Page 169 of Unloved

Matt is patient, and to see him be so comfortable with my dad, never annoyed with the slowness of his speech or responses, makes my heart thunder even harder with that one truth.

I am in love with Matt Fredderic.

“We didn’t meet your other boyfriend.”

I refocus my attention, moving the pot from the heat as I stir. I look at my mother’s intense, love-filled gaze. It saysI’m hereandNothing you could ever say will change the love I have for you.There is shame in admitting this, a double-edged sword—I am embarrassed that it happened at all, but I am even more embarrassed knowing I never told her.

“It’s hard to put into words,” I say. My mother is patient, reaching to take the sauce from my hands and setting it to the side, walking us farther into the kitchen, away from the open walkway to the living room. “Tyler was… very mean to me.”

I talk. She listens, never cuts me off, just nodding even as her eyes well up with tears.

At the end, we both cry.

“I didn’t want to tell you because—I just wanted things to be easy. For you. For Dad—and I know—”

“Rosalie Defne Shariff,” she whisper-shouts, reaching to grab my shoulders and shake me a little. “You areeverythingto your father and me. You have been the greatest blessing of our lifetime. I would not trade a second, only wishing you felt like you could tell me this sooner.” She pauses and looks around for a moment, clearing her throat before adding, “And maybe, wanting you to bring this Tyler boy here so I can slap him myself.”

“Mom,” I laugh.

“You think I’m kidding.”

We hug, laughs subsiding into more tears. She builds me up with every whispered, “You’re so strong, yavrum. I’m so proud of you.” It warms my heart, healing even more of my soft, sad pieces.

“I’m making simit in the morning,” she says, pulling away resolutely.

“Mom,” I say, but don’treallywant to tell her no. It’s my favorite—especially with jam—but she only makes it on special occasions. The bread dish is time-consuming, so it’s a treat for her to cook.

“I’m making it,” she snaps back, elbowing me as she takes the pot of cooked manti off the stove and starts to plate them. “You deserve it,yavrum.”

I wait to take Matt downtown until the day after Christmas, our last day before flying home.

Solvang is packed, but so beautiful that you forget about the crowds underneath the twinkling lights.

We’ve spent the last four days with my parents—exchanging giftsquietly. My parents say they don’t celebrate Christmas, but we always give one gift to each other and watch my mom’s favorite holiday movie,A Charlie Brown Christmas. It’s a favorite tradition of mine, one I was thrilled to include Matt in. With the four of us, it somehow felt even more like home.

We grab Danish treats from one of the multiple bakeries downtown, ordering anything and everything seasonal. Matt dons a Santa hat, tucking red and green reindeer antlers with bells on them into my loose, long curls.

Playing tourists in a town I’ve been to a thousand times is entirely different. Because it’s with him, it feels like the first time—bursting with excitement and endless laughing fits. We take pictures at every stop, until I run out of storage on my phone and we switch to his.

By nightfall, we down the last of the hot chocolate we’ve been sipping, trading it for hot mulled wine from a darkened tiki bar on the corner.

Matt pays for the jukebox—which is really a requestable streaming service—to play the song from our ice skating adventure over the crackling speakers.

“Time to check off another one, Rosalie,” he says, smacking my backside gently as he hoists me to stand and climb up on top of the bar—

—but only for a moment, before we’re getting kicked out, my long legs tossed over his shoulder as he carries me out, both of us laughing as we sing “I Don’t Wanna Wait Til Christmas,” fumbling most of the words.

Matt gifted me a crafting service subscription, which lets me try all kind of artsy things I’ve always wanted to. My gift to him was this mini getaway before our flight home. Just us tonight.

He puts me down before stumbling forward with a laugh, turning back to me with his arms stretched out as he keeps singing. My voice trails off, just watching him. Completely sick in love with him.

Matt eyes me, too, realizing I’ve frozen on the sidewalk under the glittering lights, making me feel like we’re in some romantic snow globe. He’s smiling, lines carving his cheeks, dancing side to side.

“What?”

I laugh, a bright, bubbling feeling shooting through me like stars in a night sky.

“I love you,” I say.

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