I huff a sound. The burden is the only thing that defines me now. It’s my motivation. I’d never fail anyone else, because I’ll do what I commit to do.
“I’ve poured myself into my work, Maddie. That’s all I can do now. It makes me—”
“Worthy?” she snaps back. “You think that’s what your family needs from you? You think that’s what absolves you?”
“I’m not looking to be absolved. I can never be. I only want to pay back.”
“You won’t bring her back, no matter what you do.”
Her words hit me where it hurts the most. “No.”
“Yes, that’s the truth, Chance.” She sits up and leans forward. “I’m sorry. It breaks my heart what you went through, but it feels worse knowing this is how you have dealt with her death.”
“I’ve made it work so far.”
“No, living half a life isn’t making it work. Working yourself to the bone isn’t making it work. Choosing not to be happy?” Her throat bobs and she looks away. “That isn’t making it work.”
I say nothing. She’s just like the rest of my family. For the first few years after Mom’s passing, they tried to tell me how to live. Tell me to slow down, go easy on myself.
But they don’t realize when you go easy, that’s when people you love die.
No, that’s no way to live. The way I do it, that’s the way.
“Look,” her voice coaxes my gaze up. “I can’t tell you how to live, but from the little I know, I don’t think your mom would want you to keep punishing yourself, Chance.”
I bow my head. What do I do then? Go on as if nothing happened?
“Please?” Her voice shakes. “You don’t have to live in the past. You can acknowledge that you weren’t available when she called. But you can also acknowledge that you need to live outside that guilt and pain.”
I wish I could, but I don’t know how.
“You need to get help,” she says.
I lift my head.
“Talk to someone? I don’t know. Something. Anything.” She exhales, moving her head from side to side. “Like this, you’re not good for yourself, and I doubt you’d be good for anyone else.”
My chest tightens. “Maddie…” Is she rejecting me? Just because I feel guilty that my mom died doesn’t mean I can’t feel other things. And I do, I fucking feel a lot for her.
“You need to heal, Chance.” She squeezes her eyes shut but a tear escapes and lines her cheek.
I want to wipe it off, kiss her and make it better.
“For someone else,” she says.
What? “No.” I gulp. “I can do better. I will.”
“I don’t think trauma this great can be fixed in a couple of days.” She bites her lip.
She’s referring to her departure.
I don’t argue against that. Right now, I’m not sure what I feel.
When I say nothing in return, she wipes her eyes and rises to her feet. “I need to go to bed for tomorrow.”
I’m out the door when I take a full breath. It’s cold and flower-scented. Head down, I take the stoned path to my car.
I glance out once I’m behind the wheel. The light in the window goes off.
