Page 115 of Our Long Days
He frowns. “Okay?”
“And before you listen, I’m coming to you because you’re my friend, not Florence’s brother.”
His eyes widen a fraction in understanding. “Do we need whiskey for this?”
“Yes.”
All credit to Patrick,he didn’t punch me once while I told him everything that happened with Florence since New Year’s Eve. Well, not everything.
Guilt paints his features during the parts his sister felt smothered or lost. He smiles, listening to the times Florence called me out for my shit. At the end, he silently contemplates everything.
We’re sitting in his kitchen, each nursing a glass of amber liquid. I welcome the burn.
This is the kid who shared his sandwich with me in the schoolyard because I dropped mine in the dirt. He kept watch under the bleachers while I had my first kiss. He was the first person I called after receiving my diagnosis.
Finally, he speaks. “You’re right. You fucked up.”
I swallow. “That’s fair.”
“At least you’re accountable.” He raps his knuckles on the marble counter. “I’m going to be the big brother for a moment. Florence was born to give the three of us a hard time, but she also loves the hardest. And when she loves something, she doesn’t give up on it. My sister also feels everything. Since learning about her ADHD, it makes more sense, and I wish I’d been more patient and understanding of that. Right now, by the sounds of it, she’s feeling a lot.”
Because of me.
My gaze falls, watching a drop of condensation glide down the glass.
Patrick taps my arm, and I look up.
“If Florence said she’s in it for the long-run, trust her. She didn’t leave, she didn’t end it, she’s processing. For some absurd reason, she loves you.”
Her words from this morning replay in my head, making my heart constrict. How can she believe she doesn’t belong with me?
My knuckles crack in frustration. “I can’t just stand by and watch her beat herself up. I want her to know I’m there.”
“Then show her.”
Show her.
Love doesn’t have to be heard.
Florence doesn’t need words of assurance. She needs to witness it. Because while beautiful, her brain is trying to convince her otherwise. It can’t argue with tangible evidence.
It’s not about her fitting into my future or me fitting into hers.
It’s about imaginingone together.
We’ve done everything backward.
We skipped some parts and fast-forwarded others, and perhaps it was my fault for pushing and pulling for as long as I did.
An idea strikes. Patrick notices the second it does.
“I need a favor.”
He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Knew you’d work it out. Don’t wait too long, though. You’re not getting any younger.”
I shove him away. “Fucker.”
Nostalgia fills his eyes. “If my dad were here, he’d tell you to let the failures of today build the foundations of tomorrow.” When his voice cracks, I steel myself, knowing his next words are going to strike hard. “He'd also give you his blessing in a heartbeat. So, you’ll have to make do with mine.”
