Her face falls. She slowly shakes her head. "No. I don't."
"Exactly."
"Why don't you tell me about it?" she suggests, putting her hand on my arm.
My pulse pounds between my ears. I hesitate, then state, "I've usedknives, pins, and glass to make myself bleed. Is it okay with you if I don't go into any more details?"
She swallows and squeezes my arm. "Oh, Blue."
"I don't need your pity. What I need is for you to understand that Red makes me happy. He's the only one who gets through to me not to do it again. And I work every day to not do it so I don't disappoint him or myself." I blink, looking out the glass.
She waits a moment, then softens her voice. "I'm glad you're finding ways not to harm yourself."
I inhale sharply, then meet her gaze. "I need you to tell me how to get my parents to be okay with Red and me."
She opens her mouth, slightly shakes her head, then closes it.
I wait her out.
She finally says, "You know I'd do anything to help you, right?"
"But?"
"You're asking for a tall order. Your father is going to go nuts. Hell, your mom is going to lose it, too," she claims.
My fingers tighten on the mug. "Which is why I need you to talk to her. She'll come to you after she finds out, and I need you to have my back. If she accepts Red and me, then she'll be the one who will get my father to be okay with us, too."
Aunt Kora's fingers tighten around her mug, knuckles whitening for a split second before she forces them to relax. She stares into the dark liquid like it might give her the right words.
The café hums around us with clinking spoons, the hiss of the espresso machine, and muffled conversations, but everything narrows to the space between us.
She finally says, "I need a little time to wrap my head around this. Hearing you talk about knives and glass…and then you defend him in the same breath… It's a lot, Blue. I'm not angry with you. I'm not judging you. But I am trying to catch up to where you already are."
My throat burns. I nod, swallowing hard. "That's fair. How long do you need to catch up?"
She smiles. "Well, I definitely need to finish my coffee first."
I softly laugh. "Sorry. I'm not very patient."
"Me either." She winks, then her smile fades. "It looks like you've been in more pain than any of us realized. And it sounds like he's the first person who actually helped you carry it. That doesn't make what he did ethical, but it makes it complicated."
"Life isn't black and white. And it's not a pretty, perfect journey," I remind her.
She exhales through her nose. "I need twenty-four hours, Blue. Let me sit with this. I'll figure out how to talk to your mom so your dad doesn't start World War Three."
Relief rushes through me so fast, my shoulders sag. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm not promising miracles. I'm promising I'll try. There's a difference."
My stomach flips. I force a smile. "Okay. Thank you."
We finish our coffee, then rise to leave. She pulls me into a hug, ordering, "Go to work. Design something beautiful. Let me do the worrying for a little while."
I nod against her shoulder, then pull back before I start crying in the middle of the café.
The walk to the fashion house feels lighter, even though the sky has gone gray and threatens rain. I run my fingers across the exposedbrick, then open the door and head to the design room. Bolts of fabric in every color imaginable pop, cheering me further.
My desk sits in the corner by the windows, surrounded by mood boards and half-finished gowns pinned to dress forms. I drop my bag, boot up my tablet, and lose myself in the new collection for three solid hours. Silk, organza, hand-beaded lace, and colors inspired by bruised sunsets all form several pieces.
