Page 52 of Hot Summer

Even as she said it, though, there was a quiet whisper in the back of her mind questioning it. Was it easier to keep to herself? Had she ever really been happier this way?

“Or you’re just hiding,” Ada said gently.

Leave it to Ada to cut right to the heart of things.

“I... yeah,” Cas admitted. “I’ve just always felt like... you know, you can’t predict if anyone’s going to stay. Even with a commitment. So what’s the point in getting attached in the first place?”

The words sounded hollow even to her own ears. But she’d clung to them for years, had believed them wholeheartedly. She’d shaped her entire world around them.

“I get that. But... you’ve got to take a risk, haven’t you? Being vulnerable and really knowing someone...” Ada half shrugged. “There’s nothing better than that.”

Friday Cas would’ve said that hundreds of things were better than that. A drink or four, a dance with a stranger, a challenge that got everyone around her laughing.

But there was a reason she wanted to leave that life. Leave that version of herself behind. It was empty, never-ending, chaos in its purest form. She was never able to settle on those nights, couldn’t relax, and, god, she wanted that. She wanted to relax. To settle into something.

They were quiet for a beat before Ada whispered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“My mum left when I was six.” Ada’s voice was remarkably steady, as if she was stating the plainest fact in the world. “I don’t remember much about her, but I remember feeling like she never wanted anything to do with us. Like she was always waiting for me and my brother to go pester someone else.”

Ada was quiet for a beat.

“My brother, Alfie, had it worse,” Ada finally said. “He was eight when she left, so he remembers her a bit more than I do. To me, it felt that she was someone I imagined rather than my real mum.”

“Have you had any contact with her?”

Ada shook her head. “Haven’t spoken to her since she left. I’ve got no idea where she’s living now.” Ada laughed a little, but there was a hollowness to it. “She could be dead and I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Well, that’s dark.”

Ada shrugged. “It’s true. And if she didn’t think it was worth sticking around when we were small, I don’t see why I’d have to care if she was or wasn’t. It doesn’t make a difference to me either way.”

“No, I know what you mean.” Cas gave Ada’s hand a gentle squeeze. “My situation definitely isn’t the same, but I think I kind of feel similarly about my parents. Kind of feels awful to say it but...” She shrugged.

“It doesn’t have to be awful if that’s how you feel,” Ada said simply. “People spend so much time talking about how, just because someone is related to you by blood, you have to be willing to let them stomp all over you or abandon you or treat you like utter shite and then you always let them back in your life. Blood relation doesn’t have anything to do with it. If people are dicks, you don’t need to let them take up that space in your life.”

“I feel like that’s maybe just a queer person thing.”

Ada hummed. “Maybe. But honestly, I was so much happier the moment that I finally cracked that with my therapist—like, I don’t actually have to stay hung up on my mum. I don’t have to wonder what she’s doing, I don’t have to care about her, I don’t have to think that her leaving was some kind of commentary on me, because it wasn’t. It was completely about her and how selfish she is, and it’s probably for the best that she left.”

Ada’s words seemed to roll over Cas one at a time, an emotional steamroller, crushing her ribs, her lungs, her heart, pressing each and every spot where Cas had hidden feelings exactly like the ones Ada had articulated.

Deep down, she had always worried it was her. That if she’d been different—more serious, more reserved, more... less—maybe then she wouldn’t have been ignored.

Maybe then she would have been enough.

“I spent my whole life running away from things,” Cas said quietly. “From the way they made me feel, from how I thought they felt about me... You ran right toward those feelings, and I have no idea how you did it.”

“A lot of starts and stops,” Ada said. “I spent the whole of my early twenties sorting it out. It wasn’t a simple visit to my therapist and I was healed.”

Cas chuckled. “No, yeah, I figured. I just... That takes a lot of bravery. I don’t know if I have that.”

Ada didn’t even hesitate. “You have that.”

Cas didn’t let go of Ada’s hand, but instead shifted her grip so that their fingers could slide together. “I hope you’re right.”

Ada waited a long beat before she looked up, her eyes instantly finding Cas’s.

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