Page 88 of True Blue

And the guilt had been eating at me, because I was planning to leave her, to go and live my life. It turned me short, frustrated, irritated with anything and everything. I kept my distance from Indie as much as I could to not take it out on her.

And that backfired because it just built up in my chest until I exploded and said things I’ll regret until I’m dead and buried.

“You're around death every day, Indie. Why is this affecting you so much?”

“You fucking asshole,” I spit at myself.

Andrea’s death destroyed her because she cares, because empathy pulses through her veins. That’s why I fell for her—her fierce devotion, her unwillingness to do anything halfway. She throws herself headlong for her patients, her friends, and for me.

She offered me everything, and I shattered it with my vicious words.

My stomach clenches hard, and I wince, pressing my hand to it as it feels like acid burning through me.

I didn’t mean a single fucking word.

Maybe if I say that enough, it will take them back. Maybe it will reverse time so that I could punch myself for even thinking those words.

A memory surfaces, pulling me back to a phone call from three months ago.

“Indie’s having a rough week. She lost one of her patients⁠—”

Mom cut me off, her voice gentle. “She’s around death every single day, you think she’d be used to it by now.”

Those words sank into my brain, lying dormant there and bursting to the surface at the worst moment.

I weaponized Indie’s trauma to hurt her because I was terrified and didn’t know what to do. And that’s not an excuse. There is no excuse.

I purposefully decimated Indie because she called me out on my bullshit and demanded better from me. And I grew up with a woman telling me I was already the best.

I fucked everything up.

I am a fuck-up.

“So, get up and fix it!” Nana’s voice snaps in my mind.

“Theodore!” Mom shrieks through the door, the handle twisting and the lock holding. “Open this door, right now! I’m going to count to ten—one… two… three⁠—”

Car doors outside closing make me rush to the window, pathetic hope swelling and dying when I see that it’s my aunts, waving hello to Colleen and Lily.

My mom is counting outside the door like I’m fucking eight years old. My Dad is downstairs being useless on the couch.

I need to get out of here. I need to get back to the condo. I need to try to find Indie.

Slinging my bag over my shoulders, I grab my keys and yank the door open. Mom stumbles back, and I storm right by her, past Nana’s room, down the stairs.

Mom’s on my heels, yelling at me the entire way about being disrespectful to her on her birthday of all days.

Her voice and words grate on my nerves as I head toward the front door, just in time for my aunts, Colleen, and Lily to walk through.

My younger cousins burst in rushing to the living room. My uncles come after, ignoring their wives juggling groceries and decorations, and head straight to the living room anyway.

It’s all normal, and yet it all feels wrong.

“Theodore! Here, take this,” Aunt Robin sees me and shoves the cake box in my hands before I can even react.

It’s a large, elaborate sheet cake, pink and purple icing with Happy Birthday Dawn in elaborate script. Their voices climb higher and higher as they all speak over each other.

“June, did you grab the cups⁠—”