Page 48 of True Colors

Finn’s arm tightens around my shoulders. “You don’t owe her that.”

“But what if…what if I’m the only person she has left?”

“You are the only one she has left,” he confirms. “But it’s not your job to take care of her. She’s the parent. It was her job to take care of you. She sucked at that.”

“I hate her.” Fresh tears sting my eyes. “And I hate that I hate her. I hate that she’s dying. I hate that I’m not sad. I hate that I’m feeling like this. I hate all of it.”

Finn rests his chin on my hair. “All of that is allowed.”

He doesn’t judge me or tell me to forgive her. Doesn’t give me some bullshit about how forgiveness is healing. We both know it’s not.

So, he does what we’ve been doing for each other for years: He holds me together while I fall apart.

When the worst of it passes, he makes soup—soul food, Miss Helen style.

Chicken broth, noodles, carrots, and leeks.

I sit at the kitchen island, wrapped in a blanket, and watch him move around the kitchen.

He glances over. “By the way…your CEO dude?”

My heart flutters. “L-Luther?”

“Yeah.” He stirs the pot. “He texted to check on you.”

He did?

“He looked wrecked when I got there,” Finn continues. “He was genuinely worried.”

He was?

“Dot sent him to look for you when you wouldn’t answer your phone.” Finn picks up a spoon to taste the soup. “I’m glad he stayed with you until I got there.”

Me too. The thought warms me and aches at the same time.

We eat soup in front of the television and watch Hallmark movies, a modicum of normalcy in my day.

By the time I go to bed, I’m feeling almost normal.

“Tell me one good thing that happened to you today,” Finn says when I settle into bed.

I chew my lower lip as I ponder. “Luther holding my hand in that conference room,” I say honestly. He’d comforted me, stayed with me until Finn got there, took care of me even though he had no reason to.

Finn smiles. “You know what, Annie, that’s the best thing that happened to me today as well.”

I go in the next day, even though Finn tells me I should stay home. Dot calls to say the same thing. Luther texts, asking if I’m okay and reminding me to take all the time I need.

But I need routine. I can’t let her derail me any more than she already has.

This place—these numbers—are my refuge. So, I disappear into my data, into cross-tabs and formulas, letting the model's logic push everything else out of my head.

Dot tries once more to send me home, then gives up.

I stay even after most people clear out, which is usually by six—even the dedicated ones leave by seven.

Finn has a night shift—he offered to trade it away, but I told him not to. I don’t need a crutch. I need to hold myself upright. Finn understands.

I glance at the clock on my screen and decide to give it another couple of hours.