Chris is leaning in the doorway when I turn around, arms crossed, watching me with the expression that means he’s already decided something and is waiting for the right moment. He does this. He’s always done this. He decides and then he waits, patiently, like he has all the time in the world.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice even. “If anyone comes asking for me, anyone at all, they’re not my friend. Okay? Don’t tell them anything.”
He straightens slowly. The arms drop. “Addi.”
“I mean it. Anyone.”
“Are you in trouble?” he asks quietly, not alarmed, not panicked, just direct and careful. “Because you can tell me. Whatever it is, we can deal with it. That’s literally what I do every single day.”
“I know what you do.”
“Then let me help. You didn’t come all the way here for Christmas only. I know you.”
He does know me. He always has, and right now, I’m furious about it in the most loving way possible.
“I’ve got it handled,” I explain. “I just need a little time to sort some things out, and I need you to trust me on that.”
“I do trust you. I want to help you.”
“I know you do.” I stare at him, my big brother who’d step in front of a train for me without thinking about it first, and I feel the full weight of knowing I’m choosing not to ask him. Not because I don’t want to. But because I love him too much to let what’s following me get anywhere near what he’s building here. “Chris, I love you for it. I really do. But I need to handle this one on my own.”
“That’s not something you have to do,” he says. “It’s not a rule. You’re allowed to ask for help.”
“I know I’m allowed to.”
“Then ask.”
I look at him for a long moment. “I promise I’ll call you if it gets to that point.”
He exhales. He’s not satisfied, but it’s as close as he’s going to get right now and he knows it. “You’re going to make me worry.”
“You worry about everything.”
“Specifically about you,” he adds, “because you’re the one who decides she can manage things alone and never tells me anything until it’s too late.”
That lands a bit squarely, and I let it because he’s not wrong.
“I’ll call if I need you,” I say again. “I mean that. That’s a real promise.”
Suddenly, he crosses the room and hugs me. Long and tight, the same kind it’s always been, the one from every time things were bad when we were kids and he didn’t have a solution but wanted me to know he was there anyway. He says into my hair, “We can take care of you. You know that.”
“I know,” I say, and my voice is steady but only just.
“You’ll come back,” he says. It’s not quite a question.
“I’ll come back. I gave you my word.”
He pulls back and studies my face. “Okay,” he says finally. “I know you’re stubborn enough that pushing won’t change your mind. But you call me when you arrive at Clio’s. And you call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
The ghost of a smile spreads across his face. “Get out of here,” he says.
I pick up my bag. “I love you.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Love you too.”
Once my Uber arrives and I’m inside, I don’t look back.
