Page 78 of Never Enough
“God, I hope so,” I whisper, my heart yearning for the girl who owns every drop of blood in my veins. “Because without her, I’m just a ghost of myself.”
We sit there, brother and sister. It’s a raw, unguarded moment. For once, Victoria’s social armor is gone, as is mine.
The silence stretches between us, a taut thread ready to snap. Victoria’s eyes have swelled from crying, and vulnerability has replaced her usual coldness.
“What do you mean, a ghost of yourself?” She brushes away the last of her tears, her voice still wobbly from the emotional upheaval.
I swallow hard, feeling like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice. “I-I’ve been living a lie, Vic.” My words are barely above a whisper, but they echo in the vastness of my admission. “This whole ‘business major, football jock’ persona, it’s not me.”
“Then what is?” Her question is a gentle prod, nudging me towards the truth I’ve buried deep.
I can feel the weight of years of pretense lifting as I confess, “I’ve always wanted to be a chef.” The secret tastes bittersweet on my tongue, liberating yet terrifying.
“Wait. A chef?” Surprise flickers across her face. “But you haven’t touched a kitchen for anything more than a protein shake since—”
“Since I was thirteen,” I finish for her, looking down at my hands to imagine them coated in flour instead of gripping a football. “I stopped cooking when it wasn’t cool anymore, when I realized guys like me aren’t supposed to love gastronomy.”
“Gastronomy,” she quietly says, before a teasing grin lights her face. “You’re such a nerd, Alex.” Then her gaze softens, and she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on mine. “I always wondered why you stopped. Your risotto was to die for! You were so passionate about it.” There’s a note of sadness in her voice, a mourning for the brother she once knew.
“Passion doesn’t fit the Whitmore image, though, does it?” I say with a bitter laugh. “It’s all about appearances, maintaining the façade.”
“Maybe it’s time to burn the damn façade down,” Victoria says fiercely, her brown eyes igniting with resolve. “To hell with whatpeople think, Alex. To hell with reputation and expectations. It’s time for you to be happy.”
“Happy,” I murmur, rolling the word around in my mouth like a foreign delicacy, savoring the feel. “I don’t even know if I remember what that feels like.”
“Then let’s remind you,” she says, standing up with a newfound determination. “You’re going to find your joy again, Alex. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—Celeste, Dad, the entire blasted society, or me—stand in your way. If you want Daphne, fight for her.”
Her words spark something in me, a flicker of hope that dances dangerously close to reigniting my long-extinguished dreams. It’s a terrifying prospect, to reach for what I truly desire, but the alternative is a life half lived, a soul starved of its true sustenance.
“Thank you, Vic,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “For understanding, for standing by me.”
“Always.” For the first time in years, I believe I can step out from behind the mask I’ve crafted so carefully and embrace the flavors of a life unfettered by fear.
“Vic,” I start. “What if the grandest gesture is simply being myself? No more charades, no more hiding behind what I’m supposed to be. Just Alex.” Surprisingly, my anxiety lessens at my resolve, and my stuttering has not returned.
“Yes,” she breathes out. “You’ve got to show Daphne the real you. The one who dreams of flavors and scents, not touchdowns and stock portfolios.”
Agreeing, I say, “When we were dating, she kept asking me to cook for her. I’m ready now, and even if it’s too late, I’ll pour every ounce of my truth into a dish and let it carry all the words I’ve never said. Which is that I love her, and if she wants a thousand meals, I’ll give her every one.”
“Authenticity, Alex. It’s the most romantic thing you can offer,” Victoria says, conviction lacing her tone.
Chasing after Daphne reminds me of an obstacle in the form of my ex. “Will you help me keep Celeste at bay?”
“Consider it done.”
With her words as my talisman, I rise from the couch, my spirit buoyed by the prospect of shedding the façade that has suffocated me for too long. There’s a future ahead where I stand unapologetically in my skin, where love isn’t shadowed by pretense.
If this conversation has shown me anything, it’s that I need to finally commit to therapy and support Daphne as she has supported me.
First, it starts with a single honest meal.
Chapter thirty-one
Daphne
Three weeks have passed since Alex and I ended things, and the pain feels as fresh as an open wound. A constant ache in my chest threatens to consume me. Whenever that familiar pang hits, I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the music, trying to drown out the memories.
As I play, my mind inevitably wanders to Alex. His crooked smile, the warmth of his embrace, and the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me. I ache for him. But even as the longing threatens to overwhelm me, I remind myself why we’re apart.