Page 95 of Over the Edge

“It took some work. I had some really bad years. I went to rehab four years ago. A nice place, thanks to what you gave me.” Her attention stays fixed straight ahead, focusing on nothing. I want to care more than I do. But when I search for our connection, there’s nothing but the distance she’s been all too comfortable creating between us. “Nasty time. I had enough of the right people that were putting up with me that I got the help in time. Real friends, good people. Indy, oh, she is one of the photographers the magazine works with and just the best type of person. So sturdy.”

“And now?”

“Sober since,” she says, beaming with pride. “I was scared it wouldn’t stick. I was going to keep going every day and at least try. I wanted you to be able to look at me and not feel like I failed us both.”

She does look good, more settled into her life. Maybe everything she’s saying is true and she’s ready to slow down. She’s engaged, after all, and I never thought I’d see the day.

“You could stay, you know. The festival is coming up. The show’s better in person than it is over live stream.” She’s trying. She’s here. In the same way I’ve felt obligated to help her, I want to repay the effort she’s made to come here.

Her fingers start to tap out a nervous rhythm on the side of her cup. “I don’t know. I mean, I have work and I have a return ticket.”

“Don’t do that,” I tell her.

“I have important things to do.”

“I’m not saying you don’t. I just want you to give me a straight answer.”

Lana finally has everything she wants, but I know I’ve never been on any list of priorities. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up even if it was for a moment. I know better. I know better than to read into one moment of effort. So what if she traveled here? So what if it felt like an opening for something real without the complication of money? So fucking what? I’ve always been the adult. Today’s no different.

“Make an effort or don’t.” I do my best to not crush my cup. The words come out clipped, but level. “This isn’t a clean slate. This is a choice. Stay or go. Tell me what you want. I’m not asking you to choose me. I'm not going to beg you to care. Choose what you want so we can both go on living. The gray area isn’t an option anymore.”

Her expression morphs, sliding between possibilities. Defeat is what eventually wins out. Her eyes fix straight ahead. She wasn’t a good parent, but the deal between us kept her in my life. I’m forcing both of us to face who we are to each other head on and I can tell she doesn’t want to.

“I can’t stay.”

“Then go. Don’t drag this out.”

And freedom turns out to be a lot like goodbye.

We sit in silence for a few heartbeats before she tells me she parked in town and should get going. The hotel she’s staying at is a town over anyway and her fiancé is waiting there for her. I wonder if she wanted us to meet. It doesn’t matter. We’ve severed the chord we’ve been using to tie ourselves together.

I continue to sit while she stands. There’s a moment where I think she wants to hug me, but I’m not sure we know how to, not on a logistical level.

She walks away, leather jacket over her shoulder. She doesn’t look back, and I’m happier for it. Looking back means regret, and finally, I don’t feel like my image comes into her mind when she thinks of the word.

There’s a possibility that if it weren’t for my promise to Evelyn, I would have found a way to throw myself into work. I would have read and reread contracts and proposals until my eyes were dry.

Instead, I go straight back to her. The moment I open the door and the three people sitting on the floor eating pizza cheer, I know I made the right decision. The moment she spots me, Evelyn leaps up and almost loses her balance in her hurry to get to me.

It’s nice to be seen and welcomed on such a basic level, yet it wasn’t ever something I thought I could attain. At least, not again after the band. I thought I got lucky that one time. But I guess I had a little luck left over.

Her arms land on my shoulders and she says, “You came back.”

“You asked me to.”I wanted to.

“Food is in the kitchen.” Evelyn pulls away from me and points toward the scraps of pizza still remaining on their plates.

“I’m going to wait a minute. I’m not hungry yet.” My body is still catching up to my head. I’ll probably be starving later, but right now my emotions bear more than a passing resemblance to a knotted ball of yarn.

Quinn’s legs are fully stretched out with a plate balanced on top of her thighs. Oliver, on the other hand, seems hyper aware of the space he’s taking up and has folded himself into a pretzel.

“I got it! You know who she reminds me of?” Quinn exclaims then trains her eyes on Oliver. “Your dad’s sixth wife.”

Evelyn's brows furrow as she asks, “The one who he got married to after a one-night stand?”

“No. I forgot about that one. The one who had the psychic on speed dial,” Quinn corrects.

“Oh, that was number seven. Number six was the one with the farm he refused to move to because he genuinely thought she was going to sell it and move to the city.” Oliver nods along.

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