Page 30 of Holding On

"She told him she wasn't happy and that leaving was the only way she could be happy again. She didn't seem to care if her family was happy." Becca takes a sip of her soda. "Now that I'm older, I can see that maybe it was for the best. Maybe her staying would've made us all miserable because she wasn't happy. But honestly, and I know a lot of people would disagree with this, but I think happiness is a decision. Bad things happen to people all the time and yet some people find ways to get through it and be happy and some people don't. And I think the people that don't use not being happy as an excuse. They use it to rationalize leaving, or to get out of doing whatever they don't want to do. Saying you're not happy is a cop-out, at least in my opinion." She looks at me, then covers her mouth, like she's embarrassed. "Did I seriously just say all that out loud?"

I smile at her. "You did."

And I love that she did. It's the first time in a very long time that someone has actually been honest with me. Like truly honest.

I'm used to people lying, telling me what they think I want to hear. I've told plenty of lies myself, or more often, withheld the truth. It's what my lawyer parents taught me. Words can incriminate you. Be used against you. Present you in a negative way. So keep quiet until you've thought through your words. Until you've figured out the other person's motives and created your own. That's how I was raised. To censor my words. Hide my true thoughts.

"I should go." Becca turns in her chair like she's getting up to leave.

I hold her wrist. "Why would you go?"

"Because I just blurted out all this stuff that I'm sure you didn't want to hear and now—"

"I wanted to hear it." I loosen my hold on her wrist but don't let go of it. "You were being honest. That's rare these days."

"Yeah, and it also makes people think you're crazy."

"Do you care what people think?"

She pauses. "Not usually. I think worrying about what people think makes you forget who you are. You become someone else just to conform to what other people want, and in the process, you lose part of yourself." She squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"Doing what?"

"Telling you stuff you don't want to hear."

"Why wouldn't I want to hear it? And even if I didn't, by not telling me aren't you contradicting your earlier statement about not caring what people think?"

She opens her eyes, a smile creeping up her cheeks. "You're right." She straightens up in her chair. "I stand by my earlier statement. I have certain beliefs, and I'm not afraid to share them, even if people disagree with me. I swear, I'm usually not worried about what people think. It's just with you I..."

"You what?"

"Never mind."

I'm still holding her wrist, my eyes on hers. My thumb moves softly over her palm and I ask again. "With me, you what? Finish what you were saying."

"I..." She looks down at my hand on her wrist. "For some reason, I care what you think."

"Why is that?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure." Her eyes lift back to mine. "Maybe it's because I seem to make you angry so I feel like I have to watch my words so I don't get yelled at."

She says it like she's joking but I know she's not. She's right. I keep getting angry and taking it out on her, even when it's not her fault.

I frown, now angry at myself.

"I'm sorry, Becca. I really am. I don't mean to yell at you. I don't know why I get that way but sometimes I do."

It's true, but it seems like it comes out more with her than with anyone else. Usually, I do a better job at hiding my anger, but with her, I can't. I keep snapping at her, saying things I shouldn't. Why do I do that?

"So going back to your mom," I say, realizing I never addressed her earlier comments. "Do you ever talk to her anymore?"

"Now and then. Mike said she called the other day. I wasn't home but he said she just called to check in." She rolls her eyes. "Her usual check in to make sure we're still alive."

"Are you going to call her back?"

"I don't need to. Mike talked to her. That's good enough."

She seems uncomfortable so I let it go, but say, "If you ever want to talk about it..." I stop there. She knows what I mean.

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