Page 91 of Ladybirds

“Yeah, because I’m really worried about that.”

“It certainly wouldn’t kill you to try on occasion.”

“Ugh, you’re ridiculous,” she huffs, hobbling forward and linking their arms. She’s relieved when he doesn’t pull away.

The crutch makes it ten times more awkward than she’d like, but he moves with her as best he can. “I believe that’s my line.”

Before she can respond, her door comes into view and whatever words she might have said are lost. There’s a huddled figure sitting, back pressed against the door and head resting on his folded arms. Sara knows who it is before his head lifts—she remembers buying the Carhartt jacket for him two Christmases ago. Beside her, she feels Seth’s body go rigid.

David eyes their linked arms, cringing as he stands. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sara murmurs. She doesn’t know why he’s there, but she has her suspicions.

He never was one to let things go.

“Can we talk?”

Sara chances a glance at Seth, but his expression is blank. She hates how good he is at hiding behind that mask. “Sure,” she says, because the sooner she does, the sooner it will be over. She pulls her keys out of her purse and presses them into Seth’s palm. When he finally meets her stare, she gives him her most encouraging smile. “Could you just set the leftover cake in the kitchen?”

There’s a tension in his jaw that gives him away, but his voice remains even. “Of course.”

“It’ll just be a bit,” she promises. She hopes he can hear all the things she leaves unsaid, but he’s shielded his expression well enough that she can’t be sure.

David waits until Seth has closed the door behind him, his blue eyes glaring daggers at his back, before he offers her his hand. “Do you need—“

“I’m fine,” she says, adjusting her crutch. She doesn’t want to offer him any reason, intended or not, to hope. “I got it.”

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets, leaning back on his heels. Sara can’t help but think that the motion is much more refined when Seth does it. “Can—I mean. Could we, I don’t know, go for a walk or something?”

She stares at him. “My foot’s in a boot.”

“Oh. Right. Well, what about dinner? There’s—”

“David,” Sara sighs, shaking her head. “Just say what you came to say. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words rushed. “For this morning. You were right. I don’t—I shouldn’t have expected—” His breathing is deep, his chest heaving with the force of it. “I just really want to make this work.”

“David,” she murmurs, voice soft. She sounds older, even to her own ears. Wiser. Maybe she is, because the past year has been a tangled mess of curses and miracles—of heartbreak and healing—and in it all, she found the one thing she hadn’t been looking for. “I love him,” she says, with so much feeling it would be impossible for David to deny the truth of it. “I love him and I’m happy.”

She loves the way he only tells her good morning when she wakes up in a decent mood and isn’t afraid to suggest she get herself a cup of coffee when she doesn’t. She loves the way he explains things to her in a way that’s simple enough for her to understand, but complex enough that she doesn’t feel like he’s talking down to her. She loves the way he tries.

The way he inspires her to be better; to be happy.

David runs a hand through his hair. The smile he gives her is strained. “That’s really it then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It is.”

“We can at least be friends, right?”

She knows the answer just as well as he does, but some truths hurt less when they hide behind white lies. Seth taught her that. “Sure.”

Scuffing the toe of his boot against the rug, he looks down at his feet. “I’m going to miss you,” he says, eyes raising. “Hell, I already do. Is that weird?”

“No,” she answers, and this time it’s honest. “But it’ll get easier.” One day, he’ll hear her name and think of her as just an important person in that single stage of his life. A memory worth keeping, but not a relationship worth saving.

“I guess it has to, right?” he jokes, but the humor in his voice sounds as false as it is. He leans in, giving her an awkward half-hug. His breath tickles her hair. “Goodbye, Sara.”

Sara returns it, lets herself take a moment to reflect how his arms somehow feel familiar and foreign all at once. “Live a good life, ok?”

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