Friends And Talk
I stayed there.
Just sat on the cold kitchen floor, my back pressed against the cabinet, legs pulled to my chest like I was trying to fold myself into something smaller—something that didn’t feel so damn guilty.
The tears came slower now, but they didn’t stop. They slid down my face in silence, soaking into my sleeves, my throat raw from everything I hadn’t said to Asher. Everything I should have said.
He didn’t deserve that.
But maybe that was the curse of being the one who stays—people forget that staying still costs something.
I leaned my head back against the cupboard, eyes fixed on the ceiling. And just like that, the memories started.
Uninvited, hitting me like a bus without control.
University.
Me, awkward and anxious, hiding behind textbooks and cardigans, barely speaking to anyone unless I had to. And Asher? God, Asher was magnetic.
Loud in a charming way. The kind of person who could walk into a room and own it without trying. He had that ridiculous grin, that unexplainable confidence, and yet somehow—he noticed me.
He’d sit next to me in lectures, pass me dumb notes that made me choke on laughter.
He’d walk me back to the dorms when I stayed late at the library, no matter the weather. Never once made me feel like I owed him anything for it.
We were friends.
Real friends.
The kind that stay on the phone till 3 a.m. talking about nothing. The kind that share music playlists and favorite books and late-night ramen under flickering cafeteria lights. He always made me feel seen.
And then—he told me.
That he was leaving school early. That his family… business… had called him back.
I didn’t understand at first. Until he said Mafia.
Mafia?
It sounded like a joke. Something out of a bad movie. But it was real. Asher—my Asher—was part of a mafia family, and he was stepping into a role he never asked for.
He wasn’t like the others, though.
He didn’t kill for fun. He didn’t manipulate or extort. He didn’t revel in fear. He handled it like a man holding glass—carefully, respectfully, like it could shatter at any second. He protected people. His people.
He became the good kind of Don. If that even existed.
And he never changed with me.
Not once.
He still sent me messages at odd hours, still called me when he was overwhelmed, still made me laugh with those stupid memes and blurry selfies of his tired face.
He was there when my marriage fell apart.
He was there when I gave birth alone.
He was the first person who held Larry outside of the nurses. He was the one who built Laura’s first crib because I couldn’t read the damn instruction manual and broke down in the middle of the living room.
He stayed.
He stayed when I was cold. When I pushed everyone away. When I was nothing but pain and bitterness wrapped in tired skin.
He stayed.
And somewhere along the line…
He fell in love with me.
I knew.
I knew before he ever said it.
And I hated myself for not being able to give it back.
Because I wanted to. I wanted to so badly.
He was everything I should’ve chosen. Everything stable. Everything safe.
But every time he touched my hand, I felt warm.
And every time Rowan looked at me… I burned.
And that wasn’t fair.
To him.
To me.
To any of us.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered again, but it came out broken. Crooked. Useless.
My whole body ached. My head pounded.
How do you mourn someone who’s still alive?
I wanted to go after him.
But what would I even say? That I needed him now that he was done needing me? That I finally realized what I lost—after I already gave my heart to someone who barely knew how to hold it the first time around?
The back door creaked open.
I didn’t look. I didn’t move. I just sat there, arms around my legs, heart shattered somewhere between my ribs.
Footsteps approached. Light ones. Familiar.
“Remi?”
Jo.
Her voice was soft. Hesitant.
I didn’t answer.
She crouched beside me a second later. I felt her presence before I saw her face.
“Oh, Remi…”
She sat beside me on the floor without asking, her hand gently brushing against my back. No questions. No forced comfort. Just her being there.
“I brought your charger and a banana,” she mumbled. “I thought you might be low on both.”
I let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a sob.
“I also may have told Asher where you were earlier,” she added after a beat. “He asked. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t say anything.
Jo leaned her head against mine. “You don’t have to talk. I’ll sit with you. I mean… unless you’d rather I go. But I make great floor company.”
I sniffed and finally turned my face toward her. She looked back at me, eyes warm, lips pressed into a worried line.
I didn’t have the energy to pretend. Not with her.
So I just leaned into her shoulder.
Jo didn’t speak right away. She just let me breathe, the quiet surrounding us like a blanket. Her head tilted slightly against mine as she whispered, “Is this about Rowan?”
A small, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Isn’t it always?”
She sighed. “Well, yeah. I mean, you either look like you want to slap him or melt into him like warm bread.”
I pulled back just enough to look at her. “Bread?”
“I panicked,” she said with a small shrug. “That metaphor got away from me.”
I shook my head, a weak smile tugging at my lips. Then I looked away, fingers tightening around the edge of my sweater. “Asher came. He saw me leaving outside. And he also heard you when I told you about going to Rowan’s. You know…he has the password to my house. So he probably came to surprise me and now.. “
I sighed.
Jo winced. “Damn. That must’ve been a fun episode.”
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