THE SECOND DAY OF THE new year was dry and frigid, cold enough to repurpose December’s muddy remains into a brand-new front-yard skating rink. I slid carefully over the fragile ice, balanced a bin of hand-knit items against Grey’s car as I fumbled for the keys.
“He said he’d leave it unlocked.”
Her voice so close nearly scared me off my feet. Sadie grabbed my arm with one hand and the bin with the other, steadying us both.
“I didn’t know you were coming over.” I glanced at her car. It was parked haphazardly, one tire resting on the curb. “Got your keys back?”
“For errands only. I texted Grey last night, figured I’d get the rest of my things while I was out and about. He said he’d leave them in the car.” Her eyes snuck past me to the house, seeking Grey’s bedroom window and its dark, still curtains. “I guess he’s still asleep.”
“I’m sorry it ended this way, Sadie. I know he never wanted to hurt you.”
“Honey, there was no avoiding it.” She stuck the bin in the back seat, grabbed an already packed tote bag of her stuff from the floorboard, then straightened up, exhaling the tension in her shoulders. “I’d like to say I’d do things differently now, but I have a sinner’s heart, same as anyone. I’d probably screw it up the same way all over again.”
“Maybe not. But Duke is his dream. That decision wasn’t yours to make, no matter what you’d planned.”
Her face changed, split open along the seams. Trembled at the edge of breaking.
“It wasn’t just me, Lane. He always talked about how we would build a life together, take our best assets and combine them into a single powerful force. Like Voltron.” Her smile was a weak reply to mine, closer to a grimace. “Those plans were ours—I was his dream. He told me. And I believed him.”
“I think you were.” I glanced back at Grey’s window. The curtains were still closed, but the light was on. He could burst through the door at any moment, skid toward us on a sheet of ice and indignation. “Maybe you still are. But he needs to follow this one before he figures out the rest.”
“As long as he’s happy. That’s all I want for him. I only wish he’d have let me know when it all turned to lies.” She shook her head and continued, barreling on as she tended to do. “And then there was the whole matter of you.”
Ah yes. That. Sadie’s eyes were clear but guarded, simmering with that low-grade ire. Connor’s words surged out of nowhere: He’s a good kid, but come on—he’s no saint.
For all his secrets, no one knew Grey better than Sadie did. She’d seen how he’d looked at me long before they broke up. She’d known the whole time.
But that was done. I’d pined, sure; I’d fucked up, certainly. But I hadn’t betrayed her, and I hadn’t made him leave. Whatever had happened once the world fell down—that only mattered if I let it.
Still, though.
“Yes, there was that. And I … Sadie, you have to know it wasn’t about you. I loved him for years, before any of this.” I blundered ahead, cheeks roasting, eyes pleading with her to understand. Hoping she’d hear me, with all my heart. “I know—you’re like, ‘what the fuck, Lane,’ right? But there’s this super-convoluted origin story on my end, and he had no idea, and then he was just there, in my house—and I should have dealt with it right then. Whatever he felt, I could have drawn a boundary and stuck to it, and I didn’t. And it ruined so many things. But I promise you, it’s not an issue now.”
I watched her face, which somehow hadn’t changed—she blinked at me, perfectly plucked brows arched over neutral eyes. Not even a little bit shocked.
“Well, that’ll be a story and a half for the grandkids, I’m sure. But I have a few more things to say about it, Lane, issue or not.”
I eyed the still-quiet house, wondering how long it would take Grey to get his happy ass outside if she decided to start swinging, and whether I could make it back to the porch over the icy lawn without sliding straight into a broken leg. I braced myself for nastiness—a slap or a shove. Maybe angry words. Instead, a soft sigh misted out through her plum-frosted lips.
“I don’t know what all went on between you two,” she said, holding up a hand. Stopping my reply before I’d thought to start one. “But it doesn’t matter. Me and Jesus, we’ve had a talk or ten these last couple weeks—and whatever you did, Lane, it’s no excuse. None of it justifies my sins.”
“Your—what?” I scrolled through her role in the shitstorm of the past few months, wondering if the whole mess had also gone down on an alternate timeline. One in which Sadie had emerged with anything but the short ends of all the sticks. “What did you do?”
“Lord, honey, what didn’t I do? I forgot the Word of God. I was jealous; I was self-righteous and arrogant and mean, and I said and did some real nasty, unchristian things. Especially to you.” She stepped forward and stared me straight in the eye, her gaze bright and glistening. Unwavering. “I shouldn’t have called you names, Lane, or put myself above you. I shouldn’t have judged you in the first place. We girls need to stick together, whatever our differences.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, moved to sheer bewilderment. It was the very last thing I’d expected to hear—which said more about me than it did about Sadie. “Well, thank you. I guess.”
“Don’t thank me. Just forgive me, if you can. And if you can’t, at least know how sorry I am for all of it.”
“Of course I forgive you. I’m sorry too—for everything. The last thing I wanted was to see you hurt.”
“Thank you, honey.” She was quiet for a moment, turning something over in her mind. “I’m having lunch with Connor after my errands. I can tell him to call you, if you want. Or even that you just say hi.”
“Oh.” All of my breath caught on the word. The idea of opening that door—of welcoming Connor over the threshold and into my post-breakdown world—crackled like heat lightning across my skin. “I don’t know. I don’t think he really wants to see me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s been a mopey mess all week because he thinks you don’t want to see him.”
“I’ve been kind of busy,” I muttered. “Anyway, I haven’t heard from him since he turned down my invitation for Christmas.”
“You haven’t heard from him because he’s had his stubborn behind holed up in that warehouse, working his hands bloody so he won’t have to admit he was wrong—and you’re as impossible as he is. You two had your arrangement, and your total honesty thing, and that worked when it was all you wanted. But if you want more than that, you have to try for more. That’s what matters, you know—that you never stop giving it your best, even when it hurts.” She shook her head, offered me a small, sad smile. “Next time I see a wishing star, I’ll send a special one up to Heaven for you both.”
She fell silent as my eyes spilled over. I pressed my palms to my face, catching the tears before they could go cold on my chilly skin.
I hadn’t wished on stars since I was eight years old.
It never made sense. The sky is full of specks that only twinkle from the past—pinpoints of long-dead light, reaching us through space years after ceasing to burn. Half the time you’re staking your hope on an empty space.
I’d try it, though, futile or not. I’d wish on every star that ever was, if it would bring him back.
Sadie’s blurry hand appeared, offering me a Kleenex printed with red and green snowflakes. I reduced three of them to a less-than-festive state before I found my voice.
“Tell him I miss him,” I finally whispered, fixing my gaze on our feet: my battered Docs with mismatched laces, shifting nervously next to her hot pink Uggs. “Tell him I’m not with Grey, and I never was, and I don’t want to be. Not now, not ever.”
“Is all that true? I’m not going to lie for you.”
“You won’t be lying. Just—tell him I need him too.”
The Uggs moved toward me in a single giant step. Sadie, solid and strong and bighearted, a burst of strawberry shampoo and vanilla perfume. I hugged her in return, hard as I could through her overstuffed jacket.
“I was going to do that anyway.” She smiled as she released me, tired and sad, sweet as she ever was. That mischievous glint in her eye, anticipating her role as matchmaker. “You and my brother have ten years, from this moment, to get right with each other before I start nagging. I call maid of honor. And I’m not standing next to Grey in the pictures. Do you think Connor would cut his hair? It’s a special occasion, after all.”
“Wow. Okay. Can we maybe ascertain if he’s speaking to me first?”
“You just leave that to me, honey—I’ll get him all straightened out, and everything’ll be perfect. We’ll be sisters for real, one way or another. As long as I can wear pink.” She bounced in for another hug and bounced right back out again, sliding away from me to her car before I could gather my wits to retort. “It’s destined to be, Lane Jamison. Every last bit of it.”
She dropped a wink out the window as she pulled away from the curb, maneuvering over her own tire tracks, and then she was gone.
Harvest season had come and gone, taking with it the spicy vibe of autumn. Christmas was a dead thing too, packed back into taped-up boxes. We’d swept the place of holiday cheer, bid farewell to the market bustle of busy hands, the overflow of hot cider and pumpkin bread; cleared the tables once heavy with squash and bright with holly and garlands and rows of shiny apples. The slow season was officially upon us, and the outdoors held zero appeal—nothing but wind and teeth and bitter steel clouds, winter stalking us through every crack.
Grey tried, at first. He wasted a good part of the morning prodding me toward busywork and neutral conversation before settling back in the chair with his physics homework. Helping the few customers we had, when he realized how useless I was in the capacity of speaking to other people.
It was beyond slow. I passed the time fussing over the display: rearranging the hats, fanning out the gloves, stacking bars of soap like bricks before sweeping everything aside and starting over, unable to focus. Incapable of setting things exactly right.
I was contemplating the perfect way to twist a length of scarf when I felt his foot nudge my calf.
“Elaine. Elaine. Oh, for—wake up, will you? ELAINE.”
The words barely made it to my brain. He caught my eye and lifted his chin, gesturing behind me. I blinked at him, then turned, and my insides went still. Connor stood at the market entrance, stomping ice off his boots. The winter air had smacked his cheeks, left claw marks across the bridge of his nose. His head was bare, his ears bitten raw, hands shoved in the pockets of his oversize peacoat.
Something pulled at my heart, directed my hands to grab the nearest, warmest hat from the table: a stocking cap, dark brown and chunky-knit. I gathered my own hat and gloves, shrugged into my coat, slung my messenger bag strap across my body.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Grey’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, maybe not. I don’t know. You’re in charge.”
“Go on,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
I didn’t look back. He’d be fine without me.
Connor raised his head as I approached, making my way across the country mile of market to where he stood, blowing on his hands. His palms were red and chapped, the left one marred by an angry-looking scab.
“What happened there?”
He smiled at my question and flexed his fingers, tugged the edge of his coat sleeve loose from his wrist cuff. I glimpsed the shine of the triquetra, anchored to the leather through the pinnacle of each lobe, as he tucked his hands back in his pockets.
“Sometimes inspiration strikes. Sometimes it strikes for a six-hour stretch when you haven’t slept in two days and decide a metalworking marathon should be a thing.”
“Well. It must have been some kind of end result.”
“It’s everything I wanted it to be. For that, I’ll take the scar every time.”
“Can you wear a glove over it? I have mittens in the booth.” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twisting upward. “Connor, it’s freezing. One mitten for your good hand, at the very least.”
“I’m not going around like an asshole in one mitten, Lane. I’m either all in with the cold hands, or not at all.”
“Stubborn. Take this hat, at least. You know you can’t resist my fiber art.”
His laugh was short but soft, edged with a nostalgia too acute to be wistful.
“My one true weakness. Thank you.” He turned the hat over in his hands, smiled as he pulled it down over his glowing ears. Lifted that smile to mirror mine as he shrugged out of his backpack and fumbled with the zipper. “Speaking of.”
“You didn’t. Since when do you knit?”
“Taught myself last month. I had to—this was sitting there in that bag, unfinished, taking up all my space. Absolutely in the way. Someone had to do something.”
“Shut up. I told you I’d get it whenever you were—oh. Oh, Connor.”
It was a swatch of midnight, begun with my hands, ended with his. Knit with yarn we’d spun together, a million years ago. My blanket, expertly finished, silver beads scattered in tiny, glittering bursts throughout the final third of the pattern.
“I used the beading technique you taught me, that day with the necklace,” he said, staring at the floor. “It’s beautiful work, but it needed an extra touch. Nothing flashy, just a few—”
“Stars.” There it was: the open sky and mountain air. His hands, pulling me through the window into another world.
“Yeah. I should say something like it symbolizes eternity or the infinite depth of our potential as humans. But really, it just reminds me of you. Fuck, I’m terrible at this.” He drew a breath and met my eyes, cracked a smile at what he saw. “Walk with me?”
“Yes,” I said, before the question mark found its way out of his mouth. “Yes.”
I tucked the blanket carefully in my bag and followed him outside, blinking at the bright, cold day. We didn’t go far, because there wasn’t really anywhere to go—the parking lot was an impending hospital bill, the roads beyond it slick and treacherous. We picked our way to the median, away from the buildings and cars and the worst of the ice. Stood facing each other, unsure how to frame what came next.
“So. Pink? Really?”
“Oh my God.” My burst of laughter trailed off into a sigh. “Your sister, your problem. At least we have a decade to talk her into a tolerable shade.”
“A decade?” He hung his head in defeat. “Goddamn it, Sadie. She gave me five years, tops, then spent the past two hours nagging me to get over myself before it’s too late.” He echoed my quiet laugh, then took my hand in both of his. I added my other hand to the stack, his so cold I felt them through my gloves. “So, on that note, is this a good time for Total Honesty Mode?”
“Any time is a good time for Total Honesty Mode.”
“Yeah. It is.” He sighed. “I am so sorry. I started this, knowing where you stood. It wasn’t fair of me to ask for more. And I should never have put that whole thing with Grey on you, when you were so messed up.”
“It wasn’t even about Grey—it was my whole life, and everything I’ve ruined. Everyone I’ve pushed away, because I couldn’t fix myself, or let go of things that hurt me. It was like I had to sabotage my whole future, to make sure it never matched my mother’s.”
“That’s another thing,” he muttered. “I knew you were struggling. I saw you suffering, and tweaking out, not sleeping, and I didn’t do a goddamn thing. I told myself you were strong enough—that you could tough it out if I gave you the space you needed, and you’d let me know when you wanted to try again. I left it all up to you, instead of meeting halfway—then, when I didn’t hear from you after Christmas, I figured I’d fucked it up for good.”
“I can explain all that,” I broke in. “It’s been … a rough road, these past weeks. I had to focus on my health, which meant taking a step back from everything else. I’m sorry.”
“Lane, don’t you ever say sorry for that. I should have been there, helping you—maybe then it wouldn’t have hit you so hard.” He looked away, blinked hard at the swell of distant mountains. “I should have been the one pulling you out of it.”
“It’s not your fault. This was always going to be what broke me.” I braced myself against a gust. Connor stepped closer, put himself in the path of the wind. “I’m trying, though. I’m getting help, but I don’t know when I’ll be back to normal—or if there is a normal version of me. ‘Normal’ may just mean less screwed up than now, for all I know.”
“That’s all any of us are, I think—more or less screwed up, at any given moment. It’s all chaos.” His hands gripped mine even harder. “What the hell, though, right? I know I’m a wreck, but I love you. I’ll take any number of scars, if we can make this work.”
He caught me in those eyes and scooped me up, held me close and broke me open. It wasn’t about belonging to him, or owning him, or surrendering the best parts of myself so we could be together. It was about belonging with each other. About both of us bringing those best parts to the forefront and loving each other fiercely, even on the days that “best” seemed hardest to find. Loving each other even more those days, when everything else came crashing down.
“Total Honesty Mode?” I whispered.
“My very favorite mode.”
“I want that too. Scars and blood and chaos, and everything else. Completely.”
“Lane.” My name was a sigh, barely misting the air between us. “Please say you mean it.”
“Of course I mean it.” I reached out and touched his face, held him still in the cradle of my palm. “You and your near-empty glass.”
“Whatever. You love my cynicism.”
“I love you, actually. No one else.”
“Yeah, well. Same difference.”
The catch in his voice negated the joke, and he tucked me against his chest, wrapping his coat so it engulfed us both. I rested my ear against his heartbeat, relaxed at the pressure of his lips against my hair. Said it again and again into his shirt as the sun struggled loose from the clouds. It lit the world and all its stains and blights and near-blinding beauty, sniffed out all the secret shadows and chased them deep into the woods. Glinted off the ice like classroom lights off the curve of a scalpel—like a bathroom vanity, off a razor edge.
All those things, tucked away behind my heart; disorganized and overlapping, scrabbling relentlessly beneath my skin. All of them, bleeding out on my steady pulse, leaving me lighter every passing day.
Leaving me, still standing, at the end of every heartbeat.
My name again, a whisper followed by a kiss, both left in the hollow of my temple. I raised my face to meet his smile, and no winter sun had ever shone so bright.