Page 52 of Like First Love, Again

“This gets to be a lot, Tori.” Mia’s words were so raw, so anguished. “People understand for a little while, but then it’s like,move on.Get over it. It wasn’t like I lost a?—”

“Hey.” Tori scooted closer and put her arm around Mia, pulling her into her side like she could protect her from the outside despite knowing the war was waging within. “I’m so incredibly sorry for what you’ve been through. That anyone made you feel like your grief isn’t real.” She hunted for the right words. “That you’ve felt like you have to carry anything in silence or alone?—”

Mia crumpled into her, head buried against Tori’s neck. Tori didn’t rush her. Didn’t fill the silence with empty platitudes. She just held Mia close until she was ready to talk again.

“I never understood the concept of loss before.” Mia picked at a loose thread on the hem of her dress without lifting her head from Tori’s shoulder. “Like that word… Loss. It’s like whoever made it up was warning us it’s not just death—you lose part of yourself too. I’m not who I was, Tori. I feel like I’ve been beaten down by wanting something I’ll never have. By being suffocated in venomous encouragement likeyou can try again. Like we’re talking about replaceable—” A sob cut her short. “Like the toll it takes doesn’t?—”

Mia turned her body into Tori and cried. Cried like she might excise the pain from her heart if she could empty her tears. Tori couldn’t hold her tight enough, but she could keep her own emotions under control. She could hold her fast and fierce and show her she’d never tire of keeping her afloat.

“And I’m just so angry,” Mia confessed, like it was some heinous crime. “I’m angry that I couldn’thard workmy way into this. That I couldn’t want it bad enough to make it happen. That every day someone gets to take their baby home, but I’m carrying some cosmic fucking punishment.”

Tori swallowed hard and tried her best to sound steady when she said, “I’m sorry for what you’ve lost. And I’m so sorry that I can’t fix it. But I can be here. I want to be here.” She kissed her temple and breathed her in. “Please let me.”

“Sometimes I’m afraid I don’t know how.” Mia’s regret vibrated against Tori’s skin, wet with her sorrow. “Eric wasn’t even a bad partner. I just kind of pushed him away.” She didn’t make any move to sit up. “But who can deal with someone who randomly starts crying if they accidentally walk down the baby aisle in an unfamiliar Target?” She took a deep breath like she’d tried to laugh, but only made herself nauseous. “Tori, I think I’m too broken. I think the biggest thing I lost was me.”

“You’re not broken.” Tori wasn’t arguing. She was reminding Mia who she was. “You feel so deeply. Love so fiercely.” Her mouth was dry and her throat suffocatingly tight. “You’re still finding your way back to yourself. That’s not failure. That’s strength.”

“You say that now.”

“I’ll say that always,” Tori swore.

Mia went quiet again, but this time the silence was charged with exhaustion. Modeling long, slow breaths, Tori tried to infuse Mia with a sense of peace. She had never been particularly woo-woo, but she imagined the pain in Mia’s heart easing as if she could manifest it into being.

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for Tori’s arm to go numb and the light from the uncovered windows to shift across the floor.

Mia just breathed without crying.

And Tori stayed.

Twenty-Six

Somehow, there were only ten days until Mia’s scheduled return home. When she’d planned her trip, six weeks had seemed like an eternity to be away. In reality, it had gone in a blink and now it felt like she wasleavinghome rather than returning to it.

While she made the most mundane turkey and Swiss sandwiches for her and Tori, her thoughts drifted. It was hard to understand what Tori saw in her. Hard to believe that she was still interested after Mia yanked open the chaotic junk drawer that was her life and showed her the crap stuffed in there.

Tori could have anyone. Someone easy. Someone who hadn’t glued the shards of their heart back together with basement bargain glue and hoped for the best. Someone who believed they deserved her.

And yet, Tori was there. Still sitting in Mia’s childhood bedroom looking through old books instead of calling Mia out on having done absolutely nothing to pack up her mother’s house. Steady in a way Mia had never known anyone else to be. Not performative. Not pushy. Just present. Tori gave her safetywithout making her feel small. Tori’s arms around her body were a shelter, not a cage.

Mia thought about the way Tori looked at her, like she wanted tounderstandher, not fix her. She’d meant it when she said Mia didn’t have to carry any of it alone—and then proved it. She listened without flinching even when Mia confessed her ugliest thoughts about loss and the unfairness of the universe. Tori never tried to smooth anything over with shiny, well-intentioned nothing. It was the first time in a long time that Mia had talked about her grief without apologizing for it.

Mia hadn’t realized how much she’d needed that, how much she’d missed being allowed to speak without someone getting tired of listening. Eric had. Eventually. So Mia just stopped. It was easier than watching someone wince every time she cracked open her pain. Despite Mia having given her every excuse not to, Tori had stayed. Listened.

It wasn’t just about how Tori treated her. It was the way she moved through the world, quiet and competent and confident without being arrogant. There was something so rare about her patience. The way she offered it without expectation. The way she gave without keeping score. She was sharp and funny in the most unexpected ways—the kind of funny that made Mia laugh until her chest ached.

And God, the scent of her. It was rich and earthy and deep. Mia loved the way it clung to her clothes and skin after Tori left. It was grounding. Familiar. The kind of comfort Mia was going to miss.

She was going to miss so many things about Tori. The way she kissed like she meant it. The way she always touched her with intention. Every brush of fingers, every kiss, every hand on the small of her back—it was never careless. It was always a choice. Again and again she chose her, and Mia couldn’t fathom why.

There were a thousand things she didn’t understand lately. Things she didn’t know, like what the hell she was going to do with her mother’s house. She couldn’t think about selling it without wanting to puke, but the idea of renting it to strangers to cover the taxes also made her queasy.

Lunch in hand, Mia floated from the kitchen to her childhood bedroom. She might have considered staying in the main bedroom, but that would have required actually going in there.

Tori was still sitting cross-legged on the bed where Mia had left her. In joggers and a muscle tee, Tori reminded her of the girl in the photos scattered around the bed. The girl Mia realized she’d loved a little too aggressively to be purely platonic.

“I’d forgotten all about Daisy Chery’s insane seventeenth birthday party.” Tori held up a grainy photo of a group of girls in skinny jeans with side parts and chunky jewelry. They’d all gathered in front of the ridiculous yacht Daisy’s parents had rented to take them around Biscayne Bay.

Mia set the paper plates on the dresser still as full of crap as it was when she arrived. She’d forgotten about that night too. Salt in the air and the taste of smuggled Four Lokos on her tongue. Mia’s stomach soured at the memory of drinking the toxic blend of cough syrup and battery acid. She left the sandwiches for later and plopped down next to Tori.

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