Page 41 of In Her Own Rite

“I couldn’t—” I shake my head. “You were younger than me. I saw how you looked at him. I saw howhelooked atyou.I hated how he looked at you.”

“I know,” she says, laughing softly. “I remember that part.”

“I didn’t want to make you choose. Not to spare you the decision, although I guess that would have been bigger of me. But because—and this sucks, but it’s true—if I asked you to choose and it hadn’t been me…”

She puts a hand on my arm. “It would have been you.”

The air between us grows heavy. It’s snowing harder now, the snowflakes pooling in her hair, on her clothes, in her eyelashes.

“You must be cold,” she says.

“I’m not.”

She looks out at the water again. “I’m sorry about what I said. I know you always protect me. But I want you to know that it’s because I let you. I’m not weak.”

“I know,” I say, and I mean it. “Your strength just looks different than mine.”

She rolls her eyes. “Maren would call that a cop-out.”

“Maren’s wrong. Youarestrong. But my strength is… I don’t know. I get mad, I break stuff. I punch Seb when he’s holding a frog. It’s good, but it’s not like you.”

“So what kind of strong am I, then?” She raises an eyebrow.

I feel a sharp pain in my gut, remembering my rite.

“You’ve been through more shit than anyone I know,” I say. “And you’re still Em. You’re still… I don’t know. Soft. You know how to love people. I don’t think I could go through what you’ve been through and not let it break me.”

She tucks her chin. “I wish I could be strong your way, sometimes. I wish I didn’t jump when someone drops a sheet pan.” She gives me a look, humor tugging at her lips.

“But you’re strong like I’m not. And you don’t need my kind of strength, because when I’m here, I’ll always stand up for you. We can fill in the gaps for each other.”

“Maybe,” she says, and brings her head back down to my shoulder. “Youdoknow how to love people, you know.”

“Not like you. You remember birthdays and stuff.”

She snorts. “That’s easy. I just write them down.”

“No, really,” I say. “You make people’s favorite cakes. You pick up on something someone said a year ago and then surprise them with it for Karstmis. I don’t know how to love people like that.”

“You know how to love me.”

I don’t know how not to love you.But I can’t find words for it, so I wait.

“You know how to make me feel safe.” She looks up at me and I see a hint of nervousness in her face.

I swallow. The air is changing. She’s trying something for me, something I don’t know how to do. Closing the distance between us.

“You called mekiyyuni,” she says, her voice quiet, hopeful. “Did you mean it?”

“Iija.”Yes.

I move my mouth towards hers, slow and hesitant. She brings her face to mine, and our lips brush gently against each other. I kiss her again, more firmly now, but she pulls away.

“What does it mean? If it happens again?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. It depends on what you want it to mean.”

She turns to look at the water, and I can scent the disappointment in the air.

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