Page 141 of Shelter
“What?” I asked, quickly scanning my arms and legs, hoping Cole hadn’t left an errant love bite somewhere clothes didn’t cover.
Alberta narrowed her eyes.“Youdon’t look contented enough.”
I opened my mouth to refute her, but only weak stammers came out. “I-I… of course, I—”
Alberta gave me a slow-blinking look of impatience. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
With a sigh of defeat, I dropped to the bed beside her. “I’m fine. Really,” I said, and mostly it was true. “I just wish it felt more real… more solid.”
Alberta turned on her side to face me. “You waiting for it to fall apart before it even starts?”
I frowned. “I’m not dooming it if that’s what you mean.”
She blinked at me. “Well, then what are you doing?”
I let my eyes lift to the plain, square tiles on the ceiling. The view held none of the magic and awe of Alberta’s old bedroom where we’d first talked about my feelings for Cole Whitehurst way back when. It had been so long ago, but in a way, it felt like only a matter of days.
I sighed. “I guess I’m waiting for history to repeat itself.”
“What do you mean?” Alberta asked, her voice gentling.
It was easier to keep my gaze on the even, white squares above me. “I mean losing him in a way I can’t foresee or prevent,” I admitted, voicing my fears even though saying them aloud felt dangerous, giving the universe permission to manifest them. “Being left behind as if I didn’t matter.”
“Elise,” Alberta said, her voice soft with shock. “You can’t believe you don’t matter to him.”
No.
I allowed myself to face her. “I believed I didn’t matter for a long time,” I tried to explain. “I don’t anymore, but it doesn’t make the prospect of losing him seem any less likely.”
Her thin brows drew together in concern. “Forgive me for asking, but are we still talking about Cole?”
I blew out a frustrated breath, and I wasn’t sure if it was directed at Alberta or myself. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew.
“Are you going to make me say it?” She gave me a faintly pleading look.
“I’m not talking about my father,” I insisted. “Or lack thereof.”
Alberta nodded. “Of course not.” Her words carried a gentle sarcasm.
It had been at least three years since I’d even bothered to question Mama about him. His identity. His whereabouts. Their history together. She’d remained tight-lipped on the subject even after I’d entered adulthood. And since the topic was always one that darkened Flora’s mood whenever I pressed about it, I’d given up, deciding that whatever information I could gather about a man who wanted nothing to do with me and whom my mother clearly despised might not really be worth it.
I shook my head. “That’s just stupid. I literally never think about him. Why would this be about him?” I asked sharply. But even though the words I said were true, I heard the defensiveness, the woundedness in my voice.
Alberta reached across the bed and took my hand. “It’s alright. Whatever this is about, it’s alright.”
A heavy, prickly feeling had descended on me, and I wanted to shrink from it, to shake it off. It wasn’t pain, exactly. But an invasive discomfort and something like remote suffocation. A feeling so familiar and ancient that I didn’t have a name for it.
But it made me feel small. And powerless. And I’d always hated that feeling.
“This isn’t about him,” I said, weakly this time. Why I felt the need to say it, I couldn’t explain.
Alberta squeezed my hand. “Maybe it’s just about you.”
As true as this was, it cleared up nothing for me. I still felt anchored in confusion and irritability, and I wanted to be left alone.
As if in answer to my wish, my phone rang. I levered up off the bed and plucked it from my dresser. Cole’s name flashed across the screen. My heart gave a clumsy lurch, as though urging me to answer. Maybe I didn’t want to be alone after all.
“Hi,” I answered.
