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She sighed. “Loving somebody isn’t supposed to always be easy, but you’ve hurt a lot of people lately.” I opened my mouth to respond, but she rushed on. “You know it’s true. And I wonder if maybe you need something that we can’t give you—like maybe you should talk to somebody who’s more . . . neutral.”
I frowned. “Like therapy?”
“Yeah,” Frankie replied. “Therapy. Did you go after Amanda died?”
I pushed away from the counter and turned to the shower. “No. I didn’t really have the time. I was too busy trying to be there for Marcie and holding everything together. And I just…didn’t think I needed it.”
Frankie huffed out a tiny laugh. It surprised me, but I couldn’t help but smile a little in response. “Well, you have the time now, dipshit. Please do it, okay? This hurt . . . you don’t have to live like that. We don’t have to live like that.”
I stared at the billowing steam as I turned Frankie’s words over in my head. It might have been easier if Frankie had just yelled at me. Called me an asshole for treating my daughter and my best friend like crap. Told me that she was done with my sorry ass for being so judgmental.
But this—this overwhelming kindness, the gift of her love—it was different. More complicated, and it was hard to admit that I couldn’t fix something with my bank account, a surprise gift of flowers, a last-minute plane ride. Those things were easy. But talking to someone, sharing my pain, admitting how that pain hurt others? That terrified me.
But for Frankie, I would try and fix that broken part of me. And for Marcie and Denton.
“I love you,” I finally said. “I’ll do it.”
