Page 137 of Ten Years and Then…
Daniel wasn’t surprised by any of that. And he knew the answer, too.
“It’s because you needed it. Because you never felt it enough from anyone else, and I could see that. I had to make sure my Danny always knew.”
“I did. And I hope you felt it from me, too.” He embraced her, his cheek against hers, feeling her warmth—not just physical, but almost a psychic force coming off her. “I love you, Bee. Always have.”
She pulled away just far enough that she could catch his eyes again. “I got so angry, back when you were in high school, and even when you started college, when you’d call me and you’d vent about how lonely you were.” Daniel felt himself blushing. It had been whining, not venting. And she’d listened to far more of it than anyone—even a favorite cousin who loved him more than anybody else—should have had to. “I was so pissed at all those idiot girls you told me about, because they couldn’t see how amazing you were.” And then she smiled, the saddest smile he’d ever seen. Or maybe the second saddest, but he put that out of his mind and just listened to her, even though he knew what she was going to say next.
“And it made my heart hurt—I’m serious. It burned. Knowing that you couldn’t see it for yourself, either. I hated that for you. I would have done anything if it would have made you see how great you were. Are.” It made his heart hurt right now to hear it, to know how much time and energy she’d set aside for him, when she should have been spending it on herself.
“I’m sorry, Bee.” He sat there, staring back at her, willing her to feel everything he felt, and she—she laughed.
“God, you’re dumb sometimes! You think I don’t already know it’s always gone both ways? You think I don’t remember the times you hurt for me, or cried for me or wanted to rip somebody’s head off because they did wrong by me? Even if you were a thousand miles away, even when we didn’t talk for months?”
She knew. She knew it all. Of course she did.
“And you’re telling me all this now because…?” He knew why. But he needed to hear it out loud.
She didn’t speak, just pushed him a little further away, and reached down under his shirt. She pulled out the necklace, held it up. “You were always enough for this. You were always going to step up if you had to. I knew it. Nora knew it. She always saw you. The only one who didn’t know it was you.” She took a deep breath. “But now you do. I mean it, Danny. You’ve got no excuses anymore.”
“You’re the one who kept telling me to move on from her.” It sounded lame even to his own ears.
“And I was wrong, and it took Leanne three months to forgive me for setting her up with you. She finally asked me to come back to pottery class last month, by the way.”
“Bee.”
“Sorry. Anyway. She forgave you, too. So you don’t have any reason not to go find Nora. Go get her, or I’ll be so disappointed in you.”
“You won’t be the only one.” He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or not. Or if that even mattered.
Daniel, a few hours later
It was half past two in the morning. Daniel had been lying here under the covers in Bianca’s guest room since just before midnight, closing his eyes tightly and not falling asleep. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his face. He’d done it ten or twenty times already, but they just kept coming, so what was the point?
She’d meant to reassure him, cheer him on. But all she’d done was make it hurt more, because if she was right—and she was, he couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore—then it never had to happen the way it did a decade ago. Or even a year and a half ago, aboard the ship.
If he was enough then, he could have been with Nora all this time. She’d be with him right now, arms wrapped around him, alternately making fun of Bee’s taste in wallpaper and reminding him what a hero he was.
She wasn’t, though, and nothing could change that. But maybe it could start to change tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever the tears finally stopped.
He didn’t notice the door cracking open just an inch or two, or his cousin’s eyes peeking in for a moment, or her soft sigh. He certainly didn’t hear the way her throat caught as she gently closed the door again and tiptoed back to her bedroom, wiping away her own tears as she went.
Chapter 44
March 1999—Boston, MA
Nora, March 26
Nora had only been editor-in-chief of Catalyst Quarterly for a few weeks; she was still learning the personalities and working styles of her staff. But the new girl—Julia, that was her name—stood out today, and not in a good way.
She was a brand new staff writer, only three months out of college. Northwestern, if Nora recalled correctly. And she’d walked into her very first all-staff meeting a month ago, head held high as though she owned the room, making eye contact with everyone, even throwing out a pitch for an article. A great pitch, which Nora had approved on the spot. She recalled feeling a twinge of jealousy at the time; it had taken her six months to work up the confidence to volunteer an idea at a staff meeting without being prompted.
But Julia hadn’t been there in the weekly editorial meeting this morning. She’d been replaced by a quiet, nervous girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else on the planet than there. Nora had let it pass in the meeting; there was too much to cover, and too many other egos to manage. But it had bothered her for the last two hours.
“Get it together,” she muttered to herself. “Babysitting isn’t part of the job. She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.” But that wasn’t true, was it? Every good boss she’d ever had—and before that, every good professor—had made sure she knew it was their job to help her succeed. To give her the tools and the resources she needed to thrive. They’d each done it in their own way—but one thing they all had in common was that none of them ever called it babysitting.
Now it was her turn.
So when Nora saw the girl walk down the corridor, turn the corner towards the restrooms, and then not reappear for fifteen minutes, she stood up. She knew exactly where she needed to go.
