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This is the rationale I repeat over and over as I book a return flight, pack my bag, and slip Whiskers into her cat carrier.
But it’s strange. You know what else I remember from my research? Addicts are masterful at rationalizing their behavior. They can put a spin on almost anything, including making the most selfish, fear-based decision sound sacrificial. But I don’t dwell on this particular bit of knowledge, even as my bootsclick-clackaccusingly across the hardwood floor.
I set my phone on Whiskers’s carrier so I can easily see the notification that my Uber has arrived, then cast one final glance around the apartment I’d called home, tears obscuring my vision. But when I reach for the doorknob, my fingers curl back. I can’t bring myself to grip the cool metal, no matter how many times I tell myself it’s for the greater good.
“I can’t believe you’re running away again.” Brynn’s pained whisper comes from behind me, and when I turn toward the sound, my heart wrenches at the glimmer of intense sorrow and disappointment in her eyes. “I thought things might be different this time.”
“Brynn, I—” I attempt to offer an explanation, but there isn’t one. I suddenly feel ashamed and confused and so very weary. A wiser, more mature voice in my head whispers I should have waited until morning. Things always look brighter when the sunlight chases away the shadows.
“Save your excuses, Quincy. I’ve heard them all before.” Her words are harsh but true. And I can’t blame her. “This is why I didn’t want you dating Ethan. I couldn’t bear the possibility that you’d break his heart. But then I thought maybe you were different. Maybe you’re not the same Quincy who quits the second life gets tough or a little messy.”
I wince, forced to face my own self-fulfilling prophecy.
“But I was wrong.” Her voice trembles now, twinged with the kind of bitterness born from betrayal. “You’re exactly the same as you always were.”
Never has a single sentence, so simple on the surface, stung so sharply. And while the sentiment couldn’t be more deserved, I can’t help feeling defensive.
“Are we really so dissimilar?” I murmur, surprising my own ears.
“What?” Her hurt momentarily gives way to her shock.
“Aren’t you afraid to go out with Oliver? You’re so worried you’ll wind up like your parents, you won’t even give him a chance.”
“That’s different,” she snaps.
“Is it?” I press, though I should really stop talking now. I’m only making an awful situation so much worse. “You’re living your life in fear exactly like I am, choosing to believe the worst-case scenario instead of choosing hope. Because fear is easier. Fear is comfortable. Fear is the friend that says they want the best for you, but you know it’s a lie.” The words spill out of me, and I can’t stop them. I’m not even sure if they make sense, but I don’t want tonight to end with each of us saying things we’ll regret. Things we can’t take back. I need to change course before it’s too late.
At this moment, right now, I have a choice. I can live my life according to my track record, believing I’ll continue to behave how I always have. Or I can choose the other option. The riskier, more terrifying, possibly disastrous one.
But the big, potentially life-altering question is am I brave enough?
Before I can decide, my phone buzzes.
I instinctively glance at the screen and my blood chills, stilling in my veins.
It’s a group message from my mom. And even in the simple, straightforward text, I can hear her quiet desperation.
How soon can you kids get home? Your father had a heart attack.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
The man lying in the hospital bed doesn’t look like my father. My father is strong and striking, able to command a room simply by walking through the doorway. This man—the one in the stiff, papery gown with gaunt features and glassy eyes—looks frail and worn, a faded image of my father’s vibrant vitality. But he’s alive. And for that, I’m grateful.
From the second I left Brynn’s apartment—in shock and mumbling that I had to leave—I haven’t been able to think about anything other than preparing myself for the worst. I haven’t thought about what to say to Ethan, or how to fix things with Brynn. My thoughts kept circling back to the same gut-wrenching questions. What if I’m too late? What if Dad’s gone before I get there? What if I never hear his voice again? Or smell his aftershave? Or stretch onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek?
Seeing him now as I peer around the privacy curtain, watching Mom fuss over imaginary wrinkles in the flimsy cotton sheets, I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare. The kind where I’m being chased, but my legs don’t work, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t wake up.
My throat tingles, a telltale sign of impending tears, and I cough as quietly as I can, but my mom glances up and catches my eye. Without a word, she rushes into my arms, clinging to me so tightly, my heart breaks. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers against my hair, and it occurs to me that my mother—the most composed person I know—is looking to me for comfort. The realization is all the more sobering.
“How is he?” I ask, even though he’s awake, alert, and can speak for himself.
“Stubborn as ever,” she says, pulling back to smooth her flyaways. “Trying to tell the doctors how to do their jobs.”
“Is it my fault I know more about modern medicine than these premed students masquerading as medical professionals?”
“Watching every episode ofHouseandGeneral Hospitaldoesn’t make you an expert.” Mom rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s trying not to cry. She summons a smile. “Well, I’ll let you two visit and pop down to the cafeteria for a bit. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks,” I say.
