Page 66 of What We Brave
She stops again. Shakes her head.
"Reid wants to try again," I say. "And you love him. So let him try. I'll figure out how to?—"
"How to what? Sit across from us at dinner? Watch us on the couch? Go back to your workshop and white-knuckle it for another six months?"
"If that's what it takes."
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"What do you get, Blake?" She unfolds, plants her feet on the floor. "In this version where you fix everything and Reid gets his happy ending—what happens to you?"
I don't have an answer. I've never had an answer for that. The plan's never included me.
And I'm fine with it. I'd let myself be sanded down to nothing if it meant she didn't have to look this tired anymore. If it meant Reid got his life back.
"That's what I thought." She's not angry. She's sad. Which is worse. "You keep writing yourself out. Like you're just—scaffolding. Like once Reid's stable, you come down and nobody notices."
"That's not?—"
"It is. It's exactly what you do." She looks at me. "And I can't stop caring about that. Even though caring about it is going to hurt everyone."
The apartment is too small. The walls are too close. I can hear her breathing. I can hear mine.
"This is going to break something," I say.
"I think something's already broken." She pulls her knees back up. Curls in on herself. "I just don't know if it's us or if it's me."
"It's not you."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do."
She looks at me for a long time. Then she reaches for her tea. Takes a sip. Her hands are shaking.
"I don't have answers," she says. "I don't have a plan. I just needed you to know that I can't pretend you don't exist. And I hate myself a little for that."
"Don't." The word comes out rough. "Don't hate yourself for being honest."
"Honest." She almost laughs. "I'm having this conversation behind Reid's back. In my apartment. With the man who—" She stops. Breathes. "This isn't honest. This is a disaster."
She's right. This is a disaster. We're both here, both knowing we shouldn't be, and every word we say makes this worse.
"I should go," I say.
"Yeah." She doesn't move. "You should."
I don't move either.
"More tea?" she asks after a moment.
"Yeah." My voice is wrecked. "Yeah, okay."
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