"Yeah. I do."
Lizzie and Angela have materialized now, forming a protective circle around Ingrid like they could actually stop me if I wanted to take her.
"We're fine here," Angela says. "She doesn't need you to play the hero."
"I'm not playing anything."
"Then leave." Ingrid lifts her chin. "I didn't ask you to come. I don't need you to come. I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions."
"Your decisions lately have been shit."
"So what? They're my decisions. My life. My?—"
"Your father would lose his mind if he knew you were here."
Her eyes flash. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare use my father to control me."
"I'm not trying to control you."
"Then what are you trying to do?"
Save you.
Keep you safe.
Make you see that you're destroying yourself, and I can't watch it anymore.
"I'm trying to be your friend," I say instead.
Something in her expression cracks.
Just for a second.
Then the walls slam back up, and she's laughing, sharp and bitter.
"Friends don't stalk each other's Instagram stories."
"Friends worry when the person they care about posts themselves getting blackout drunk in a bar where anything could happen."
"Nothing's going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"I know I'm tired of everyone treating me like I'm fragile." Her voice rises. "I'm not broken. I'm not some victim who needs protecting. I'm just?—"
"What? What are you, Ingrid?"
She stares at me, eyes too bright, and for a heartbeat, I think she's going to tell me.
Going to admit that she's drowning.
That she's been drowning for years and nobody's noticed because she's gotten so good at smiling while she sinks.
Instead she says, "I'm done with this conversation."
She turns back to the bar, reaching for her drink.
I catch her wrist.
