Page 62 of Melancholia

Hospital. Funeral home. Breakfast table. Balcony.

Breakfast table. Balcony.

Balcony, where my mother stares at me, her eyes wide.

Balcony, where my mother stands on the thin railing and stares with tears running down her face.

Balcony, where the words form on my mother’s lips before she throws herself from the seventh floor to the street below.

Balcony, where the world goes cold and still, and the only thing I can hear is her voice in my ears.

“I wish it was you instead of her.”

Balcony, where I hear her body breaking against the concrete so many floors below, and the screams that follow.

Balcony, where I stand, my mind slowly fracturing, the tears running hot and fast down my cheeks as I play those words over and over and over in my head, like I will for the next six months.

“I wish it was you instead of her.”

When I sit up drenched in cold sweat and with tears in my eyes, it’s to face the oppressive darkness of my apartment with the blackout curtains drawn and the television long gone dark. My lips part, my hands gripping the blankets, and with a soft breath, I whisper her name into the darkness where no one else can hear the desperation and the sadness in my voice.

“Elaina.”

‘

22

Even with my headphones in and my mortuary playlist in full swing, I can still hear the rain pelting the windows of Coffee Crest.

For the first time since we really started whatever this is, I’m not dressed up. Amir texted to tell me I didn’t need to, though I still feel underdressed in my oversized hoodie and shorts while I sit only a short distance from the steps to my apartment.

There’s something comforting about being on my territory. Especially as my fingers curl around the iced coffee in my hand and I gaze up at the television running reruns of Golden Girls.

Justin moves behind the counter to my left, cleaning up after the evening rush that got him frazzled. Even though I offered to help, he turned me down, saying that I deserve to have a nice, quiet night. Well, as quiet as possible with the storm raging outside.

There’s definitely something a little romantic about thunder providing an unexpected bass line to Elley Duhé’s “Middle of the Night,” and I close my eyes as I take a long drink of my iced coffee. Hestia makes it better, but I would never tell Justin that. It would feel like kicking a puppy, and I don’t have it in me to hurt his feelings.

When a hand touches my shoulder, I jump. Immediately embarrassed by the reaction when I know who it is. I look up, my fingers tugging my headphones down to rest around my neck, surprised to see Amir looking so…soft.

His jeans sit a little loose on his hips, and his tan boots are scuffed from actual use instead of pristine like nearly everything else I’ve ever seen him wear. Even the coat hanging off his shoulders looks a little too big for him, softening the sharp lines of the T-shirt stretched over his frame.

There’s nothing polished about him right now. Nothing carefully arranged.

He looks comfortable.

Maybe that’s what throws me most.

His hair is still damp from the rain, falling fluffy and disobedient around his face instead of swept up or settled perfectly into place like I’m used to. The whole thing makes him look younger somehow. Softer. Like I’ve caught him in a version of himself he rarely lets anyone see.

Amir tilts his head, studying me as I do the same to him. “Am I not up to your expectations, Nell?” he murmurs, though there’s absolutely no hint of insecurity in his voice.

“No—I mean—” I take a breath and frown. “You just look different tonight. It’s not a bad thing. Like, at all.” It’s the worst compliment I’ve probably ever spit out in my life, but Amir still rewards me with a smile before taking a seat across from me with a steaming cup in one hand.

“You’ve eaten tonight, yes?” he asks, glancing down at my coffee.

I lift a brow at him and suck on the straw, wanting to throw out a very bratty, you aren’t my dad. But I refrain, only giving him a nod. “Yeah. Couple hours ago. You said we weren’t going to dinner. Should I not have?”

Amir is already shaking his head. “I was merely making sure.” He settles more comfortably into his chair and glances up at Justin. “Now, you said you wanted to pick our game tonight. Have you…” he trails off, a smile widening over his lips as I place an old deck of cards between us. “Oh, how quaint. Even though you told me you know all the ‘old people’ card games, I didn’t actually expect this.” He reaches out and gently slides the cards free, his fingers working to shuffle them together with a precision I’ve never accomplished.