The cold had seeped through the windowpanes of my bedroom, a grey, persistent chill that matched the mood of the day. I was wrapped in my heaviest blanket, the wool scratchy but comforting, the world outside reduced to the frantic whisper of the wind. My mind, however, was in a place far warmer and infinitely more dangerous: Louis.
Louis, the boy next door. The one I could die for.
I was lost in the perfect geometry of his smile—a memory I played on repeat—when a sharp, decisive *knock* rattled the doorframe.
"Who is it?" I called out, my voice thick with sleepiness and self-pity.
"It's me, dad," the familiar baritone responded.
Before I could even muster a coherent reply, the door swung inward. Dad—Nathaniel—stood framed in the doorway, his work shirt slightly rumpled, carrying the scent of sawdust and the outdoors.
"Hey, Laranie. It's time for dinner," he said, his expression softening as he took in the sight of my blanket cocoon.
I sighed, loud and dramatic, pulling the blanket higher over my shoulders. "I don't feel like eating right now."
He didn't argue. He just crossed the worn carpet, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight, and sat beside me on the edge of the bed. He pulled me into a side hug, his arm a strong anchor.
"What's the matter, sweetie? Tell me what's wrong."
I leaned into him, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of him. I desperately wanted to tell him the truth: *Dad, I'm dying of love for Louis, and the secrecy is suffocating me.* But I couldn't. Louis was my secret, a private, fragile thing that wouldn't survive exposure to parental scrutiny.
So I lied.
"It's just that I miss Emily," I murmured into his shoulder. "Ever since she left for Canada a month ago, everything feels lonely."
He rubbed my back gently. "Don't worry, you just give her a call. Check up on her. And you know I'm here for you when you need me, your mom too, okay?"
"Okay. Thank you, Dad." I lifted my head and pressed a quick kiss to his slightly stubbled cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too, Laranie. Now, let's go downstairs. Martha has been cooking all afternoon."
As we headed toward the landing, a tidal wave of scent hit me. It wasn't just *food*; it was Mom's cooking—the smell of home, of warmth, of everything good in the world. I forgot my melancholy instantly and rushed down the stairs, leaving Dad chuckling behind me.
"*Mmm…* What is that wonderful smell?"
The dining table was fully set, glowing under the warm light of the chandelier. Mom (Martha) was a culinary magician. Tonight, she had outdone herself: tender chicken baked into savory rice, thick slices of roasted meat, fluffy mashed potatoes with fresh greens, and a huge glass jar of freshly squeezed juice.
A genuine smile stretched across my face. I slid into my seat as the whole family settled in. Dad launched into a ridiculous story about a mishap at work, punctuated by my younger brothers' loud, booming laughter. For a few perfect moments, the cold day, the loneliness, and the aching love for Louis were forgotten.
Then, the laughter subsided, leaving a moment of contented silence.
Mom placed her fork down, looked directly at me, and asked, casually, as if inquiring about the weather:
"So, Laranie, have you heard any words from Louis recently?"
The mashed potato I was chewing turned instantly to dust in my mouth. My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Louis. Why would she ask about Louis? He was our immediate neighbor, yes, but they rarely spoke to him, and they *never* spoke about him to me.
I swallowed hard. "He's… he's fine. Why do you ask, Mom?"
She picked up her napkin, smoothing a crease out of it. "Oh, nothing much. Emily just called and told me to ask about him. Said you would know better than anyone how he was doing."
*What?*
The shock was a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Emily. That *bitch*.
My hands clenched under the table. Emily, my supposed best friend, had just weaponized my secret. She had gone directly to my mother. What else had she told her? Had she mentioned the notes? The hours I spent staring out my window? My stomach twisted with sudden, violent betrayal.
"He's just fine," I managed, my voice tight. "Nothing much from him." I held my breath, waiting for the interrogation to begin.
"Okay. I'll let Emily know," Mom said simply.
"No!" The word burst out of me, loud and sharp. My brothers stopped chewing. "No, please, Mom. Don't talk to her again."
Mom raised an eyebrow, confusion replacing her casual demeanor. "Why wouldn't I talk to her, sweetie? She's your best friend, along with Jeremy."
"No," I insisted, pushing my chair back slightly. "I only have Jeremy. Emily is no longer my friend."
"Why, Laranie? What happened?"
The pressure of the lie, the anger, and the fear of exposure all converged. I couldn't explain the depth of her betrayal without exposing Louis.
"I just don't want to talk about it right now."
I didn't wait for her answer. I stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly across the floor, and I bolted. I ran up the stairs, leaving the warm, scented haven of the dining room for the cold, lonely.