Dear Estella,

59. freaks

I've never seen Asher so quiet, not since the day I met him. But he's been close to silent for the past few hours. I want to ask him questions, ask if he's okay. But I know better. Asher will talk when he wants to, and I can't force him to do so.

He's asleep now. His arm is draped around my torso and his face is nuzzled into my neck.

The doorbell rings from downstairs. I slowly remove Asher's arm from around my torso and get out of bed, slipping my Uggs on and making my way down the stairs as quietly as I can.

A knock sounds once I'm steps away from the door. I peek through the window, immediately wanting to run back up the stairs. Nate stands outside, his hands stuffed inside of his pockets as he waits for the door to open. I take a deep breath, walking over to the door and opening it for him.

His eyes widen as I open the door, the same face he wore when I stood behind the counter of the cafe with his black coffee.

We've already had the Oh my God, I haven't seen you in almost seven years look earlier today, so I figure it's time to get straight to the point right now.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him.

He swallows, removing his hands from the pockets of his sweats. "Hi, again. I— Can I come in?"

Hesitantly, I open the door a little wider, inviting him into the house. He slowly steps inside, and I can almost see the moment everything rushes into him. All of the memories in this house, flooding him like a tsunami.

He looks around the big house, taking all of it in. Then he looks to me, a small frown on his face.

"Mom was never really into decorations, huh?"

I shut the door, following him into the foyer. "No, I don't think she ever really will be."

She's added to the house ever since Matthew and his kids moved in. A few pictures of them are scattered around, a vase of flowers in the center of the dining table, a couple of candles here and there. That's all. Besides that, the house looks like it could be empty and on the market.

His gaze sets on a small framed photo of Matthew's kids that my mom put on top of the fireplace. The photo is pretty recent; it's from their trip to Japan that my mom somehow managed to keep a complete secret from me.

He picks it up, staring at it with furrowed brows. "She's so fucking insane."

I cross my arms, slowly nodding. "She... she still talks about you. To them."

He sets the photo down and turns to look at me. "I haven't talked to Mom in years."

"You haven't?"

He shakes his head. "Not since I realized she's a fucking sociopath. I have her blocked on everything." I follow him to the kitchen, watching the way he inspects everything. He picks up a bottle of wine and shakes his head. "I want absolutely nothing to do with that woman."

I bite my lip, taking a seat on my stool at the island. He sets the wine down. "Well she loves you. And she told the kids that one day you'll all get together cause they really want to meet you."

He comes up to the island, leaning over to set his elbows on the counter. "Mom doesn't love anyone, Estella. And I'm not just saying that because she's a terrible person. I'm saying it because she is a literal sociopath. She's not capable of loving anyone but herself."

I stare at him, taking a deep breath through my nose. My sweaty palms rub against the fabric of my shorts. "If you came all this way to tell me that Mom has never loved me, you're gonna be a bit disappointed to find out that I've known that my entire life."