Page 53 of Left-Hand Larceny
She grins, pleased.
They bicker a little more, slipping so effortlessly between Icelandic and English that my head spins. I don’t understand the words, but I understand the feeling — the warmth, the teasing, the love.
Despite the years between them. Despite the ocean between them. They’re a team.
Eventually, Kat’s battery switches to low power, and we say goodbye. She waves frantically at me before the call cuts off and I wiggle my fingers back, making goofy faces with her until the screen goes dark.
I hand Ragnar his phone back, my fingers brushing his by accident, and a zing of something hot and dangerous slides up my forearm. He pockets the phone, never taking his eyes off of me. I can feel them slipping over the curve of my neck. Lower.
“Sorri,” he says. “That c-call was o-odd timing. I w-was worried, so I to t-t-take it.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say immediately. “I loved seeing you together. It… it meant a lot that you wanted me to meet her.”
He looks at me, surprised. “W-why w-w-wouldn’t I? I t-trust you.”
The words are so simple. So honest. They punch the breath right out of me because it’s not that he doesn’t care who his sister talks to, interacts with. It’s that for some reason, I pass muster.
Sweat pools in the small of my back, gathers on my upper lip. Two minutes ago, it was freezing in this hallway. Am I getting sick? I look away.
“You’re close with your family,” I state the obvious. “Even though you’re far apart. It’s…”
I don’t have the words. I’m in awe of how he holds his family together. I know he sends most of his salary back to his grandmother. I know how easy it would have been to wipe his hands on his hockey pants and let them fend for themselves. He was only nineteen. He could have chosen not to step in and many people would have understood. It’s not like his grandmother was in poor health. She hiked a volcano just last year on some research trip.
I’m literal proof that sometimes walking away is the best choice. My adoption was a success story. I have parents who love me. I got an excellent education, a roof over my head, food to eat. Two parents who love me and each and yet, he is closer to his family than I’ve ever—
“I think it’s amazing.”
Ragnar shakes his head like he doesn’t believe my words. I step into him, letting my hands curl into the soft cotton of his sweatshirt.
“The relationship you have with your family is incredible,” I say, holding his gaze with mine. “And you did it all despite the distance, the years, everything.”
His hands come up to cover mine. I can feel his body heat seeping into my skin. I’m literally melting in this hundred degree hallway, but I revel in him like a fluffy little cat.
“W-want to know a s-s-secret?”
I nod.
“It w-wasn’t always e-easy,” he admits, voice low. “I a-almost w-walked away once.”
I blink, startled, and then feel guilty. I don’t want him to think I’m judging him for feeling that way. I would never judge valid feelings. I try to pretend like I didn’t react at all. Which I’m fairly certain only makes things worse.
He shrugs, looking at the floor. “I th-thought they’d be b-better o-off without m-me.”
My heart aches along with his.
“What changed?” My words are a whisper.
“I t-told them m-my truth. That I f-f-felt n-not n-needed,” he says simply. “They t-told me theirs. N-now we…we…we talk. Even when it’s h-hard.”
I chew on that for a second. I know he’s right. Nothing changes unless I say something, ask.
I spent my entire childhood, a majority of my adolescence, and a decent chunk of my adulthood with this fear draped over the back of my shoulders. That if I was a disappointment, a problem, a hassle, I’d be given away. Given back. Replaced. That the people I love would leave and I’d be alone.
I can know that it stems from the trauma of my adoption, and still struggle with the worry. Separating a baby from their mother, whatever the reason, has a profound impact. I have never felt good enough for anyone to love. But that isn’t necessarily because of what they do or say. I’m not sure I ever expressed my fears. I wish I could be brave enough to try.
“I’m jealous,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “My parents love me, they do, but I always feel like,” I pause, swallow. ”I have to be perfect for them. Like there’s no room for messy feelings. Or mistakes.”
Ragnar looks at me so gently my throat constricts and my chest aches.
