"Don't thank me," Daithí says. "I should have done this sooner."
"Yeah," Caden agrees. "Big time."
Daithí gives him a look.
"What? I'm agreeing with you." Caden shrugs. "First time for everything."
I almost laugh. The fact that I almost laugh feels like a huge deal, even now, with Mam's words still sitting in my chest.
Difficult to love.
Maybe. Or maybe it was just easier to love Daire because Daire never asked anything of anyone that required them to look at themselves.
I look at the ring again and my heart hurts as I do. I have less than five weeks. I'm not walking into that house as the version of Quinn Delaney that learned to make herself smaller. I'm not taking any of this with me. I don't entirely know yet who the other version is.
But I've got five weeks to start figuring it out.
Three hours later, I'm sitting in a booth at Romano's wondering how exactly Daithí talked me into leaving the house. Actually, that's a lie, he didn't talk me into it. He told me to get dressed and then threatened to carry me to the car if I refused, and I believed him.
The restaurant is busy for a weekday evening. It’s a world away from the Delaney house, and a world away from my mam's voice.
Maybe if you'd been less difficult to love.
The words hit just as hard now as they did three hours ago. I stare down at the menu despite already knowing what I want.
"You've been reading the same page for ten minutes."
I look up. Daithí is watching me. "I'm deciding."
"No, you're not."
I roll my eyes, he isn't fooled, not even a little bit.
"You know," he says, leaning back in his chair, "most people would be thrilled to have me buy them dinner."
"Most people don't know you."
He snorts. Progress. A few hours ago I was crying in my bedroom, and now I'm insulting my brother.
Daithí's phone rings. He glances at the screen and immediately mutters a curse. I don't miss the way his shoulders tighten.
"Problem?" I ask.
"Hopefully not." That's never reassuring, he pushes to his feet. "I need to take this."
I wave him away. "I'll survive fifteen minutes on my own."
His expression says he isn't convinced.
"I'm serious."
He points at me. "Don't leave."
I laugh despite myself. "I'm not a flight risk."
"Debatable."
I roll my eyes. Daithí finally heads toward the front of the restaurant, already speaking into the phone before he's fully out of earshot. The smile slips from my face the second he's gone. It's easier to pretend I'm okay when other people are around. When I'm alone, Mam's words creep back in.
