Page 150 of True Blue

“No,” I agree, harshly wiping my eyes on my shoulder. “Not enough.”

Her mouth tightens, and she sniffs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

“My mother… my mother ruined things, but I let her. I enabled her to ruin so much, including the greatest things that’s ever happened to me—you. You, Indie. You are the most wonderful, kind, amazing woman… and you chose me. Over and over. I never had a doubt in my mind about you. Not one single second. But I didn’t choose you. I thought I was. Sincerely, I thought I was choosing you by walking some delicate line. But not choosing you was just choosing them… just wrapped up prettier.”

Indie studies me for a long minute, eyes trailing all over my face, and it feels like a caress. I sit still, letting her, wanting her to because her eyes on me are like a breath of air.

“After… that barbecue,” Indie starts, and I flinch, my stomach rolling just like hers had been that night.

It haunts me, how pale and shaky she looked, how powerless I felt as she was getting sick. My mother and Lily burst into the bathroom, and I finally stood up for Indie.

Too little, too late.

“You went to your mother’s house. You said she wanted to apologize, but you went there to talk to her first. You came back… different. What happened, Teddy?”

Shame chokes me for a moment, and I squeeze my eyes closed, breathing through the nausea. I don’t believe my mother’s threats, not anymore, but I did.

And I feel ashamed that I did. I came home and pulled further into my shell, instead of talking to the woman I loved, who could have helped. My mother needs psychological help. She will never get it willingly, that would require her to admit she has a problem, and she’s too prideful for that, but…

I could have done so many things differently.

Indie’s eyes narrow more and more as I tell her about the kitchen knives incident.

“Oh my God, Teddy,” she rubs at her forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I tell her the answer that Dr. Meyer finally helped me find—why didn’t I tell Indie about it?

“Because you would have solved the issue I wasn’t looking to solve. I was looking to bury it.” I tell Indie, who blinks. “Because that would have been difficult to solve. Easier to bury. I would have to actually admit there was a problem. Dr. Meyer says I tend to take the path of least resistance⁠—”

“Dr. Meyer?”

“My therapist.”

Her brows raise. “… therapy?”

“Twice a week, for about five weeks now,” I say, with a bit of pride in my voice. “She specializes in enmeshment.”

“Enmeshment.”

I nod.

Indie’s face softens.

“How is it going?” Indie asks, her voice low and… caring. So caring, it almost makes me want to cry. I breathe deep through my nose to push back the sting of tears.

“It’s hard,” I say, and Indie nods. “But so necessary. My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.”

Indie’s cheeks flush, and she averts her gaze. “I should–I-I could have encouraged⁠—”

“No,” I say firmly, cutting off her taking responsibility for something that is my fault alone. “I wouldn’t have listened, Indie. Worse, I would have… I would have told my mother, and she would have defended me, making everything worse. You did everything you could have. Dr. Meyer says most families have a kind of silent agreement to guard a secret or trauma they don’t want exposed. I was just following my family.”

Indie nods once.

“Did you know that I did a rotation in the ED?” Indie says, clearing her throat.

I nod, remembering her telling me one night, after I was both amazed and horrified by the amount of school and dedication to become a doctor.

“People were so full of shame when they would come in because of drugs or alcohol or because they got injured doing something very illegal. I never cared about why they were there, what steps led to them coming in—overdosing, or bleeding out because they had nicked an artery from trespassing or robbery. I just wanted to help them. We could discuss why later, I just needed to help them.”