I looked away, my throat burning with the effort to contain all the conflicting emotions roiling inside me.
“You talk about him like someone you lost,” she said softly. “Not someone you escaped.”
Tears slipped free before I could stop them and I bit the inside of my cheek until I was sure my voice wouldn’t shake when I spoke.
“It feels like both,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“Anger and love share a bed more often than people like to admit.”
I huffed out a tearful laugh.
“That’s certainly one way of putting it.”
“When you talk about the man he pretended to be, your face goes soft,” she went on. “And when you talk about the real him— the one who scared you — your voice still shakes like you’re protecting something precious.”
I stared at our joined hands. The faux emerald and silver ring caught the light… his mother’s ring. I still hadn’t taken it off my ring finger.
“I don’t know if I can trust him,” I said quietly.
“Then don’t trust him yet,” she said simply. “Trust what you felt when the masks were off. Trust your own heart. It’s stronger than you give it credit for.”
Silence settled between us, soft and heavy. She narrowed her eyes at me, then asked the question I’d been running from for the entire conversation.
“If he walked through that door right now,” she said quietly, “would your anger or your heart speak first?”
My breath caught. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out because I knew the answer.
Granny smiled and it was small, sad, and far too knowing.
“That’s what I thought.”
I dropped my head, tears dripping onto the blanket.
“I can’t just forget what he did,” I whispered.
“No one’s asking you to,” she said. “But before you decide this story’s over, ask yourself if you really want it to be, or not.”
I stayed until she dozed off, then kissed her forehead and slipped out.
The drive home was a blur. By the time I let myself into the lobby at my apartment building, the emotional exhaustion had settled into my bones like wet cement.
I turned the corner to my hall and froze.
Alice was sitting on the floor outside my door, arms crossed over her knees, looking pissed off as a wet cat.
“Finally,” she snapped, standing up. “Mrs. Henderson down the hall said you got back yesterday. Where the hell have you been? And don’t give me that ‘work retreat’ bullshit. Mom and Dad are freaking out. Are you coming to Christmas Eve or not?”
I stared at my little sister and momentarily considered slapping her hard enough to spin her head around backwards. The weight of the day — of the week — crashed down on me all at once and I realized I was fresh out of fucks to give about what my parents and sister wanted from me.
“No,” I said flatly.
Alice blinked at me like I was speaking in tongues.
“What?”
“No. I’m not coming.”
