Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 22: The Void

"Since three," she says with a yawn, draping the corner of the throw blanket on her lap over mine. "Couldn't sleep."

"You should've called me," I say, dropping the book on the table. "I could've kept you company."

"I'm too sore for company." Emery flashes me a wily smile, the soft flames of the firepit dancing across her face. "But maybe tomorrow night."

I sigh. "I didn't mean that type of company."

She tilts her head. "I'm an adult, Damon, I don't need a human night light. I'm used to being alone." She takes a deep breath. "I enjoy the quiet."

"I can be quiet," I whisper, a pang of despair aching my heart. "Call me next time. I'll show you."

"Maybe," she hums, tilting her head up toward the whirring of a passing helicopter. Unease stirs in my guy as she sighs. "It's never really quiet in the city, though, is it? I've always wondered what it would be like to see New York from so high up. It probably looks less scary." She looks at me, face paling as she notices my reaction. "Sorry," she says quickly, swallowing. "I forgot you—" She shakes her head, changing the subject as she glances down at the table. "What are you reading?"

I sigh, handing her the book. She can see right through me sometimes. "El amor en los tiempos del cólera." The irony isn't lost on me. Life truly does imitate art. "It was... It was my mother's favorite."

"Love in a Time of Cholera," she says, translating the title. "I hear it's a classic." Her curious gaze flicks up at me. "You don't strike me as the type of person who enjoys reading romantic fiction."

I chuckle lightly. "No, but my mother was a big fan. She... She was born in the same city as Gabriel García Márquez. She even named my sister after him—" I pause, fighting the nostalgia. "Gabriella."

Emery gives me a soft smile. "We don't have to talk about your family, Damon. I don't need to—"

"It's fine," I swallow. "They deserve to be talked about."

I've been a bad son. A bad brother. For two years, I didn't utter their names. Their memories were forbidden. Remembering hurt too much. But it's time. It's time to remember them. Emery bites her lip, tapping her fingers against a book my mother held in her hands, and that connection, despite how small, makes me smile.

"How did your parents meet?" she asks slowly. "In Colombia? Or?"

"No, they met in the States. My mother came here for college," I say, stifling a laugh as I recall the story. "My dad was visiting a friend at the University of Austin and he met my mom at a bar one night. She was a waitress and I guess she spilled an entire tray of beer on his lap." I grin. "She didn't work a day after that."

"Love at first spill," Emery muses. "Cute."

"They eloped to Vegas shortly after," I continue. "My grandparents were pissed. I think my father knew they wouldn't approve of him marrying outside the appropriate social circle, but he didn't give a shit. Despite all my father's shortcomings, the one thing he did right was love my mother."

Emery's gaze flicks to the fire, her expression solemn, distant. "I've always wondered what it would feel like to be raised by parents who loved each other." She brings her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on the caps. "I bet you had a happy childhood."

I snort. "I wouldn't say I had a happy childhood."

Emery turns toward me, frowning. "No?"

"My father was a busy man," I elaborate. "He was barely ever home, and when he was, he spent that time with my mother. Gabriella and I were raised by a nanny until we were shipped off to a boarding school in Sweden."