pull her to me, wrap my arms around her, hold her head against my chest as she sobs. I stroke her hair. “I can be your someone.”
The pain she’s feeling is so visceral, I feel it in my gut like a sharp, sticky pain that gets deeper and deeper, emptier and emptier. The pain reminds me of my father. It reminds me of those years after where it felt impossible to move on and yet everyone around me already had.
I know how it feels to grieve when the loss becomes a phantom, just thin wisps of smoke trailing to the sky. I don’t think you’ll ever feel as alone as you do when you’re alone with grief.
Thalia holds on tight, her hands clutching the back of my t-shirt, and I hold her right back, kissing the top of her head, reassuring her that it’s going to be okay because it has to be okay.
“I don’t know if I ever will be okay,” she mumbles into my chest and then raises her chin to stare up at me, her eyes full of tears. “This pain I carry, it’s the coldest pain.”
My throat feels too thick to swallow.
I know that cold pain too well.
And I know there’s nothing to say to make that go away.
I hold her for a long time. Or maybe it’s just minutes. Time doesn’t seem to live here. She brings her head back and then rests it in the crook of my arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
She takes in a deep shaking breath and I hold her tighter.
“I’ve got snot all over you,” she says. “You came over here trying to woo me and instead you got snot.”
“It’s an honor to have your snot.”
She lets out a laugh that’s still a little sad, still a little broken, but at least it’s a laugh.
I cup her face in my hands, feeling the warmth of her soft skin against my palms, and wipe her tears away with my thumbs. “Thank you,” I tell her emphatically.
“For what?” Her eyes search mine.
“For telling me your truth. The truth that hurts the most is the truth that needs to be told.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re awfully wise for your age?”
“Well, I do turn twenty-four next week.”
“Is that so?” she says, and then her face grows serious as she blinks up at me. “Can you…will you stay with me for a little while?”
The fact that she asked me that makes me feel like the sun is rising in my heart. “Of course I will.”
She frowns. “I don’t mean…I just don’t want to be alone.”
“You won’t be. We can drink more sangría. Watch something stupid on TV. Do whatever you want.”
“I think I’d like that.”
Chapter 15
Thalia
My plans for the evening included Netflix and literally chilling.
By myself.
They didn’t include Netflix and chilling with Alejo and sangría.
And they especially didn’t include conjuring up old pain that still feels like fresh pain and reliving it in front of the man you just let screw you, the man you can’t stay away from, the man you shouldn’t have.
But they say life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans, and if that’s true then life is definitely having its way with me right now.
We’re both sitting on the couch.
His arm is around me.
I’m snuggled up to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his strong heart.
Happy Gilmore is on Netflix and Alejo is laughing his ass off, even though he’s also quoting every line verbatim. I can’t imagine how many times he’s seen it.
The sangría is all gone, so now we’re sipping the cherry liquor straight out of the bottle, since my woefully equipped apartment doesn’t have shot glasses.
I should be surprised at how perceptive Alejo is, but I’m not. He was in here for a few seconds before he noticed how unlived in this place is. The funny thing is, it’s not like I’m never here. If I’m not at work, or jogging, or eating at the bar downstairs, I’m right here on this couch. It’s all I really have in this city.
And he’s right, I’ve been treating it like a hotel. I dipped my toe into the waters of permanence by attempting to learn Spanish (and look where that got me), but I have yet to buy a car and drive myself to work, or buy new things for the apartment, things that are sorely needed. It’s like I’ve come to Madrid and this job