"Thanks. I think I'm going to throw up now."
"That's a normal response to confronting generational trauma." She's trying to be funny, but I can hear the worry. "Want me to drive up? I can be there in a few hours."
"No. You have school. I'm fine."
"Liar. But I respect your right to process alone." Another pause. "Have you talked to Lennox about this?"
"Why would I talk to Lennox about this?"
"Because she's involved. Because whatever you're feeling right now is connected to her. Because you trust her even though you're scared to admit it."
"I barely know her?—"
"You know her enough and she knows you. I saw it at dinner." Maya's voice softens. "It's okay to need people, Carter. It's okay to be vulnerable with someone you care about."
After we hang up, I find myself walking not back to my apartment, but toward Lennox's dorm.
I shouldn't. It's late, she's probably working or studying, and I have no reason to be here except that Maya's right, I need to talk to someone.
And somehow, that someone is Lennox Hayes.
I text before I can overthink it.
Me:Are you around? I know it's late but I could use someone to talk to.
Three dots appear immediately.
Lennox:I'm at the library. Third floor, back corner. Come find me.
The library is quiet this time of night. Just a few students scattered around, heads down in books or laptops.
I find Lennox exactly where she said, third floor, back corner, surrounded by papers and energy drink cans.
She looks up when I approach, and her expression shifts from focus to concern.
"Hey. You okay?"
"Can we talk? Somewhere private?"
She gathers her stuff quickly, and we head to one of the small study rooms, and I take her bag from her, because it looks heavy. She closes the door behind us.
"What happened?"
I tell her everything. The meeting with my father. The confrontation. The words I can't take back.
She listens without interrupting, and when I finish, she's quiet for a moment.
"That took a lot of courage."
"It felt more like stupidity." I tell her, I know she doesn’t know my father, only what's written about him.
"No. Courage and stupidity look similar, but there's a difference. Courage is doing the scary thing because it's right. Stupidity is doing it without thinking." She sits on the edge of the desk. "You thought about it. Probably been thinking about it for years. Tonight you just finally said it out loud."
"And now everything's broken." I shake my head, still not believing what I’ve done.
"No. Now everything's honest. That's different." She looks at me carefully. "What are you most afraid of?"
"That he's right. That I'm not actually changing anything. That I'm just performing growth while secretly being exactly what you wrote in your article."
