Page 70 of Our Secret Moments

“Ask me, Cat,” I press, stepping closer to her until she has to look up at me and she rolls her eyes lightly.

“Where do you want to be right now?”

“With you.”

I watch the second her eyes dim. Her chin wobbles and I immediately wrap my arms around her, letting her head rest on my chest. A sharp sob rips through her and she doesn’t have to say anything to tell me how she’s feeling because I can feel it.

I want to take away the pain from her, make it my own, carry the weight of the world on my back if it meant she could breathe for a second. I would take it all from her if I could, leave her with only the happiness and the light in the world.

I tighten my arms around her, resting my chin on the top of her head and she cries harder into my shirt as I rub my hand down her back.

“I miss her so much, Connor,” she says into my shirt, her voice cracking.

“I know,” I whisper, “I know.”

I let her take all the time she needs, holding her.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” I say shakily. “I’ve got you all the time, even when you don’t want me to. I just wish you could see that.”

I feel her nod against my chest and she slowly relaxes into me more. I hold her against me for a few more minutes, or maybeit’s hours. I don’t know. All I know is that I won’t let go until she tells me to.

When she eases up off me to look up at me, I wipe away the tears under her eye with my thumb, swallowing. I try my hardest to smile. “Get some bowls from the kitchen and I’ll set up everything in here.”

“For what?” she asks, swiping at her face with the sleeve of her top.

“You’ll see,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She smiles weakly before slipping away from me into the kitchen.

I rearranged her chaotic setup in the living room, taking down some of the pillows from the couch and placing them on the floor just in front of it, piling them on top of each other. I shut off her laptop, pausing her episode of Desperate Housewives and instead switching on the flatscreen across from the couch and putting on my favourite Disney movie,Frozen.

When she emerges back into the living room, she doesn’t say much when I place some candy and popcorn into the bowls she brought, pulling out a few soda cans to place onto the table. I rummage through the box, finding face masks and face massage rollers too, placing them in the corner. I’m satisfied with our spread. Maybe I brought too much food. But there’s no such thing, right?

Cat looks down at the coffee table and then back up at me. “You got all this for me?”

I nod. “I got all this forus.I’m having a self-care day too, remember?” I tease, smirking. I finally get a laugh out of her and I sit down on the couch, above where I piled the cushions on the floor, spreading my legs. I tap the pillows. “Sit down here.”

Her mouth twists to the side in suspicion, but she steps over the cushion and takes a seat between my legs. “What are you doing?”

“Can I help you take out your braids?” I ask, brushing the half of her hair that is still braided over one side of her shoulder. She tenses at the contact. “I mean, if you don’t want me to, I can just watch. I like watching you. Wait. No. That sounds creepy. I just mean—”

“You can help if you want to, Connie,” she says, cutting me off, turning to look up at me. “Thank you for asking.”

My hands shake a little when she turns back around and she starts to explain to me how to help her. She’s already cut off the ends of her braids, so all I have to do is unravel each one and then gently brush out her hair and clip it back with the other parts that have already been tended to. It’s a lot less daunting than I thought it would be, but if this means that I can help her next time, I’ll get used to it.

I find a rhythm, detangling her hair and letting the soft curly texture run through my fingers. We mostly stay quiet, watching the movie and eating the snacks as we continue tending to her hair. As I watch her relax into me, telling me her favourite parts of the movie, I realise that I want to know everything about her. I want to know her life so well that I know her better than I know myself.

“Can I ask you something,” I ask into the silence.

“Of course. Anything.”

“What actually happened last year, Cat? You know, with the breakup,” I ask. I still don’t know the ins and outs of what went down. All I know is that a few months later, she turned into a different version of herself, and watching that growth without the context had always confused me.

“We just weren’t cut out for each other,” she explains easily, giving me the same bullshit answer she gave the guys when we were in Oliver’s pool.

“Okay, now tell me the truth, Catherine,” I ask gently.

She shifts beneath me. “Why?”

“Because I like hearing you talk, so talk.”

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