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“That’s not for me to decide. It’s also not for your friend to decide. But you’re not a child anymore. The point of punishment is to get people to reflect enough that they don’t make the same mistake twice, right?”
“Right,” Emil breathed out. His chest felt even tighter. God, he wasn’t sure he could do this.
“So if you’ve learned that lesson, maybe it’s time to stop seeking pain as a form of penance. And I think you’ve made a good start with giving up drinking.”
Emil licked his lips. “I think he agrees with that. Maybe that’s why he can forgive me so easily.”
“Was he like you before his fiancée cheated?”
Emil laughed. “Yes and no. Vic was never really the same as we were. He learned how to be kind, and I think he just wanted to know people gave a shit about him. He was hurt because he believed that if push came to shove, I’d have his back, and I didn’t.”
“But you do now,” she said.
Emil nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
“So, that matters. And you matter.”
Emil shuddered. Renzo had said something like that too, and it was so…confusing. And terrifying. It was so much easier the other way. “I lied to him though. Recently. I told him I had a job interview in Providence and invited him to move to the East Coast with me.”
“Which he did?”
“His fiancé got a job at the university here. It was kind of…fate, I guess? But I didn’t have a job interview. My mom died, and I had to deal with her house, but he has no idea.” Emil scrubbed his hands down his face. “See? I suck at change.”
“I might say something that’s a little controversial, but I want you to think about it, okay?”
Emil nodded and braced himself.
“Your friend—Vic?”
“Victor,” Emil absently corrected. He was picky about who called him that.
Sarah nodded. “Victor doesn’t have a right to know about your mom. I will never, ever advocate for lying, but I will also never, ever tell you that anyone has the right to your life. That is a gift you can give people who have earned it.”
“And you don’t think he’s earned it for what I did to him?” Emil asked.
Sarah shook her head. He expected her to laugh at him, but instead, she just fixed him with a calm gaze. “Giving your trust to someone isn’t penance, Emil. And it never should be.”
* * *
Sitting at the table, Emil stared down at his salad until Dahlia reached across and touched his hand. His gaze snapped up, and he quickly shook himself out of his thoughts.
“Yeah. It’ll do that to you,” she said.
He hadn’t told her a word about his therapy session, but he supposed he didn’t really need to. She was further along in her journey than he was—hell, most people were—but at least she’d been in his shoes before.
“It wasn’t what I expected,” he confessed, stabbing his fork into a piece of lettuce.
Dahlia tilted her head to the side. “How so? Were you expecting a whole Freudian thing where she tells you not to worry about the size of your dick?”
Emil couldn’t help a small laugh. “I guess I was expecting her to make me talk about my childhood trauma, then pump me full of pills.”
“Ah,” Dahlia said, then stuffed her face with a huge piece of chicken. As she chewed, she pointed her fork at him. “Life’s gonna suck for a while as you get deeper into it. I’ve been doing this for a while now, and therapy days usually send me right back to bed.”
Emil sighed. “I don’t have a bed.”
“Yeah,” she drawled. “And my friend, I think it’s time to change that.”
Emil wanted to dig his heels into the ground and shake his head. To tell her no, he wasn’t ready. But the truth was, it was time. He still had no idea what to do about his mom’s place, and he wasn’t in a hurry, but he wanted to be happy somewhere, and this place could be it.
