Page 92 of Fumbled Into Love

I place a soft kiss on her forehead, pressing every emotion swimming in my chest into the action.

The conversation is sparse, but the love in the room is not, and as we finish dinner and Declan falls asleep in the guest bedroom, not wanting to be alone, a thought strikes me like a rogue lightning bolt.

I want it to be real. Every last thing between us, I want to be as real as the beating inside my chest.

Nathalie’s shoulders sag as we walk through the door. The weight of the day is weighing on her. Once bright, warm eyes are dull and lifeless. Her hair is disheveled, and she’s on the brink of tears.

Her sadness is palpable, and it tears me to shreds.

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll be there in a minute,” I say, putting away our coats and shoes.

She curls beneath a blanket on the couch while I make two cups of tea and grab the macarons I ordered but I’ve been waiting to give her.

Now seems like a good time.

She’s sniffling when I reach her, wiping away tears as she stares at her phone.

“Gracie said he’s still asleep,” she whispers when I hand her the tea and place the macarons on the table. “He’s not doing well.”

“How are you doing?” I ask.

Right now, I’m concerned for her. The question breaks the dam, and she begins to sob. I snatch the tea from her grip and pull her against my chest. “It’s okay,” I murmur, allowing her to crumble in my arms.

After a few minutes, Nathalie lifts her head, and her eyes are a bit clearer. The small riot in my stomach settles at her tentative smile.

“I think I needed to let it all out,” she says sheepishly, opening the box of macarons and taking one. “I bought us a puzzle. Do you want to work on it?” she asks.

“You know how I feel about a good puzzle,” I joke, and Nathalie disappears into the guest room.

When she returns, she’s wearing my hoodie and holding a puzzle box in her hands. We work in silence, searching for the border and organizing the pieces by what section of the puzzle we think it belongs to. It’s a calm quiet between us. Peaceful, even.

I could spend every night of the rest of my life right here with Nathalie, simply drinking tea and completing puzzles. There’s no need to fill the air with empty chatter. It’s my comfortability with her that allows me to give Nathalie another one of my truths.

“She never needed me,” I admit. I work on the puzzle, sliding a piece into place. “When she was upset, she wanted to be alone. Any time she had an issue, she disappeared, at least emotionally. I never knew how she felt, even when I asked.”

Nathalie’s foot meets my calf beneath the coffee table, and she wiggles her toes beneath it. A silent,I’m here, and I’m listening.

“Part of me wonders if she ever actually loved me.” I’ve never voiced the thought out loud. I finish the bottom border and begin to rustle through the inner pieces. My eyes never leave thepuzzle, but Nathalie patiently waits for me to continue. “I spent years of my life loving her, and I’m not sure she ever loved me. How sad is that?”

My voice cracks, and Nathalie’s hand falls over mine. She pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and says the last thing I expect.

“Eat a macaron. They help the sadness.”

She pushes the box in my direction, and the sweet, orange flavor melts on my tongue.

“You’re right,” I admit, “that did help.”

Nathalie twirls a puzzle piece between her fingers, lost in thought, before she tries to place it, only it doesn’t fit.

“I-I think people are like puzzle pieces. At first glance, you might think they fit together, but when you get closer, you realize they’re not meant for each other. So you keep searching, desperately looking for a piece that fits, and then one day,” she slips the puzzle piece into its spot, a perfect fit, “you find what you’ve been searching for, a perfect match.”

Nathalie’s focused on the puzzle, but I can’t rip my gaze away from her.

“Some people stop searching,” she says, “They give up. Put the puzzle back into the box and stuff it into the closet. I find that heartbreaking. Everyone deserves to find someone who completes them, and it’s really sad when people give up or think they’re unworthy of finding the love they deserve.”

Every one of her words land like daggers in my chest.

Is that what I did? Give up?

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