After Forever by Jasinda Wilder Page B

just—”
    “Private,” Eden cut in. “I get it. Not meant for me to hear. I’ll go get some coffee.”
    “It’s not that I mind—”
    She waved at me in negation. “I said I get it, Cade. Hearing what someone thinks about you when they know you’re not listening, or whatever, it’s not fun. I’d rather not know.”
    “She loved you,” I said. “She wanted you to be happy. That’s all she ever wanted.”
    I wondered if she noticed we were both referring to Ever in the past tense.
    Eden squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. “I know that. I know . She’s my twin. She’s half of me. I know what it was about me that made her so mad. I’m fat. I hate the way I look. I hate that everything I eat goes to my ass. I hate that she could eat a whole cheesecake and not gain any weight, but if I even smell it, my ass gets bigger. She hated that I couldn’t just be content with the way I look.” She wasn’t talking to me anymore, not really. “She hated that I was always comparing myself to her. I always have. I always will. She was—fuck, she is more beautiful than I am. And Ihate that.” She turned away from me, fists clenched, taking deep, harsh breaths.
    “Eden, Jesus. You’re not fat. You’re…you and Ever, you’re different people. Same basic genetic makeup or whatever, yeah, but still different. You can’t—”
    “Oh, shut the fuck up, Cade! What do you know about it?” She whirled on me. “You don’t know me! She and I are ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine percent the same exact FUCKING person ! But that one measly goddamn percent? It means I get fat and she didn’t. It means I spend two hours at the gym every day just so I don’t go all lard-ass, and she could work out once a week and eat whatever she wants and be skinny and beautiful and perfect.”
    “Eden, god, what—what can I—”
    “NOTHING! You can’t do anything. You can’t say anything. It’s how it is. I’ve been going to therapists for years about this, and you think in one conversation that you can just—just fix me?”
    I closed my eyes and tried to think. “How did we get here? Why are we fighting? I just—”
    She seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry, Cade. Shit. I’m sorry I blew up. You didn’t deserve it. I can be a bitch sometimes—don’t mind me. Just—don’t read those letters around me, okay? They’re private. Between you and her. They don’t involve me.” She left then, walking away, looking sadder than I’d ever seen.
    “Eden, listen—”
    “I’m fine, Cade.” She paused, turned back to smile at me, a small, defeated smile. “I’m always fine. Don’t worry about me. Just read to her. If anything can bring her back, those letters can.” She was gone then, closing the door behind herself.  
    I stared at the door, at the place where she’d been just moments ago. That girl had some serious self-esteem issues, things that went bone-deep, soul-deep. I sensed that she really believed, in her heart of hearts, that she was actually fat.  
    How could she not see that she was beautiful? Had no one ever told her that? Had no one ever taken the time to make her feel beautiful? I knew I couldn’t do that for her. Not the way she needed. But someone should. She didn’t deserve to feel that way about herself, not as gorgeous as she was, not as talented and kind and unfailingly generous as she was.  
    The craziest part was, unless you really knew that about Eden, you’d never guess how deep those insecurities went.
    I read on, stuffing one letter back in its envelope and pulling out another. “‘Caden, or, I suppose I might actually address the letters ‘Dear Caden’ since you are dear. To me, I mean. Is that weird? Maybe it is. ‘Dear’ means, according to Google, ‘regarded with deep affection; cherished by someone.’ I hope that’s not too weird for you, but I feel like you and I have a special connection. Do think so, too?’” I stopped, choking on the next part. “‘I’m so, so sorry