Folly went to find our mom, and the woman wouldn’t cross the street for her.
At some point, I have to learn the lesson of when to stop clinging.
“Don’t do this to me,” I say shakily, my tears steady. “Don’t make me do this by myself.”
His face splits open and he reaches for me. “Okay, fuck. We’ll both—it’ll be both of us,” he whispers, and I nod, forehead on his chest.
I can’t even end this relationship on my own.
How embarrassing.
“I can’t apologize to you,” Liam says, voice breaking. “Because I’m not there yet.” He gulps. “And on top of that, I wish you were more appreciative of the way I’m trying to be with you. The man I’m trying to beforyou.”
I shudder under his hand as it travels down my spine. A final touch. “And I can’t say thank you,” I tell him. “Because I’m not grateful to you for doing this. I’m hurt by it, and I feel deeply misunderstood.”
My wet cheek swipes across his T-shirt. Liam pushes me into him gently, his chin moving over my forehead.
“So, in that case,” he says, every word sounding like it hurts, worse and more acutely than when his shoulder was torn open. “Seems we’re at an impasse. And I guess we need to…”
“End it,” I say.
He whispersI love youinto my hair.
Stage four: depression.
Chapter 32
July, Four Years Ago
I feel so alone.
It’s a feeling with teeth. I’m floating through a black hole of sensory deprivation. Food has no taste. Music sounds like nothing. My nose is stuffed with cotton.
As I splay on my living room carpet, the sunlight painting my legs through a window begs to burn me and fails.
And though I can’tsenseanything, my body takes on sadness like water.
I keep imagining my whole family playing find the strawberry. In our backyard. In the park. In downtown Bristol. For an hour or two, everyone was so focused on finding me. Being the first person to get to me, stay with me, wait for the others to join us until we were all together.
All together.
Did Dad raise us with so much autonomy that my sisters gave all their dependency to me? Was it passed down like Maren’s laptop and Candice’s bicycle, Folly’s clothes, Zara’s books? Am I holding all their anxious attachment in my body?
I write lyrics in my head like a doctor prescribing a bleak diagnosis.
She swallowed their reliance
gathered up their drips of doubt
Lonely grew inside her body
where it festooned and made its house.
Quiet tears stripe down to decorate my earlobes.
I just want to be wanted the way I want other people.
I want Dad to call me more often than he does. I wish he’d send pictures of the farm every day instead of guiltily avoiding the details. I wish he could hear me play music without thinking of my mother.
