Somewhere Else
I reach for the knife to finish cutting the vegetables Zaid started on. I smile to myself, thinking of the way we kissed, thinking about how maybe this is a new start for us.
That we won’t be alone anymore. From the way his hands felt on my skin, from the way everything in me screamed this is right, I can’t imagine being apart from him anymore.
And then I hear it, a familiar voice. “Alina?”
My body goes cold. It’s not excitement that floods me. Not joy. Not even confusion. It’s something duller. A weight I can’t explain that settles in my chest like dread.
Footsteps echo through the foyer, and before I can react, Jake is in the kitchen with me.
He smiles, and before I can say a single word, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a kiss. It should feel like home, but it doesn’t.
When we pull apart, I can’t breathe. My eyes immediately find Zaid. He’s still standing by the kitchen counter. Still here, but looking away. His arms are folded, jaw clenched.
Like it bothers him, like it hurts. Has it always hurt him?
Jake’s lips brush down my neck, and I force a laugh. It’s awkward, shaky, not quite mine. “Jake, what are you doing here?”
He pulls back, frowning like it should’ve been obvious. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. I wanted to surprise you.”
Of course he did.
I smile at him, but it’s thin, because all I can feel is the way Zaid won’t look at me. The way the light in his eyes has dimmed.
We won’t have our day tomorrow, and least not for just us two.
Jake presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to set my things upstairs. You’re bedroom’s okay?”
I nod absentmindedly. My bedroom is the only one with a bed. Zaid has one, too, but I imagine they would not want to share a bed.
The moment he’s gone, I turn to Zaid.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, walking toward him.
He shakes his head, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s okay. You should spend tomorrow with him. We can celebrate another day.”
My chest tightens. “It can be the three of us. We can all hang out together.”
“I don’t know if I can be around him right now. You might have already forgiven him for everything, but I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about all of this,” he says, voice raw. He finally looks at me, and the sadness in his eyes nearly breaks me.
I nod slowly, swallowing hard. “I get it.”
He gives me a soft, pained smile, kissing me at the edge of my lips.
“But, you’ll still have dinner with me, right? Elena wants you to come.”
That makes him smile, genuinely. “Elena, or you?”
I bite my lip. “Me.”
“Then I wouldn’t miss it.” And then he walks away.
I stare at the spot where he was, where we stood just minutes ago, and I wonder how something so warm can feel so cold so quickly.
I finish chopping the vegetables and rinse my hands.
“Hey,” Jake calls as he walks back into the kitchen, a smile on his face. It throws me off, but I’m sure he has no idea of everything happening in this house.
I put on a smile and turn toward him. “Hey.”
He kisses my cheek, wrapping his arms around my waist. “What’s for dinner?”
I put my hand over his. “Steaks.”
“There’s only two.”
“Zaid isn’t feeling great, so he went upstairs.”
Jake turns me to face him in his arms and narrows his eyes. “Is he still upset with me about everything with your mom?”
I nod slowly, careful with my expression. “Yeah.”
He lets me go then leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying me. “And you? How are you feeling about everything?”
My stomach tightens. “I’m fine.”
It’s a lie. I know it, but I smile anyway and go back to covering the vegetables in olive oil.
We finish making dinner, mostly in silence. The clinks of silverware and the simmering pot fill the space where words should go. When we sit down to eat, I try again.
“How’s everything going?” I ask, spearing a piece of roasted zucchini.
Jake sighs, the sound is heavy and tired. “The board’s pushing me to step down. Sell my shares. The stock’s tanked since the story broke.”
I freeze mid-bite. “Jake, I’m so sorry.”
He waves it off with a bitter twist of his mouth. “It’s my fault. I don’t lose all of my money, so I can’t complain.”
I don’t have anything to say to that, my eyes going to the hallways that leads to the stairs, wondering when Zaid will make an appearance.
We clean the dishes together. I watch the soap bubble around our fingers, feel the water rush over my hands. Flashes of memories cross my mind, of home back in Arizona.
Of when it was so easy to drown the noise and the grief getting lost in their arms and in their kisses. Now, I faced the dark alone, cried myself to sleep.
When will things feel easy like that again?
We finish the dishes and head upstairs. The bedroom light is warm and Jake’s things are spread across the floor.
The bed is exactly how I left it, and my journal sits right at the center of it. Jake picks it up before I can stop him, turning it curiously in his hands.
I laugh awkwardly, plucking it from his fingers. “That’s private.”
He grins, hands raised. “My apologies, baby.”
We get ready for bed. He brushes his teeth while I tie my hair up. His cologne hangs in the air, and I blink a few times at the bathroom mirror, unsure what I’m looking for.
I feel off.
“How’s it been here?” he asks when we climb under the sheets. “Aside from Zaid being Zaid.”
He says it like it’s something bad and I’m not sure how to take that. I settle into the pillow, tucking the blanket under my arm. “It’s been good. I started therapy. Met my father’s sister.”
He turns his head toward me, a frown on his face. “I didn’t think therapy was your thing.”
I sigh.“I didn’t either, but it’s been helping.”
He hums, noncommittal, then adds, “Didn’t realize you had family here either.”
My throat tightens at that. Zaid knew. He paid attention.
I don’t respond. I don’t need to.
Jake shifts closer, his fingers tracing a path up my arm. His touch is gentle, familiar. He leans in, kissing me softly. “I missed you.”
I don’t answer. He kisses me again, slower. His hand slides to my hip.
I let him, but somewhere between his kiss and his fingertips, I realize I’m not really here. My body is, maybe. But my mind is somewhere else. Caught in that strange space between habit and guilt and obligation.
I used to crave this.
Used to find comfort in his touch.
Now? Now, I feel disconnected. Like I’m playing a role I’ve outgrown.
His lips brush my shoulder, and I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to find some rhythm that makes sense.
It doesn’t. And I think about how this isn’t what I want. Not anymore.
But I don’t say it, the words stay stuck in my throat.
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