Every Little Thing

50

The second Reed walks through the door after his shift, a grin overtakes my features. He smiles back and we embrace, so tight that I lose my breath for a split second before whispering,

"Can I say it in person now?"

He laughs, a warm and inviting sound. "Not if I say it first."

"I love you," I tell him, and he holds me even closer, repeating the words in a soft echo that makes my heart pound so hard and so fast I'm afraid it might explode.

"Hallie says I should write a testimony," I breathe, and the words come out of my mouth before I even have time to think about them. "I don't know if I should or not."

"That's kind of an abrupt subject change, Evelyn," he replies, after a beat. "Maybe we should just focus on one thing at a time."

I nod in agreement, but the thought buzzes in the back of my mind, ever-present and lingering.

"Yeah," I say, trying to ignore the shaking in my voice, "Yeah, okay."

He waits, and I can feel his even breaths against my neck. After a while, he says,

"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?"

"I can't help it; I'm sorry. I—I have to call my mom, and I have to figure out what we're gonna do—"

"Evelyn," he says, and his arms move from my shoulders to my hands, gripping tightly as if keeping me anchored in place. "Evelyn, don't. Just don't think right now, okay?"

"You know that's asking the impossible of me," I argue, and he steps back so that our eyes meet.

"I know," he sighs, and then, "If it will help calm you down, we can call your mom. I'll leave you alone if you want to tell her what happened. And—and if you do want to write your testimony, I'll help you."

I close my eyes and clench my teeth, hardly able to believe myself. Normal girls are supposed to kiss and hug and go on dates with their boyfriends. Normal girls are supposed to say I love you in person, not over the goddamn phone. Normal girls are supposed to live their normal lives and not think about things. Why can't I be a normal girl for once? Why do these things just keep piling on to me?

Why, instead of going on a date with Reed Bishop, am I asking him to help me write a testimony for court?

My head is pounding at this point, and I pull away from him, running my fingers through my hair and trying to work through the gnarls of both the blond curls and my quickly-spiraling thoughts. I need to call my mom—I don't want to, but I need to.

And I think I need to write the testimony. Even if it doesn't go anywhere, I need to find that closure somewhere within myself.

"What do you want to do, Evelyn?" Reed asks, and there's a soft tentativeness in his eyes that makes me deflate just a little. It must be exhausting, I think, to love me.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," I say finally, and he just shakes his head with a laugh.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he asks, eyes alight and lips kicked back in a smirk, "I don't care, Evelyn. Everyone's messed up in one way or another. Everyone's been screwed by something. What really matters is the acceptance of those things. You accept my pain, I accept yours. That's all it takes."

I lower my gaze to hide the wild blush that has overtaken my face, a few locks of hair falling into my eyes.

"I have to call my mom," I say finally, "And then we'll talk about the testimony. Is—is that acceptable?"

Reed pulls me in for one more hug and says, "Of course it is."

I bury my face into the crook of his neck and am thankful for finally being able to breathe. Something in my chest unclenches and as I take him in, the whole perfectness of him, take in the fact that my dreams have turned into reality, I realize that I am going to be okay. In the end, we are all going to be okay—me, Reed, my mom, Georgie, everybody. Everybody is going to get through this.