I hear the words. I’m not sure who said them.
“What?” Coal asks. His voice is low. I’m still covering my own eyes, can’t see him, can’t face myself.
Something’s building, I’m so sick of revelations tonight, I can’t handle more,stop—
“None of the things I tried to do were supposed to make me happy. They were supposed towork.”
A sob grabs me. Cuts off anything else I might add.
“Work how?” Coal asks softly.
There were guidelines when I was younger. Those storybooks I loved so much. There was a collection of fairy tales, all the old-school ones.The loyal, duty-bound prince and his sweet partner, happy ever after.Do this and this and this, and boom, a perfect life.
The kind of life where—
Fuck.
The kind of life where my mom would come back.
If I got this storybook perfect life, she’d come back.
Coal hisses in a breath.
I said that last part out loud. I can’t regret it, because with it comes a groundswell of an unburdening, washing away.
“It’s so dumb.” I’m ripped to pieces over how pathetic my voice sounds. “That I do this.WhyI do this. Fuck, Iknownothing I do will bring her back, but—”
“I know,” Coal whispers. “I know, Kris. I’m sorry, and I—god, I hate her so much. I’m so sorry she’s hurting you.”
This was all wrapped up in Coal’s own personal revelations a few months back. The deep, eternal scars that our mother leaving put on him. I was so proud of him for recognizing that and starting to heal, while I’m falling apart because I thought if I built some antiquated perfect life, not only would Mom undo what she did, but no one else would have a reason to leave.
I altered my whole being into shapes that fit voids in everyone else’s lives so they’dstay,so my life would look perfect, so I wouldn’t be alone again. But I never asked myself what shape I wanted to take.
“For what it’s worth”—Coal’s voice is strained—“it wasn’t a bad goal. You wanted to be happy. You still do. Somewhere along the way, you lost sight of what would makeyouhappy in favor of what youthoughtyou should do. This dream isn’t working for you, is it? So maybe it’s time to try a new dream.”
“That’s the problem.” Another sob comes, a whimper that echoes in the wide, empty room. “It’s all toobig,and what if I pick the wrong thing again?”
“Kris, you don’t have to figure out who you are in one moment. Certainly not a drunk moment, god, I beg of you. Just start small. See what comes together. Keep making choices becauseyouwant them, not because you think anyone expects it or it’ll make someone else happy. None of this is for anyone other thanyou.”
“I came here to do a job, though. I came here to—”
“You can do that. Like I said, we have time until the missing joy becomes a real problem, and you’ve already made progress in finding out about his uncle being suspicious. You have a few days left. And honestly, if you end up spending your time in Ireland making out with Loch and doing nothing else, do you think I’ll give a shit? I mean, I do, in that I definitely care about not pissing off the winter Holidays collective, but it’s impossible for me to not make surejoyis my priority. And your joy? Top of the list. Always has been.”
If I wasn’t already a blubbering mess, Coal’s words would have pushed me over the edge.
“What if he’s the one stealing from us?” I ask. “What do I do then?”
“Just… be cautious, I guess. But I don’t think you’d be this twisted up about someone who was a thieving asshole. No matter what happens next, keep choosing yourself. Promise me you will.”
“I don’t know how to do that. I tried, tonight, with—with Loch, and—”
And he walked away.
I should not have done that.
Coal picks up on what I don’t say. “It didn’t end well?”
I shake my head.
