Eternal Ephemerals

The blessing

The door was already half-open when he arrived. That was so like her—never bothering with formalities, as if doors and walls were just suggestions. He hesitated on the threshold, his hand gripping the frame, his stomach tying itself into a dozen intricate knots. He could hear music playing faintly inside, one of her old playlists, the ones she used to burn onto CDs and hand out to their group in school. The sound of it made his chest ache in a way he didn't entirely understand.

How had it come to this?

He stepped inside. The room smelled of books and coffee, and there she was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of papers spread out around her. She was still wearing the same kind of clothes she'd always worn—loose, comfortable, nothing too fussy—and her hair was up in a messy bun that looked like it had been redone at least twice today. She didn't notice him at first, or maybe she was pretending not to. Either way, it gave him a moment to look at her, to see her properly, to take her in like he used to when they were younger.

Back when everything had felt so simple.

"Hey," he said finally, his voice scratching the quiet.

She looked up, her eyes flicking to him for a moment before returning to the papers in front of her. "Hey yourself," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "You're late."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "You didn't tell me to be on time."

"I shouldn't have to. You should just know by now."

The banter felt easy, automatic, but he could feel the tension under it, sharp as a blade. He didn't know how to do this. He didn't know how to say what he'd come to say. And of all people, she would know that. She always knew when something was weighing on him.

She set down the paper she'd been reading and stretched, leaning back on her hands. "So," she said, drawing the word out. "What's the occasion? You don't just drop by unannounced for no reason."

He swallowed hard.

This was it.

"Evie," he began, and her eyebrows lifted at the sound of her name. He almost never called her by her name. It was always some nickname, some joke they'd come up with years ago that had stuck. Using her real name felt... heavy.

"What?" she said, sitting up straighter now, her expression softening in that way it always did when she knew something serious was coming.

"I need to tell you something."

She didn't say anything. She just waited, giving him space, the way she always had.

He cleared his throat. "I'm getting married."

It felt strange, hearing the words out loud, as if they didn't quite belong to him yet. As if saying them made them real in a way they hadn't been before.

Her expression didn't change, not at first. She blinked once, twice, and then the smallest of smiles appeared on her face.

"That's... wow," she said. "That's a big deal."

"Yeah."

"Who's the lucky girl?"

He hesitated, and that was enough. She tilted her head, studying him, and in the next breath, the smile faded.

"It's Cleo, isn't it?"

He nodded, his throat tightening. "Yeah. It's Cleo."

She looked away, her gaze drifting to the pile of papers on the floor. For a moment, she was quiet, and in that quiet, all the years they'd known each other came rushing back at once. The late-night talks, the stupid inside jokes, the long walks home from school where they'd both tried to act like they weren't counting the seconds they got to spend together. She'd been everything to him, once. And for a while, he thought he might've been everything to her, too.

But they were kids back then. And kids were idiots.

"We could've had something, you know," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Her head snapped back toward him, her eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. "We could've... been more. If we weren't both such idiots."

She laughed at that, though it wasn't the kind of laugh he was used to hearing from her. It was low, almost tired, like a laugh that had been sitting inside her for a long time, waiting for its moment.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe we could've been. If you hadn't been an idiot. If I hadn't been an idiot. If we weren't idiots together."

Her honesty caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, and the look she gave him was softer now, gentler.

"Look," she said, "I always knew this would happen."

He stared at her, not trusting himself to speak.

She shrugged, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "I mean, come on. You and Cleo? It was always going to be Cleo. She's sweet. She's steady. She doesn't make you question yourself every five seconds like I do."

"That's not true," he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

"Isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head.

He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Because the thing was, she was right. Cleo was steady. Cleo didn't confuse him or challenge him or make him feel like he was walking on a tightrope without a safety net. But Cleo also didn't make him laugh until his stomach hurt, or talk until the sun came up, or make him feel like he was invincible and vulnerable all at once.

That had always been Evie.

And yet, here he was, marrying Cleo.

"I don't need your blessing," he said finally, his voice low. "But I'd like it. I don't know what I'd do if you didn't give it."

She smiled at him then, a real smile this time, one that didn't carry any tired edges or unspoken words.

"Of course you have my blessing," she said. "Do you really think I'd stand in your way? You deserve to be happy."

He felt his chest loosen at that, but at the same time, there was a part of him—a small, stupid, selfish part—that wanted her to fight him on it. To say no. To tell him that she was the one he was supposed to be with.

But she didn't.

Instead, she stood up, brushing off her hands, and walked over to him. She rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I love you, you know," she said.

He looked up at her, startled.

"Not like that," she added quickly, shaking her head. "Not the way you think. I mean... I love you like I'd love a brother. Like I'd love my own family. You're... mine. And I'll always want the best for you. Even if it's not me."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, not because they hurt, but because they didn't. Because they felt true, in a way he hadn't been ready to admit until now.

For years, he'd been telling himself that the space between them was a mistake. That the timing had been off, that if they'd just made different choices, it could've worked. But now, looking at her, standing there so calm and certain, he realized something.

It had worked. Just not in the way he'd imagined.

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak, and she let her hand drop.

"Cleo's a good one," she said, smiling again. "You'll be good together."

He watched her turn back to her papers, the conversation already fading in her mind, but he stayed where he was for a moment longer, letting the weight of everything settle in his chest.

She was his, in a way no one else could ever be. But not in the way he'd once imagined.

And somehow, that was okay.