Page 126 of Let’s Be Real

“Thanks.” I smiled back at him, feeling optimistic for the first time in a while. “Right back at you, buddy.”

That made him groan. “Did you just friend zone me?”

“Never. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you without wanting to kiss your beautiful face.”

He blinked a few times, and something vulnerable winged his brows. “Even now?”

“Especially now, Natey. Probably always.”

When we hung up, I cried for a few minutes more.

Not from exhaustion or because it felt like Nate was pushing me away. No, these were grateful tears. That man loved me enough not to allow me to destroy myself to save him. He loved me enough to tell me clearly what he needed.

And I loved him enough to give him that while being kind to myself.

I picked myself up off the floor and stood, surveying the room. This place really was a mess.

The first thing I did was fling my stupid shoe away, then I stripped off my clothes down to my underwear. I used the last of my energy to throw a load of laundry in the washer and clean my kitchen—which was technically Nate’s.

Periodically, I had to remind myself a break didn’t mean a breakup. Nate was still mine, and I was still his. We’d get to the end of this, and we’d be better for each other.

Every once in a while, a nefarious little voice whispered that he’d changed his mind. That he was slipping away. That asking for space was the first step toward leaving me.

Then I’d remind myself to listen to what he’d actually said. Nate hadn’t asked me to stop loving him. He’d only asked for room to heal.

Giving him that didn’t mean sacrificing myself. It meant trusting him.

We were going to meet each other on the other side, and we would be whole for each other.

Chapter Forty-three

Samantha

Over the next few weeks, Nate and I got to know each other in a whole new way through emails, saying things that were difficult to share with our voices.

His first one came as a surprise a few days after he’d asked for space. I was at work, going through vendor emails, when his name popped up.

Hey, Sammie,

How are you?

It’s been a few days since we talked. I’m working on not being panicked over that. It’s not easy. I hope it’s been easier on you.

This morning, Dr. Larkin and I were talking about my habit of editing out the ugly parts of myself around people I love. I have to stop doing that.

This is going to be the hardest email I’ve ever written.

You and I have never really talked about my first depressive episode. You would have listened. I don’t doubt that for a second. But I don’t talk about it with anyone. It was never about keeping things from you.

I always thought I was ashamed I’d tried to kill myself. Turns out, that wasn’t actually it. I was ashamed because becoming depressed meant becoming Louise.

And I never wanted to become the next Louise to my brothers.

Adrian and I talked about that this week, and he told me I was stupid for ever thinking that. He was legitimately pissed at me. Are you even a little bit surprised by that?

Weirdly, it made me happy he could be angry at me. He wasn’t treating me like I’d shatter if he raised his voice. He was just…my brother. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that.

I’ve gotten to a place where I believe they won’t hate me. Believing I’m not a burden has been a little more difficult. I never want to be that to them or you.