The Wrong Kind of Love

I stroke my thumb over the words. “Like what?”

“Since my sister and I were labeled ‘difficult,’ we never got a permanent placement. We were moved from one family to another, and when we were teenagers, we were placed in a group home. That was when I decided I’d have to make my own family. I’ve been in one serious romantic relationship after another since I was sixteen. Afterward, I’d beat myself up for any moment I wasn’t supportive and happy and sexy . . .”

I shake my head. “But you’re all those things.”

“I’m some of those things sometimes, but no one can be all of them all the time.” She places her hand over mine, and our fingers skim over the words together. My love is enough. “It’s a reminder that what I have to offer is enough. When the darkness came back for my mom and when my relationships inevitably failed, I needed to remember my love was enough. That even when I fall short, I’m worthy of love and happiness. I cling to that when the darkness comes for me.”

I lift my gaze to hers and hold my breath, as if I’m waiting for her to take it back. I don’t want her to struggle with the darkness. Not when I failed Elena. Not when I know what it can do to a family.

“I’m okay, Ethan,” she says softly. “I was telling you the truth when we talked about this before. I’m stable. But there were times that I felt like I was being sucked under. I’m okay now, but staying okay isn’t always as simple for me as it is for other people.”

“You’re so damn happy.” I grimace the second the words leave my tongue. I, of all people, know mental health isn’t something that can be easily observed. We all show the world the faces we think we must.

“Most of the time. But sometimes cheerfulness is just a defense mechanism.” She licks her lips. “We all cope in different ways. I’m over-the-top enthusiastic. But I’m okay, and I’m long past feeling ashamed of the moments I’m not.” She chuckles softly. “So, there are the bazillion reasons behind my silly tattoo.”

“It’s not silly.” My chest feels tight, and emotions sit on my tongue in a jumble I desperately want to translate to words but can’t. So, I wrap my arms around her and bring her back down to the bed, rolling until she’s under me. Then I dip my head, lift her arm to have better access to the ink on her skin, and lower my open mouth to kiss her tattoo. And when I lift my lips, I hover there for long, tormented moments, trying to breathe in the words I needed for myself in the hardest years before Elena’s death. The words I needed after.

My love is enough.

But my love wasn’t. It wasn’t for Elena, and I’m terrified it won’t be for Nic.

Nicole

I wake to the sound of pounding feet and little-girl giggles.

Ethan springs up beside me. “Fuck.” He jumps out of bed, drags a hand through his hair, and looks wildly around my bedroom. “Where are my clothes?”

“The living room.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can you distract them?” His voice is still husky with sleep. “If you get them into the kitchen, I’ll sneak downstairs to my bedroom. Shit. I didn’t expect them back so early.”

It’s not that I expected him to announce to the world that we slept together, or even that I’d want Lilly to know, but I could have gone without starting today with the harsh reminder that last night was a one-time thing he doesn’t want his family to know about. It stings even though I don’t want it to, hurts even though I agree.

“Sure. No problem.” I pull on some yoga pants, a sports bra, and a T-shirt—lazy Sunday attire—and finger-comb my hair before heading downstairs.

Perhaps Ethan’s eagerness to get away from me this morning is for the best. Last night, alone in the lamplight, the connection between us was so powerful that it was easy to forget he still thinks I’m my sister. This morning, with the sunlight pouring in the windows and the sound of his daughter’s laughter filling the house, I’m all too aware of my lie.

I don’t have to lure Shay and Lilly into the kitchen because they’re already there, Shay working over the coffee pot while Lilly pours herself a bowl of cereal.

“You two are back early,” I say.

Shay presses the button to brew and turns to smile at me. “I only had wholegrain, no-sugar-added cereals at my house, and Lilly insisted on having Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast.”

Lilly grins shamelessly and shrugs. “I know what I like.”

Shay looks me over. “You’re tousled.”

“I just got out of bed.”

“Hmm.”

The steps creak, and Shay peeks around me before I can stop her. I have no doubt she’s spotting Ethan. I imagine him racing down the stairs with a towel around his hips.