’ll be kind to your sister.” Then to me, she said, “It will be nice. It’ll be great. But, honey, this is all the falling part. Tomorrow, when you get home, and the day after, and the day after that, that’ll be the standing part.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her words were gentle, concerned. “Because that man may have let your hopes down, but he’s still your friend. Granted, he might be the biggest idiot in the whole world for not wanting to change your mind about being just friends, but that’s beside the point.”
I chuckled at that, surprised she’d lasted this long before calling him an idiot.
“Only you get to decide how you stand, what you stand for, and when you do it.” She squeezed my shoulder before bending and giving me a kiss on the cheek. Then she stood, glanced around the kitchen, and mumbled to herself, “Now I need to message your father to pick up the mushrooms. Where did I put my purse?”
Mom drifted out of the kitchen in the direction of the dining room, leaving me with my brother. I lifted my eyes to his, and found him giving me a funny look.
“What? What is it?”
Abram’s chest expanded as he pulled air into his lungs, and the usually sardonic set to his brows cleared, like clouds parting, revealing a sincerely thoughtful expression. “So, you’re assuming this guy isn’t interested in you as more than a friend, right?”
I scoffed. “Uh, I don’t think it’s an assumption at this point. He comes home with a woman, I witness him making out with her in the hallway, clearly they’re going to his apartment for one reason, and when he spots me, he acts like he’s happy to see me. I friend-zoned him and he took me seriously. If he was ever interested in me that way, he isn’t anymore.”
“Maybe . . .” Abram was chewing on the inside of his lip, his eyes having lost focus as he stared over my shoulder. Abruptly, his attention cut back to mine and he looked hesitant to share his thoughts.
“What?”
“I still think you should believe him and act accordingly. If he says he doesn’t want a long-term thing with anyone, believe him. But maybe—maybe, he thinks you’re out of his league.”
“What?”
“He was happy to see you, right? Sounds like for a guy who’s a workaholic, he’s been making a lot of time for you. A guy doesn’t do that for friends. Not for guy-friends, not for woman-friends. Not that much time, not for one person. So maybe he does think about you like that, a lot, but he thinks he’s not . . . worthy of you?”
I stared at my brother, processing his words, at first rejecting them. Because how could Matt possibly think he wasn’t worthy? Of me? That was crazy. I was a nice person, but I wasn’t some amazing catch. Hadn’t he said early on that I was just like everyone else?
“I’ll never say this to you again, so listen up. You’re pretty badass, Marie.” Abram interrupted my thoughts, leaning forward like he was telling me a secret. “You’re wicked smart. And cool. And drama free, which is a huge deal. Drama free is at the top of my list these days. You can be intimidating.”
“Me? But I’m a Hufflepuff.”
Abram gave me one of his rare, genuine grins. “Yeah. Being a good person can be intimidating. Look at Mom. And Dad. They’re the best people I know. I’m twenty-four and I’m still afraid of letting them down. Think about Mother Teresa, would you want to meet her? I mean, when she was alive. Not zombie Mother Teresa. I’d be scared shitless, like she’d see into my dark, dark soul and be disappointed in me.”
That made me laugh, and I pointed a teasing smile at him. “Yeah, you should be afraid.”
“All I’m saying is, maybe the thought of disappointing you, of being a disappointment to you, or not being worthy of your awesome, is what’s really going on. In which case,” Abram gathered another deep breath and leaned back in his chair, “you’re no better off. Because you should believe him about that, too.”
Matt: I have a proposition for you. Meet me at our coffee shop tomorrow at 10.
Matt: Just in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the one where we bonded over The 120 Days of Sodom.
Matt: Pun intended.
“What’s that face?”
I glanced up from my phone, finding Nico watching me with a concerned expression.
Tucking my cell back in my purse, I shrugged. “It’s just my face.”
I’d left my parents’ house after breakfast on Sunday, returned the car, and walked the few blocks to Quinn’s building. Nico, Fiona, and I were at Nico and Elizabeth’s place, putting finishing touches on the food and drinks for dinner. It was Sunday night and Fiona decided to throw an impromptu dinner party. Not wanting to leave Janie out, Fiona, Nico, and I had prepared the food at Elizabeth’s penthouse with plans to carry it over to Quinn and Janie’s to serve.
“Sorry. I promise, I’m not the smile police. But who was that?” The tall Italian glanced at Fiona and then lifted his head toward my purse. “Was that work? Is something wrong?”
I shook my head, affixing an unconcerned smile on my features. “No. It was Matt.”
“What’s going on with you two?” This question came from Fiona; she looked confused. “Every time I ask Matt about it he says you’re working on a story together.”
“That’s true.” I rolled a rectangle of melon in a slice of prosciutto, then placed it on the tray, pushing away my raw, prickly feelings.
“It’s more than that,” Nico accused. “Look at her. She’s blushing. That always means something sexy is happening.”
That made me laugh even though I didn’t feel like laughing.
He pointed at me and looked to Fiona, as though appealing to her. “And now giggling? See?”
“I see it.” She watched me with a pensive non-expression.
“Now what’s wrong with you?” Nico asked Fiona. “Why do you look worried?”
Her eyes cut to him. “Do I?”
“Yes,” I answered for him, giving her a questioning look.