I nod.
“You let Lissa make the wedding decisions. You agreed to a celibacy challenge you don’t particularly want because she was upset. You help your brother, despite two people you care about thinking it’s problematic. And you haven’t been honest with Ames. Is all that accurate?”
“No,” I say, stung. “None of that’s accurate. I-I’m totally honest with Ames?—”
“So youhavetold him you’re feeling disconnected?”
My heart’s beating faster, like there’s some danger here I’m not seeing. “Y-you make it sound like I’m a pushover. I’m not. I can be stubborn. And I told you, I make life-or-death decisions all the time?—”
“Not the same thing,” she says gently. “In fact, I’m sure your heightened sense of responsibility makes you excellent at your job—following the rules, taking care of your crew, helping people in the community. But in your personal life, Robbie, consider whether the choices you’re making will bring you closer to the future you want or simply help you avoid conflict in the short term.” She smiles. “The trouble with floating on the tide is that so often, we end up in a place we never wanted to be.”
I bounce my knee. I’m trying not to get upset, but it’s hard when she’s making me question every-damn-thing. “I want the people I love to be happy. I work hard to make that happen?—”
“Who’s working hard to makeyouhappy, Robbie?”
“I alreadyamhappy.” I flex my fingers and add, “I mean, things aren’t perfect with Ames right now. I do need to fix that. But otherwise, I’m… I’m good.”
Dr. Colburn purses her lips and nods slowly. “Alright. Well, I would suggest talking to Ames.Askingwhy he’s pulling away. It might be for a reason you haven’t even considered. For example… maybe he’s already thinking about how your friendship will change when you get married and start focusing on your future. Maybe he’s proactively pulling away?—”
“Why would he do that? In my vision for the future,Ames is there too. I mean, yeah—kids, marriage, picket fence, I want all that. But Ames is right beside me the whole time. Living next door, maybe. Having regular barbecues. Teaching my kids theone and onlycorrect way of making scrambled eggs, and… and buying ’em a twelve-foot inflatable skeleton named Reginald that says ‘Welcome to your doom!’ in a British accent and makes all the neighborhood kids squeal.”
She blinks at me. “Pardon?”
“Something Ames did last Halloween.” I wave a hand. ”You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s a big kid himself about holidays.”
“Right. And… does Ames know that’s your vision?”
I want to say ofcoursehe knows I never want anything to change between us, but her gentle, relentless questions have eroded my certainty. “I… think?”
“And where do you fit in Ames’s vision forhisfuture?”
“I…” I swallow. “I don’t know.”
Her mouth twists slightly. “Well, I think that’s a good place to start, isn’t it? What if Ames, like you, would really like to be sure about these things but doesn’t feel like he can ask because he doesn’t want to burden you?”
I shake my head. “Ames wouldn’t—” I stop.
In a way, it’d totally fit. Having four older siblings has made Ames pathologically independent and incredibly strong-willed. He keeps a mile-high protective force field around himself—around both of us, usually—and he doesn’t like to ask for anything from anyone, even sometimes from me.
Plus, he’s so fucking protective of my happiness, it’s entirely possible—hell,probable—he wouldn’t tell me howhe was feeling if he thought it would cast a shadow over my engagement.
Dr. Colburn goes on like she senses my thoughts. “Why is it that you expect Ames to tell you how he feels when you wouldn’t return the favor? Really consider this, Robbie. Think of it not as asking for validation and reassurance but as offering some to your friend.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
Now,thatis something I can do, no problem.
I keep turning it over in my mind, and although the doctor wants to talk a lot more about setting boundaries, I’m pretty much useless for the rest of the session. The second it’s over, I’m out the door, taking the stairs two at a time from her second-floor office to the street.
I need to get to Ames. To talk to him about this.
I stride down Goodfellow Road, legs eating up the asphalt, and turn onto Whether Street. The late-March dusk is cold as balls, especially since I’m not sure where I left my jacket, but I remind myself summer’s around the corner. So close I can taste it in the back of my throat.
I’m so fired up, I almost don’t hear when a voice calls my name.
“Hey, Robbie!”
I turn to find Ames’s brother Holden—the fourth Axford, which makes him closest to Ames in age, even if he towers over all of them in height—striding across the street toward me, sheriff’s uniform still crisply pressed.
