Alex nodded.
“You’re not wrong to want stability that isn’t entirely dependent on one person,” Eleanor said.
Finally, someone said it cleanly.
“But,” he added, “sometimes it’s okay to trust people.”
I huffed out a breath.
“I trusted someone once,” I said quietly. “My dad trusted his memory.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Alex said gently.
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” Eleanor cut in firmly. “It’s not.”
I looked at her. “You didn’t even ask for help when you were living in that van,” she said.
My spine stiffened. “That was temporary.”
“That was dangerous,” Eleanor corrected.
“I was fine.”
“You were not fine,” she snapped. I had never seen Eleanor angry, and to my surprise, I think she was.
Alex stayed quiet.
“You were brushing your teeth in gym bathrooms and pretending it was aesthetic,” Eleanor continued. “You were eating leftover muffins from the coffee shop and calling it intermittent fasting.”
I winced.
“You could have stayed here or in the extra room at Becca and Mel’s.”
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You weren’t.”
“I didn’t want to owe anyone.”
Her expression softened slightly.
“You don’t owe friends for surviving.”
Silence.
“You were basically homeless,” she said, gentler now but no less firm. “And you didn’t tell us.”
“I was handling it.”
“Handling it alone,” she corrected.
That landed.
Alex leaned forward slightly.
“If this blows up,” he said calmly, “you don’t end up in your van.”
