Focus.
But I can’t get it. So I stop trying.
“Mmm, no. Don’t apologize,” Addie says, well after I’ve lost track of the conversation. “Family dynamics arehard.”
“You’re not wrong that we were all navigating some hard things, but it’s still my biggest regret.”
I don’t need any further context. I know what Gran’s biggest regret is and it eats me up inside. I stare at the untouched cup of tea on the coffee table in front of me and disassociate further.
I don’t need to hear about when my grandpa died. The universe decided my comfort and safety was unimportant that October sixteen years ago. My grandpa passed away two days after my stint in the ER, so when Gran was asked if she’d be able to take care of me, she was too entrenched in grief to say yes. Grieving the loss of her one true love, and a wayward daughter who she’d grown to fear. She didn’t know what would happen if she took me in; whether my parents would come after her or if she was even capable of raising a child troubled by circumstances outside of his control.
She isolated herself. She didn’t see me again until there were bars between us.
For years, this hurt me. I appreciated her coming back into my life and helping me get on my feet again. The love and support I hadn’t been given for twenty-one years. It was afinally. But it was also awhat the fuck took so long?
“It matters that you’re here now,” Addie says. She squeezes my knee, drawing my attention away from the drone of existential dread. “We all deserve second chances. I firmly believe that. I actually wish more people were willing to give.”
“What do you mean?” Gran asks.
“I mean that not everyone is good or evil. I could say my mom is a terrible person, and maybe she is, for leaving me and my dad like she did. But I’m also open to a second chance, should that ever come up. We all make really stupid mistakes, but we don’t have to hold onto them forever.” A weight lifts off my chest, and I actually believe things could be okay. And then, she exhales. Just the way she does it sets me on edge. “I’m actually kind of fighting with my dad.”
Fuck.
“Addie.” I breathe.
My stomach twists. Because I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to be the reason there’s a wedge between them.
“Zander, no, it’s fine,” she insists. I meet her eyes and try to hold onto the reassurance I see reflected. She brings her hand up to my cheek and caresses me gently. “It’s not your problem or your fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s about me, isn’t it?”
Her hand slides down to my chest, flattens against my ribcage where my heart is pounding.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Itshouldn’tbe about you. I think a lot of it is about me, really. It’s all these whispers and rumours and everyone knowing my history. This whole town thinks I need to be coddled because my mom made her dramatic exit when I was twelve. It’s as if I’m still a child in their eyes. Never mind the fact I have my own house, with my own bills, and my own career. I’m a fully independent adult, and if anyone ever bothered to crack the books they claim to be so proud of, they’d realize I writeabout very adult things as well. It’s just—I don’t think it’s your fault that people are in such an uproar. It’s because of me.”
“It’s because of what Idid.”
I full-body cringe the second it comes out because it’s some, me, me. But there’s no way around this simple fact. The town wouldn’t care who Adelaide was dating if it was anyone other than me.
“Zander, darling.” Gran’s soft, soothing voice breaks through the tension I’ve created. I stay unmoved and rigid. “I think Addie’s trying to say that things are complicated because of both your histories. She’s grown up overprotected and you grew up underprotected. Though, from my perspective, that’s part of why the two of you work so well. The bottom line is no one is playing the blame game here.”
“No,” Addie says, her fingers curl around the collar of my shirt, a frantic energy unspooling between us. “Please don’t think I’m blaming you for anything, because I’m not. I’m just trying to make sense of my own family dilemma. With you.”
I peel her hand away and wrap my fingers around hers. Our hands fit together perfectly. I count the freckles from her knuckles to her wrist as her words echo in my brain.With you. With you.
With you.
“I know you’re not,” I say, still staring at her hand. I bring it to my lips and kiss, softly. “I know. I’m just…I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?” Addie asks. She’s scooted further toward me, her legs tucked beneath her, knees against my thigh. “Scared you’ll get hurt?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never done this,” I say, which is a harrowing thing to admit, especially in front of two women who mean a whole lot to me. “I swore off relationships a long time ago because everyone would run once they found out abouteverything. And rightfully so. I wouldn’t want to be with me either.”
“Zander, please—“
“Addie,” I say, then nearly start crying while lost in the dark pools of her irises. She blinks and nods, like I don’t even have to ask her to let me finish before she jumps in to comfort me. She squeezes my hand. “You can disagree with that if you want, but I wouldn’t. It’s hard to get over all of it and, likewise, I don’t blame anyone who can’t. It’s just a fact of life. I’ve never been past a certain point in a relationship, so I gave up beyond some superficial companionship. You deserve so much more than that. You are a vibrant force of a woman, who no one should coddle or underestimate. And I’m…I’m afraid I won’t ever be good enough for you.”
“You’re good enough as you are right now. I’m choosing you because I want to.” Addie frees herself from my hand and brings both up to cradle my face. “I don’t care what other people think. I’m not them. You don’t blame any of the people who walk out. What about the people who stay?”
