Page 65 of Rebel Moon

“How’s your headache?”

I’d almost forgotten that lie. “Um, much better.” I sat on the edge of my bed but Ivy remained standing.

“First migraine ever, huh?” Ivy crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fine, I didn’t have one.”

“Why are you hiding in here?” Ivy asked.

“I’m not hiding.”

She didn’t say anything, just glared at me.

“All right, yes, I’m giving myself some space,” I said. “Some time alone.”

“Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck? I can see plain as day what’s going on here. I’ve known it since the first time I saw you two together. No one fights like that unless there’s passion between them. You’ve been running from this for a long time, and I think it’s enough. You need to put your big girl panties on and take care of what needs doing.”

“Which is what exactly?” I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring her.

“Admit to yourself that you’re in love with Knox Hartley and it’s time for you to put aside all these excuses and actually be happy. What is it? Do you think you don’t deserve love? Is that it? You’re punishing yourself?”

“No.” I glared right back at her.

“Then what?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try. I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”

“I don’t know how to do this. I’m freaking out and making a mess of it all but I’m … scared.”

“Oh, honey. That’s sad.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m a charity case,” I said. “I can’t stand pity.”

“That’s the whole problem, right there,” Ivy said. “This isn’t pity. Pity is looking down at someone and, girl, I’m looking right at you. You’re so focused on making sure you’re immune to pity that you push people away. But you know what? I know who you are under all this.” She waved her hand toward me. “Just like you know me. We’ve been friends since we were kids, basically. I remember you before you were the great Madeleine Price. I remember the young person who wanted so desperately to make a life for herself that she felt she had to reinvent who she was. But you’re still the same person. Older, perhaps wiser, although that’s debatable at the moment. Successful. Gorgeous. You’re still the same sweet girl you were when you called yourself Mindy. You’re still you, even if you have a fancier car. And that’s the person we all love. The one you try so hard to hide. But we see her. And we love her. You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make it untrue.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say, really?

Ivy crossed the room and hugged me. “You’re going to figure this out once and for all. I believe in you. And now I’m going to leave you here to think.”

And then she was gone, my little blonde tornado, leaving me to face Mindy Sue alone.

I sat for a moment after Ivy left, thinking about what she’d said. She was my best friend, and I loved her to death, but there was a part of me that she could never understand. Ivy had never warred with herself. She’d never had to kill a part of herself in order to find the life she’d dreamt of. But she’d had support. Her family had been a backbone for her, the place she could go home to and feel safe, no matter what happened in the outside world. But I was different. I was the one who had to look after my family. I’d known even as a kid that it was up to me to make a better life for myself and my family. I did whatever it took to get into college, then worked two jobs to pay for expenses that weren’t covered in my scholarship and financial aid. During that time, when I’d systematically dismantled the parts of myself that would not support my mission, it had never occurred to me that soft, vulnerable Mindy Sue had served a purpose. She’d let me love myself and others.

Since I’d started out on my own, I’d not looked back. I hardly ever thought about my childhood. I’d erased most of it, including the dingy, rundown house my mother had worked herself into the ground to keep. Once I’d made it, I’d moved her to a new house, one with a pool and a garden. Now, I paid for all her monthly expenses and the mortgage on the house too, never begrudgingly either. I loved being the one who could save my mom, who could spoil her with whatever she wanted. Which, as it turned out, was extremely modest. Still, even when she could afford it, she never bought herself a new dress. She still dyed her own hair instead of going to the salon.

My sister, too, seemed ever cognizant of what she owed me for putting her through school. Which is how I started to distrust the word owe. What did it really mean to owe someone? Did it mean you could never really love them as an equal because they saw the relationship as transactional? I’d never stopped long enough to ask myself these questions. I’d just pushed and plodded, always with a strategic goal in mind. Never go back to living in poverty.

People who had grown up without the constant worry about money—not just vacation money or frivolous spending—never got it. I’m talking about looking for coins in the seat of the couch. Running your car down to empty because payday was two days away and you had no money for gas. Looking at price tags, wondering how it was possible to feed two girls and still keep the lights on. This had been my mother’s way of life since she’d come into the world. She’d figured she’d go out that way too.

But not me. I saw the problem and decided nothing would stop me until I fixed it. A professor my first year of college had presented the idea during a lecture that high achievers often came from humble beginnings or even a tragedy that had helped form the people they later became. I’d sat in that lecture hall, goosebumps prickling my arms, thinking, “Yes, this is me. Anything is possible. I just have to know what I want.” After that, no one could have dissuaded or shaken me from my path. Not even Mindy Sue. Which is why she had to go.

But sitting here in the empty cabin, the faint scent of Ivy’s perfume mingling with fresh coffee, doubt crept in. Had I given up too much for success?