My mind is spinning and reeling, careening back in time to our early days of teasing and loathing. The only things that stand out during my high school years with Dean are elaborate pranks, like when Dean stole the tarantula from the science lab and hid it in my gym shoe.
That was on my first day.
That was after sharing a sweet look with him across the room in Mr. Adilman’s class, thinking maybe he would become my friend.
Nope. Cue the hairy spider in my shoe that traumatized me so hard, I spent half the day in the nurse’s office recovering.
There were no heroic gestures or kind words.
There was no soup.
I slick my tongue along my dry lips, feeling confused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My mother glances up, leaning back onto the pillow with a sigh. “I’m not sure.” She turns her head to look at me and I’m still staring. Processing. “But I started noticing things after that. Little things. Just the way he’d look at you sometimes—his eyes held such… I don’t know. Admiration. Endearment. I don’t think he even realized it. Neither of you did.”
“You think… you think we’ve always had feelings for each other?”
No. That can’t be true. I hated him, and he hated me.
“Subconsciously, I think there has always been a special connection between you two,” she says with a thoughtful expression. “I never questioned his loyalty to Mandy—I know they cared about each other very much. But as the years went on, I noticed the differences between them. They grew into different people who were not as well-suited as they were in the beginning. Of course, I never expected anything like this, but… I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by the outcome.”
I blink, my stomach in ropes. “You don’t hate him?”
My mother tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t hate him, honey. Dean has always been like a son to me, and your father and I both know none of this was intentional. This wasn’t a nefarious plot to hurt your sister. It’s been a horrible situation for everyone, and we knew there would be tough roads ahead with even tougher choices. Your sister and I have had plenty of long talks, and it’s going to take time, but I’m confident you will all find your way.” She kisses my forehead. “We hurt for Mandy. We hurt for you. We hurt for Dean.”
Tears track my cheeks in quiet streams, and I roll onto my back with a deep breath. “He left, Mom. He said he was holding me back from healing, so he took a job transfer in Bloomington, just to get away from me. He claimed it was because he loved me, but that doesn’t make any sense…” Those quiet tears turn loud as reality hits me once again. “I don’t know how to get through this without him.”
Her arms tuck around me once more, pulling me in. “Cora, sweetheart… love doesn’t exist without sacrifice. Sometimes those sacrifices are waking up ten minutes early to make your partner coffee. Sometimes it’s taking on a second job to support your family. Sometimes it’s staying up all night with a newborn so your significant other can finally sleep. Sometimes it’s shoveling the other person’s car out of the driveway after a snowstorm.” She places her palm against my wet cheek and smiles softly. “And sometimes it’s making the ultimate sacrifice and walking away for the greater good.”
I shake my head through the gut wrenching sobs. “I don’t want to be the ultimate sacrifice. I want to be the coffee one.”
“Oh, honey.” My mother holds me tight, a chuckle slipping out. “You need to think of it as an act of love, and not as an act of betrayal. And I think you should take this time to do some soul searching and put the pieces of your life back together. I’m here to help with whatever you need, and so is your dad. This isn’t necessarily an end… think of it as your chance to start over.”
I sniffle, thinking back to my final conversation with Dean in my living room last Friday.
Thinking back to that look in his eyes when I returned the locket—the most precious gift I’ve ever received—and hurled my angry words at him. That was our final moment together. Our last dance. And I allowed my demons to take over and strike him down when he was hurting just as much as I was.
Maybe my mother is right. Maybe this is all about love.
Maybe love is singing her favorite song in the dark, just so she can sleep. Maybe love is giving away the shoes on your feet to help keep her warm. Maybe love is coming over in the middle of the night when the power goes out because you know she’s afraid of the dark.
And maybe love is walking away because it’s the only way she’ll find the light again.
I wanted to believe our situation was the reason our feelings changed—shifted and swayed like a high tide. But feelings like this cannot be built in the course of three weeks. They are created over time, blooming and growing, manifesting into something bigger than us both.
Our ordeal may have opened a door, but it opened a door that was already cracked. Dean and I have always had a connection—a unique chemistry. It was disguised with banter and jokes, hostile words and silly pranks, but there was always something. And if I were to play the last fifteen years out like a film reel in my mind, I’d see the signs. I’d notice the things I’d blatantly ignored due to circumstances, ignorance, and our battle of wills.
I’d recognize the look in his eyes in the rearview mirror after we rescued Blizzard in the middle of a snowy highway.
I’d see his mask of horror and guilt when he thought he’d hurt me with the cornstarch donut.
I’d pick apart his winks and smirks and the twinkle in his eyes whenever I was around.
I’d feel his careful arms around me at the animal hospital as he filled me up with hope.
I’d recall the way he came to pick me up that fateful night in November at almost two A.M.— no hesitation, no questions asked.
I’d hear his noble words in that basement: “Do what you want to me. Leave her alone.”
I’d go back to my living room on Friday and listen, truly hear him, and I’d do it all so much differently.
A desperate whimper escapes me and I sit up in bed, wiping both eyes with my wrist and facing my mother. “I-I have to go.”
She strokes her fingers through my hair one last time, giving my shoulder a tender squeeze as she pulls away. “I know.”
I lean in for a hug, holding her tight with both arms, burying my teary face into her neck and soaking up her vanilla perfume—a scent that is entirely my mother. “Thank you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”
“Oh, Corabelle…” She kisses my cheek before she lets me go. “Just get better. There’s no shame in the struggle, but you can’t stay there forever. We’re all here for you.”
We share a final hug before I race down the staircase, out the door, and hop into my car. It’s a little after one P.M. and there’s a chance he hasn’t left yet.
I want to say goodbye. A real goodbye.
I fly across town, likely breaking at least eleven traffic laws, and park in front of his townhouse, my car door left hanging open as I jump out. I run up the familiar walkway, peering in through the side window as I knock on the door. I squint my eyes through the dusty glass, but everything looks empty. It all looks vacant. Hollow and cleared out.