Page 163 of Next to Everything We Wanted
The ache in my chest turned into sheer pain. “Some of us aren’t meant to have one.”
“But you worked so hard to have one.”
“Hard work doesn’t pay off sometimes.”
“You deserved to have it pay off. All you wanted was love.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Asher.” It took me a moment to realize I’d snapped at him, and guilt washed over me.
Asher’s face fell, but he straightened his posture. “I’m just worried about you. You always keep things to yourself and go through hard things alone. Like your breakup with Celeste.”
I sighed. “My breakup with Celeste was a piece of cake. This situation takes the entire dessert table.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “Now I want to make dessert.”
I gave him a small smile.
“Anyway, I know you don’t like talking about things that make you sad,” he continued. “And I’m sorry for annoying you all the time.”
My smile fell. “You don’t annoy me all the time.”
“Only half of the time?”
I laughed. “Less than ten percent of the time.”
Now he smiled. “I just like talking to you. Having a big brother is fun, but you’ve been gone my entire life, so we don’t get all the moments that my friends have with their siblings. And . . . it makes me sad. I don’t like growing up by myself.”
Something tugged in my chest, and tears pricked my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m sorry you had to grow up seeing me on TV instead of at home.” I looked at his hand, which wasn’t much smaller than mine, and held it. “I . . . I never realized how missing out on your life has left a hole in my heart. In yours, too.”
Asher squeezed my hand tighter. “Maybe we can close the holes. Spend more time together while you’re still here.”
I nodded, wondering how long I’d stay here. I still had bills to pay back in Nevada, and if Forrest hadn’t burned the remaining stuff in my apartment, I needed to get it.
Should I find a place to live here to be closer to my family? Live in the cheapest rental home my parents owned for a while?
“Do you know what I like about you?” Asher asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“That I’m talented?”
He laughed. “That you always keep trying, even if you might—and do—fail. I don’t want you to give up on your dream, eventhough your attempts didn’t end well. You need to visit us more when you move out again, but I still want to see you on stage.”
Despite the ache in my chest, a smile stretched across my cheeks. “Thank you.”
He smiled back. “I woke you up because it’s almost time for dinner. I . . . I want to learn how to cook. The last time I tried, I did it by myself and almost started a fire. Mom and Dad yelled at me to never do it again.”
I rubbed his arm. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn how to cook.”
“I want to be a chef and have my own food show like that mean guy on TV. Only less mean.”
I laughed. “You’d make a great Gordon Ramsey.”
He gave me a goofy grin.
“Do you want to try again?” I asked. “We can make dinner together for Mom and Dad if they haven’t already started.”
“Mom said she was going to make dinner at seven.” He glanced at my clock. “Are you sure we can make it? I don’t want Mom and Dad to yell at me.”
