Page 49 of Hidden With You

We actually do play charades, and Ollie and Trevor kill it as a team, practically reading each others’ minds. The biggest surprise is how well Simon does when someone picks a movie. “I said I didn’t like Hollywood. I didn’t say I was clueless. Frankly, I know a hell of a lot more than I want to.”

Jasper and I exchange glances, and I’m sure both of us are wondering what his story is. “Do you have a clue?” I ask Jasper, but he just shakes his head. “Haven’t been there long enough. But I’ll find out,” he assures me, and that little promise—about something unrelated to me that may take weeks to parse out— somehow means everything. Because it means that he’s looking toward the future. And in the future he sees, I’m there with him.

I wait for the panic, but it doesn’t come, and when he reaches for my hand, I take it, then smile happily at him.

“What?”

“Just having a good time.” I rise up to kiss him. “Thanks for this,” I say as he pulls me even closer.

As everyone’s drifting from the game to go get more snacks and drinks, Leah pulls the two of us aside. “You guys look really good together,” she says. “I was worried at first.”

“Worried? How did you even know there was a thing?”

Leah just tilts her head to the side. “Seriously? I’ve known you forever. Plus, Tricia likes me,” she says with a wink. “And I can get gossip out of anyone. And don’t you dare chew her out.”

I roll my eyes. She knows Tricia’s the closest thing I have to real family. Of course, I’m not going to chew her out.

“I admit I was a little worried about the age thing,” Leah continues. “But I’m not anymore. Not after watching you guys together tonight.”

“Good,” Jasper says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “The truth is Zelda’s a lot older than her years. And when I’m with her, I feel a lot younger than mine.”

“Oh, you’ve always been immature,” Leah says with a wink. And on that zinger, she heads back to the bar.

“I’m having a really good time,” I tell Jasper at one point when we’re alone in the kitchen together.

“You should do this more often,” he says.

“Those people are all your work buddies,” I say.

“And they’re your friends. Or they could be.”

I shrug.

“People leave,” he says, gently putting his hands on my shoulders. “Your dad left because he was taken by death. Your mother because she’s an idiot, and your vile stepfather pulled her away.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you drew the short straw. And I know you believe you’re cursed. That you lose the people who should be the closest to you. Mark and Camille. Your parents. Others you haven’t told me about. You’ve tried so hard to protect yourself from that that I think you see people leaving even before they’re fully in the door.”

My heart twists with his words, and he continues, “Maybe you and Camille did grow apart. It happens. But you’re so focused on that, you don’t even see that Camille leaving opened the door to Leah, and she really is your friend.”

“She thinks of me like a niece.”

“Maybe at first. Not anymore. All you have to do is look out into the living room, and you’ll see a room full of friends, including Leah. You just need to open the door, baby. Just let them in. I think you’ll be surprised how many stay.”

I stare at him, tears in my eyes.

He gently brushes one away. “I’m sorry, but—”

“No. You’re right.” I swallow. “I’ve known you for like five minutes, and you know me better than anybody. How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” he says. But in my head, I hear my own answer to the question: Because I love you.

He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. Then he takes a step toward the living area.

I grab his hand, making him stay. “About people leaving,” I say. “Sometimes they don’t go. Sometimes they’re taken. And that can feel like a door getting shut. But that doesn’t mean you need to close all the windows, too.”

His eyes narrow as he studies me. “What are you talking about?”

“They didn’t want to leave you. Sandra and Bonnie. They didn’t move away. They didn’t become tired of you. You didn’t grow apart. They didn’t want to leave you.”

I squeeze his hand. “They were taken. Neither one of them died a natural death. They didn’t want to go.”

My voice catches, and I wipe a tear from my cheek but continue, my throat thick. “And I’m guessing that Sandra wouldn’t want you to be alone. I’m not saying you have to be with me,” I add, although the thought of having him with me always feels like Christmas morning, “but just think about it what I’m saying. I’m alone because my family walked away, and it messed me up. Yours were taken, and that messed you up too. But at the end of the day,” I say, looking at him through a shimmer of tears, “aren’t we both punishing ourselves?”