By late afternoon, Sara is resting more comfortably. Cassie camps at the foot of her bed, reading aloud from an old fantasy paperback, her voice soft and steady. I listen from the doorway for a while, just long enough to convince myself everything is under control, then slip downstairs to the kitchen, where Nathan is boiling water for pasta. He’s humming, off-key and unselfconscious, and I let myself imagine this is what normal looks like. Then he turns, catching me mid-scan, and the bubble pops.
“Want some?” he asks, nodding at the saucepan. “Figured you’d be hungry.”
I’m not, but I nod anyway. I set the table, folding napkins with more care than necessary, and try to ignore the way Nathan tracks my every movement as if I’m about to shatter.
We sit across from each other, the silence elastic and dangerous. I twirl pasta onto my fork, take a bite, force myself to chew.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, and says, “You did good yesterday.”
I nearly choke. “What?”
“With Sara. You kept your head. I know it was rough.”
I set my fork down. “I lost it. I barely knew what to do.”
Nathan shakes his head. “You did what needed to be done. A lot of people would’ve frozen.”
“I don’t want to get good at this.”
He sits back, exhaling. “No one does.”
For a while, we just eat. The kitchen is still, the only sound the ticking of Sara’s old wall clock. I try to focus on the food, the aroma of oil and garlic, but my brain is a pinball machine, every thought ricocheting off the next.
Nathan finally says, “What’s going on, Diane?”
I bristle. “Nothing.”
He holds my gaze, unflinching. “You don’t have to be brave around me.”
I want to believe him. I want it so badly, but the distance between wanting and doing is an ocean, and I’m stuck on the wrong side of the tide.
“Cassie is starting to ask a lot of questions,” I say, surprising myself. “About you and me… Us.”
Nathan's eyes flicker with surprise, or maybe it's concern. He sets his fork down, his attention leaning toward me like a flower to the sun.
"And what do you tell her?”
I shrug, my shoulders heavy. "I don't know. I weave around it mostly.”
“She’s a smart kid. She’ll notice if you keep deflecting.”
“I know. She doesn’t miss much.”
“Maybe we should tell her,” Nathan offers. “Something concrete. Even if it’s just that we’re figuring things out.”
I look up at him, struck by how earnest he seems, how willing he is to dive into this uncharted territory. “Maybe. It’s just… I don’t want to give her any false hopes, and then have things fall apart.”
“I get it. But we’re not doing any good dancing around the subject either.”
Nathan is right, but my fear holds me rooted to indecision. “I know. It just seems like a lot right now,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the table, the kitchen, my whole unraveling life. “My biggest fear is that the rug gets yanked out from under her again. She just got back on her feet after Kyle. And now there’s Sara…and us…and it’s all so uncertain.”
Nathan leans in, his voice lower, urgent. “I understand. The situation with Sara is precarious, and I know you are shouldering a lot of it, Diane. But regarding us, there’s certainty in my feelings for you. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
“You say that now,” I shoot back. “But you don’t know what it’s like, having everything hinge on you. I just don’t want Cassie to get hurt. Or you, for that matter.”
He flinches. I can see it, the way his jaw sets, the way his hand curls into a fist on the table. “Don’t worry about me, Diane. I can take care of myself. Besides, hurting is part of the bargain, isn’t it? Otherwise, none of it would matter.”
I want to argue, to tell him that I know from personal experience how quickly the bargain goes sideways, how even the best intentions can topple the delicate architecture of a heart. But my body is tired; my mind is tired, too, in the way it gets after sleepless nights and too much held-back wanting. So instead, I push my plate forward, cross my arms, and try to meet him where he is, even though I’d rather retreat and think it through alone.