“Stop that,” Sabrina said, as if she’d heard the thought. “Stop spiralling. Hasn’t therapy taught you that you’re not the villain in your own story?”
“It’s hard to rewire my brain,” I muttered.
“I know.”
I swung my legs off the bed and Aspen hopped off eagerly. “I have to take him out. You shower first.” I paused. “Avery says I have to take you to this cinnamon roll place. He’s obsessed with it. And I need a litre of coffee.”
When I got back, Sabrina had her damp hair twisted into a knot and was changed into a cropped black T-shirt and bike shorts. She was texting so I fed Aspen and slipped into the shower. A late start always made me feel untethered—like I’d forgotten something important. We didn’t really have anywhere to be and I had borrowed Avery’s Jeep since he was out of town. It would be easier to get around the city with Sabrina and easier to get back to Aspen between stops.
I wiped steam off the mirror. I didn’t look well rested but I looked better rested than usual. My hair was getting toolong, curling around my ears and neck. Maybe I could convince Sabrina to trim it. She’d given me a mohawk once when I was 14. My mom had absolutely freaked out about it.
When I came out dressed in a long sleeved grey t-shirt and baggy green cargo pants, Sabrina tucked her phone away. I sat on the couch beside her and she leaned her head on my shoulder.
“So,” she said. “I mapped it. That cinnamon roll place is ten minutes from Coach Miller’s rink.”
I snorted. “Is that why Avery’s always trying to get me to go?”
“Well,” she said innocently, “he does have a huge sweet tooth.”
“Two things I want to avoid,” I said. “Sugar and skating.”
“You don’t want to avoid skating,” she said. “You’ve been going almost every day.”
“I didn’t go today.”
“The day is still young…”
The way she said it made me straighten, which forced her to sit up. “What did you do?”
She had the decency to look guilty. “I texted Coach Miller last week.”
“Sabrina.”
“Mathéo.”
“What the fuck? I’m an adult. I can make my own bad life choices.”
“And I’m your best friend,” she said simply. “So I can’t let you.”
“You’ve let me make plenty of bad choices.”
“Fine.” She tilted her head. “I won’t continue to let you self-implode.” Then, softer: “I get it. The noise. The pressure. But the self-flagellation has to stop.”
“Easy for you to say. I didn’t wreckyourlife.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nico’s doing just fine.”
“I wasn’t talking about Nico. I was talking about me.” My voice went tight. “I took a sledgehammer to… everything. It’s not that easy to put back together.”
“One step at a time,” she said. “You’re not alone.” She squeezed my hand. “I will move here if you need me to.”
“Do you promise?”
“It’s a fucking threat.” Her expression softened. “But first, we’re seeing Coach Miller. You’ve been saying you feel disconnected from your body. Having an outside perspective might help.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise,” she said, standing and grabbing her bag. “You’ve just been too busy being a trainwreck to appreciate it.”
