Page 38 of Everywhere You Look

“I did!” Luke beams.

“And Dean! Did you see my demi plié?” Mellie pokes my thigh repeatedly as she talks, as if I hadn’t already been giving them both my full attention.

“I did! It was killer, girlie!” I hold out my hand for a high five, and both girls smack my palm simultaneously.

“Do you think our Mommy could see our dance, too?” Lemmie says. She doesn’t sound sad, more curious and contemplative. But Lemmie doesn’t pullher hand away from the high-five, so I gently fold my palm over hers and give it a gentle squeeze.

I look at Luke, whose mouth has pressed into a hard line. His brown eyes are glistening, and I can see him grappling with what to say. Every so often, Lemmie and Mellie bring up their mom. They ask us what Gigi would think about a new toy they got or a picture they drew, and every time, I watch Luke’s heart break all over again.

“Yeah, Lem. I think that your Mommy was watching you dance, and I bet she is so, so proud of you.”

Lemmie and Mellie smile, seemingly satisfied with my answer as they skip away to rejoin their friends at the snack table. Ollie wiggles in my lap, probably wanting to follow her sisters.

“I’ll take the chicken nugget,” Kira says, swooping in to lift Ollie from my arms and heading towards the other kids in one swift motion.

Bless my sister. She might be obnoxious and inappropriate—and I still haven’t forgiven her for the time she ratted me out to our dads when she caught me trying to order porn in a hotel room when we were teenagers—but the woman knows how to read a room.

“You okay?” I ask when Kira is out of earshot, turning slightly so that my knees are brushing upagainst Luke’s. He makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh with no humor behind it before looking up at the ceiling and blowing out a long breath. When he looks back at me, the tears are gone, but the pain is still written all over his face.

“No. I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever really feel okay again. Some days, all I can think about is how much it hurts me that Gigi is gone. She was like my mom, you know? On top of being my sister. She took care of me my whole life, showed me all the love a kid is supposed to get from a parent when she was just a kid herself. And then I realize how fucking selfish I am because Gigi actually was their mom,” he waves a hand in the direction of the snack table where the kids are all congregated. “And it’s like…how dare I be sad for myself? I had thirty-four years with Gigi. They had five. Ollie only had a few months. Lem and Mel are so much better at managing their grief than I could ever hope to be with mine. It feels like…it feels like nothing makes sense. It’s backwards. I’m the adult. I’m supposed to be the strong one, and yet I feel like the kids have me beat by a mile. They’re supposed to lean on me, not the other way around.”

“Oh, baby,” I whisper softly, leaning in to take Luke’s shaking hands in mine. “I don’t think grief is supposed to make sense. That’s the bitch of it.”

Luke snorts, and I press on.

“And for the record, you’re strong as fuck. You’ve taken on this enormous responsibility of caring for the girls. You’re going through a career change, you’re living in a new place, and you lost the one person you relied on for everything. The only reason Lemmie and Mellie are coping with the reality of their situation is because…well, for one, they’re kids. Kids are resilient as hell. And two, you’re doing everything you can to guide them. You’ve kept their daily lives as normal as possible, you answer their questions, you’ve got them in therapy and dance lessons and school. You help them feel safe. The girls’ strength is a testament to your sister, and it’s also a testament to you, babe.”

Luke keeps his eyes trained on our hands, where they sit interconnected on my knee, nodding slightly as he lets my words simmer between us. A long moment passes where it feels like there is no ballet studio, there aren’t fifteen kids and a handful of adults milling about, munching on orange slices. There’s no one but me and my husband and the hurt in his heart that I’m desperate to soothe.

When he finally looks up at me, his brown eyes swimming in adoration, I find myself overwhelmed with an emotion I don’t quite recognize.

“They’re a testament to you, too. You haven’tbeen with us long, Dean, but you’ve made an impression. Those kids love you. They idolize you. And when they grow up to be strong, badass, take-no-shit women like their mother was, I want you to feel proud of yourself, too.”

And just like that, I’m ready to throw caution to the wind. I want to throw out the rulebook, forget all the mornings I’ve snuck out of our bed, all the reasons why romance shouldn’t be an option and just beg Luke to kiss me.

Because at this moment, I don’t think I could ever feel more seen and cared for than I do right now.

I press my lips together and bow my head, a silent thank you for Luke’s unnecessary but wholly welcome acknowledgment of my dedication to our kids. He squeezes my palms three times, and when I look back up, his grief-stricken face is slowly transforming into the soft, cozy smile that I’ve loved since the first day we met.

“Tienes unos ojos preciosos,” I murmur, letting myself get momentarily lost in the warm, whiskey pools of my husband's eyes.

“I have no idea what you just said, but I like the way it sounds.”

“You could always look it up, you know. Your phone has magic translating powers,” I laugh. But Ihope he doesn’t. I like being able to speak so freely in this way.

“Nah, I like the mystery. Besides, it’s no wonder you’ve alway been able to nab any date you want. That Spanish switch up must’ve worked like a charm,” he says with a chuckle.

Does it work on you?I wonder, but don’t ask. Instead, I just hit Luke with a cocky smirk.

“So I was thinking,” I say, ready to steer the conversation in a different direction before Luke thinks to ask me to translate my musings. “Since Kira is taking the girls tonight, maybe we should have a husband date night? We can order in Thai food and?—”

I’m about to suggest curling up in bed with a movie with the hopes that an awake Luke might be as interested in cuddling with me as sleeping Luke is, when my sister’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife.

“You need to get the hell out of here.”

16

HIGH ANXIETY

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