Page 53 of Kind of a Bad Idea

Her lips twitch, though her eyes remain haunted. “That’s why you’ve got to turn around, dude. Do it. I want to do this. I need to do it.”

My tongue slips out to wet my lips. I want to keep fighting her, but she has that determined look in her eye, the one I know makes her nearly unstoppable. So finally, with one final sigh, I turn around, lean back against the counter with my arms crossed, and brace for whatever is about to happen.

Chapter 20

BINX

It can’t be more than sixty degrees in the cabin—I was so distracted by scribbling down my darkest confessions that I let the fire in the woodstove go out—but I’m sweating.

Beads of sweat form on my lip and the hollow of my spine is sticky beneath my shirt. Meanwhile, my heart is beating in my stomach, and I can’t seem to pull in a full breath.

I’ve never said what I’m about to say out loud.

Even writing it down made me feel sick.

But I want to do this. I want Seven to know, without a doubt, that he isn’t alone in having done things he’s not proud of. Hopefully, that will make him feel better about himself moving forward, even if he decides I’m a monster he doesn’t want anywhere near his family.

“So, I…” I start, my voice breaking on the second word. I pause, clear my throat, swallow, and will myself to get this done as quickly as possible. “I’m just going to read what I wrote,” I say, directing my focus to the page in my hand. “It’ll be easier that way.”

“All right,” Seven rumbles, his broad back still turned to me. But I can hear the compassion in his voice, and it makes me even more anxious. I don’t deserve compassion, not for this, anyway.

“My grandmother was one of my favorite people,” I read, grateful it does seem to be easier to read than to speak off the top of my head. Still, just saying the word “grandmother” sends pain spreading through my chest. It always does. “She was unconventional for a woman, especially for her time. She loved to tinker with machines. Toasters, washing machines, cars—you name it, she could fix it. She helped my grandad run his auto body shop and had a side hustle fixing appliances. In another time, she probably would have been an engineer or something, but she grew up in a super traditional Catholic household in the fifties. Girls were supposed to get married and have babies, or maybe teach school or go into nursing, that was it. She was the first person to tell me I didn’t have to play by the rules. If I didn’t want to go to church, I didn’t have to. If I wanted to wear my brothers’ old clothes and play sports and cut my hair short, I could. She always pushed back against my mother when she tried to force me into fluffy Easter dresses and pink tennis shoes.”

“Sounds like a badass lady,” Seven says.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “She was. But she was also so kind and compassionate. She always reminded me that my mother had been longing to have little girls through the birth of all my big, stinky brothers. She helped me see that my mother wasn’t doing these things to torment me and Mel and Wendy Ann. It was just that she had a dream that didn’t quite match up with reality. Dreams are hard to let go of, even when two of your daughters are tomboys and one of them finds blocks and robots way more fascinating than ballet or baby dolls.”

Seven grunts and my lips flicker up.

“Yeah, I know you’re not Mom’s biggest fan,” I say. “I don’t blame you. I’m not very happy with her right now, either.”

“You’re a wonderful person and daughter,” Seven says. “It’s crazy to me that she can’t see that. It hurts to see her hurt you.”

My brow furrows and the back of my nose starts to sting. “Thanks, but…” I suck in a breath and exhale in a rush, “But we’ll see what you think of me after I’m finished with this.” He starts to speak, but I cut him off, “Please, just let me finish. I’m at the hard part, and I really just want to get it out and then burn this piece of paper.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, before falling silent again.

I take another bracing breath before I continue, “Gran was my cheerleader and my teacher and one of my best friends. I don’t know if I would have had the courage to become the person I wanted to be without her. When she got cancer when I was a junior in high school, I was devastated. I quit the softball team so I could spend more time with her after school. I’d take her to chemo and bring her home again. We’d watch movies and go through her old photo albums and just…shoot the shit for hours. Sometimes, other family members would come over to hang out, too, but it was mostly me and Gran.”

I press my lips together, fighting for control, and continue in an only slightly wobbly voice, “When the first round of chemo didn’t work, and she relapsed a year later, I was the one who fought to help her keep living at home, even though she was so weak. But she didn’t want to move in with my parents or have a nurse with her all the time. She was a private, independent person.”

“Sounds familiar,” Seven murmurs.

“Thanks,” I say, willing myself not to cry. If I cry, it will only make this take longer, and I’m so ready to be done with it. “While she was waiting to start chemo again, we took turns staying with her. One night, my mom had been on duty all afternoon and was positive Gran was taking a turn for the worse. She made me promise to call for an ambulance if I heard her gasping for air the way she had several times earlier that day. I said I would, but a few hours later, when Gran started having trouble breathing again…” I curl my free hand into a fist, my nails biting into my palm as my heart punches at my ribs. “I didn’t call the ambulance. I did what she asked me to do. She said she was done fighting. She was ready to go, so I …” I bite my bottom lip, horror swelling inside of me like a poisonous balloon about to pop. But this is the truth, and it’s high time I told it. “I let her go. I stood there and just…watched while she died.”

A sob escapes my lips, but before I can reach for a tissue or press the heels of my hands to my eyes to stop the tears, Seven is somehow in front of me. I don’t remember seeing him move. One second, he’s on the other side of the island, with his back turned to me; the next, he’s dragging me against his chest and holding me so tight, I can barely breathe.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, the love in his voice making me feel even worse.

I try to squirm free, but he’s got me in a lock. “I’m not a sweetheart, I’m a murderer,” I sob against his hard chest.

“No, you’re not. You’re the badass she raised you to be,” he says. “You honored her wishes, even though what she asked was way too much to put on a seventeen-year-old kid.”

“I was eighteen,” I say, curling my fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I was about to graduate.”

“Same difference. You were a kid,” he says. “But you were probably the only person in her life with a heart big and brave enough to let her go with dignity.”

My face crumples again. “It wasn’t dignified. It was awful. She gasped and writhed on the bed. It was…horrific.” I shudder and Seven hugs me even harder.

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