Who taught her that?
I already know the answer, and it makes my jaw tighten.
“Do you hear yourself?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Your first thought when someone offers you something is whether or not you deserve the space you’re taking up.”
She looks away.
“When did you start doing that?”
“I—I grew up with a mom who was sick. I’m not blaming her. She did her best, but I didn’t want to add to the weight. I learned not to take up too much room.”
I look at the line of her jaw. She’s still braced for an argument.
“And then Ezra—” She says the name like she’s testing a bruise. “I thought if I just didn’t need too much, if I kept things easy, things would be… God, I don’t know anymore.”
“He should have been the one to show you that you’re not a burden. That you’re worth the space. If a man who claimed to love you left you feeling like you were too much just by existing? That’s on him, Piper. All of it.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I know,” she says, her voice small.
“Do you?”
She runs her thumb over a seam on Gerald’s wing. I think about the girl who used to disappear into the background of her own life. The teenager who only contributed exactly as much as she thought was allowed. The woman in that rehearsal dinner photo who looked like a frame for someone else’s masterpiece.
She’s always done this. I just didn’t understand the pattern until now.
“You know who wouldn’t do that?” I ask.
She looks up. “Who?”
I pick up the penguin and hold him up so he’s staring her in the face.
“Gerald?”
“Gerald would never make you feel like a burden. Gerald is ride-or-die. He came off that wall for you. You think he’s thinking about the effort? No. Gerald is fully committed.”
She starts laughing so hard her shoulders shake. “You’re insane.”
“Gerald would like you to accept the vacation.”
She shakes her head, still laughing. “Okay,” she says, catching her breath. “Okay. Two weeks.”
We sit there for a moment under the stars and enjoy the silence. I reach out and pat her bare thigh once. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”
She stands up and stretches her arms over her head. “I need a shower before bed.”
I pick up Gerald and hold him at eye level. “Hear that?” I tell the bird in a low, conspiratorial voice. “We’re getting a show.”
Her mouth falls open. “Griffin!”
She shoves me with both hands. I don’t budge, but I let her think she moved me an inch. She shoves me again, laughing as we walk back toward our room.
“Give me my penguin,” she says, reaching for him.
“Gerald is with me now.”
