Blade: You sure?
Me: Yeah. She just wants to talk.
Long pause.
Blade: Call me if you need me.
Just like that, the tension in my chest eases. Only he could make a mini panic attack feel like a warm blanket.
I lock my phone and take a breath.
Brooke is already halfway out of the car when she leans down to look at me. “You coming? Or do I need to add ‘force-feeding’ to my agenda?”
“Relax,” I mutter, opening the door. “I’m not trying to escape.”
“Good,” she says. “Because I’d catch you anyway.”
And that’s… unfortunately true.
I step out and follow her toward the entrance. My heart is beating too fast. My thoughts are loud. And the conversation I’ve been avoiding for days is waiting on the other side of this door.
But Blade told me to call if I need him. And for some reckless reason, that makes me feel braver.
We get seated in one of those worn leather booths that squeaks every time you shift, the table covered in chips, salsa, and a basket of warm tortillas that could solve all emotional trauma if people would just let them. Brooke orders queso before her butt even hits the seat. Respect.
I shove a chip in my mouth and avoid eye contact like a coward. Brooke stirs her straw around her drink, watching me like she’s trying to decode my soul through sheer older-sister stare power.
“So,” she says, dragging the word out like she’s revving a chainsaw. “Wanna tell me why you’ve been pretending we don’t exist?”
I shrug, eyes locked on the salsa like it might offer me guidance. “I’ve been busy.”
“You weren’t busy ignoring us,” she deadpans.
I shove another chip into my mouth because chewing means I don’t have to talk.
“Bri, talk to me,” she says, sighing like Mom used to right before grounding us.
I put the chip down and finally look at her. “You wanna talk about Blade. Right?”
Her expression tightens. “We want to talk about you.”
“Same thing.”
She opens her mouth, but I beat her to it.
“You guys made me feel stupid,” I blurt.
Brooke’s face falters. Like she didn’t expect that answer.
“You all acted like I couldn’t possibly know what I was getting myself into,” I continue, words tumbling faster now. “Like I can’t tell what’s good for me. Like I need you to save me from myself.”
“That wasn’t what we meant,” she says quietly.
“Intent doesn’t remove impact,” I snap back, stabbing a chip into the queso with unnecessary aggression. “You didn’t trust me. You treated my feelings like a joke. Like I’m some little kid chasing after something shiny.”
Brooke’s jaw clenches. “We’ve watched you get hurt. We’ve had to pick you up off the floor before.”
“Yeah, and you think I didn’t learn from any of that?”
