Sweet Dandelion

“How has that been going?”

I shrug as I get comfortable. At this point in the year Lachlan’s office is practically another home. “He hasn’t made any moves if that’s what you’re asking. Ever since we talked and I was honest about my feelings—or lack thereof—things have been better.”

“Hmm,” he hums.

“What?” I ask, an edge to my voice that surprises me.

“Most teenage boys don’t give up.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” My tone is final. It’s weird talking about Ansel with Lachlan.

Ever since New Year’s Eve our relationship has blossomed into more. We try to be on our best behavior at school, but there have been times when we exchange looks that if anyone sees it they’d suspect something. There have been a few brief kisses, and sometimes our touch lingers when it shouldn’t. We haven’t had sex again, though. God, do I want to. It’s like some kind of horny beast awakened inside me, but I think about that night and morning way more than I should, craving it over and over. But we haven’t been alone in his apartment either. Not while my brother wasn’t working, and lately he’s home all weekend and the evenings, so it’s impossible to sneak away.

“What do you want to talk about?” he allows, leaning back in his chair. He looks a tad tense, his eyes tired.

“My mom,” I blurt, the confession taking both of us by surprise. He’s quiet, waiting for me to continue. “I’ve been missing her more than usual.”

“That’s natural. Grief comes and goes forever. It’s like a wave.”

“Prom is soon.” I look at him through my lashes, thinking about how much I wish I could go to the monumental dance on his arm, but it’s impossible. “Graduation,” I continue, “it’s breaking my heart that she won’t be here for these milestones.”

His lips thin. “I’m so sorry, Dani. She should be here and it’s senseless that she’s not. But remember how strong you are and in a way she is there. She lives in your heart now.”

I don’t mean to, but I touch my fingers to my heart. I know he’s right. She might be gone in the literal sense, but she lives on. In me, in Sage, in our memories. It’s impossible for her to truly be gone.

“Grief isn’t easy,” he continues. “It’s this twisted, complicated ball of emotions. When you think you’re unraveling it, it twists up again. But you have to keep working at it, until you find the right string to pull, when you do, suddenly things start getting better. But remember, it’s okay to feel sad. Sadness is not weakness, and weakness is not a failure.”

Tears burn my eyes. I’ve done so well keeping it together the last few weeks, but leave it to me to start crying now.

His words were something I needed to hear, even though I didn’t know it.

He allows me to cry, though this time he doesn’t touch me.

In the beginning the touches were innocent, he hugged me for comfort, to remind me I’m not alone and it’s okay, but now too much has happened between us that even a hug feels like crossing a major line.

When I find my words, I speak a little more about my mom, more tears are shed, and when the bell rings he gets up, grabbing my backpack. He holds onto it as I stand and then gives it to me.

Before I leave the room, he whispers, “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Those words … they mean more than he’ll ever know.

Sage isn’t home when I arrive, but if the past two weeks are any indication he’ll be home in the next thirty minutes to an hour.

I place an order for delivery from a local mom and pop shop that makes some of the best home-cooked food.

Kicking off my shoes when I reach my bedroom, I unzip my backpack, pulling out the contents so I can switch them with what I’ll need for Monday.

That’s when I find the yellow envelope.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed I open the envelope carefully, not wanting to rip it.

Inside is a thick piece of stationary with Lachlan’s initials on top.

To my beautiful Dani,

You have no idea how much it kills me that I have to write this in secret. That I can’t openly tell you how I feel on a day dedicated to love. You consume my thoughts, and when you’re not near I miss you more than I should. I still struggle with my feelings for you, the guilt, but I can’t seem to stop. Love is co

mplicated, but when it’s true there’s no denying it. While I might not be able to show my love for you openly, it’s one of the biggest parts of me. You’ve become my other half. Happy Valentine’s day, baby, I love you.