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“Cora, like the girl who works for you and used to be brown-haired and is now blonde?”
“Yes, and the last part, William skipped the state and is here in Trenton, but we haven’t found him yet. Chloe doesn’t know that part right now, just that Cora is her daughter, because she and Danny are doing the whole fertility round and she shouldn’t be stressed. But, yeah, he matched with Cora on a dating site and told her he liked blondes.”
Being sick to my stomach after hearing all this concerns me. I don’t want to throw up when I need to be strong for her so she doesn’t have to be all the damn time. Apparently, rage soothes the sickness.
“Gwen and I found her here, showering one morning, because she slept in the office. William, who is using a fake name.” Her face contorts, and she holds her hand over her stomach. “He used the name Daniel, Chloe’s husband’s name.”
“Jesus Christ.” I clench my fists
“Wiliam told Cora he was coming to her house, and her father—the man who actually raised her—is out of town with a woman he’s dating that Cora dislikes. And now, I’m all, like”—she raises her hands, spreads her fingers, and shakes them—“is the woman affiliated with William?”
She then lifts her shoulders in the air and leaves them there. “I think that’s it.”
As soon as I see her bottom lip quiver and her eyes tear up, I start to stand.
She holds her hand out to stop me. “Nope. No, thank you. You can’t. I need you to take Elle and walk out the door, and let me get through this fucked-up week as I have been—one day at a time. If you want, you can text me later to tell me it’s too much because it’s totally too much, even for me, and it’s my life.”
“Cecilia,” I say softly.
“Oh shit, I forgot. There’s security watching your family because if he did something to them, I couldn’t live with that. They’re wonderful, lovely even. And you need to think about all of this coming out and your career taking a hit because you happen to live next door to a real-life reality shitshow with a back-woods, trailer-living girl on the run, who?—”
I place a finger over her lips. “I need you to breathe.”
“I will. When this is all over, I will.”
“By this, you’re not talking about this.” I motion between us. “’Cause I’m not going anywhere. As a matter of fact, I might hug you a bit too hard because I need to squeeze out some of those tears that are hanging on your lashes for dear life. Babe, you’re drowning inside, and I will not let you do that. I’ll save the gentle ass-chewing for later, but fuck, CeCe, if you told me to fuck off right now, it would crush me. I would be irrevocably changed again, by you. But you and me, we’ve been crushed before, and look at us—we’re still standing in the light while motherfuckers hide in the dark. I’m not hiding you. You end this, and I’m still gonna look out for you. So, just stop talking crazy shit because today, we have a date, but before all that, I’m gonna hug you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
I wrap her up just like I said I was going to, and a near-silent sob rips through her.
Then she sniffs. “Great, now you’ve done it.”
I’m not sure how long she cries, and I might be currently questioning my sanity, but something about Cecilia almost silently crying in my arms, the way she sounds, the way she shakes, the way she digs her short nails into my shirt, like she thinks she’ll crumble if she lets go, it accelerates this ride I’m on, this high I catch off of her—Cecilia Shaw, the only drug I’ll ever do.
She leans back, gently patting under her eyes, and whispers, “Sorry.”
I cup her cheeks, which are so damn warm, and look deep into her beautiful blue green eyes. “There’s nothing you need to be sorry for. Your tears are not a burden; they’re a testament to your beautiful heart, to the depth of your emotions—every drop, Cecilia. I’m here to listen and to understand what you need, even when you can’t. I want so badly to share the weight of everything you’re carrying from your past, present, and …” I close my eyes and admit, “I’m hoping you’ll give me the privilege of doing the same in the future.”
“Privilege?” She shakes her head. “It’s not?—”
“Shh.” I trace the paths of her tears. “When you hurt, I hurt, too. And when you cry, my world stops, just so I can listen to your soul speak the words you just can’t find. So, please, don’t apologize for being human, for feeling.”
“This isn’t me. I don’t cry. I can’t.” She sniffs but leans into my touch.
“You can. And Cecilia, you look stunning when you do.” Her brows pinch together, so I explain, “You don’t ugly cry; you do the opposite. Your tears flow gracefully. They carry a sense of cleansing, emotional purity.” I lean in and kiss her tears softly as her hands clutch my shirt again. Against her cheek, I whisper my whole truth, “I’m so fucked up on you.”
I feel her face move and lean back, catching her trying not to smile, but her eyes don’t hide a damn thing.
“What?”
“I’ve never heard someone switch from speaking almost poetically to using fucked up.”
“On you,” I remind her. “I’m fucked up on you, Cecilia middle name unknown Shaw.”
Lips turning up slightly, she says, “My mom wasn’t into middle names.”
“Perfect.” I can’t help but smile.
