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“I saw Charlie last week.” The words scrape up a tight throat and I run my hand over my hair.

Dr. Eddington’s eyebrow quirks. “How did that happen?”

“At her wedding.”

I didn’t tell him about the wedding invite. I didn’t tell him I was thinking of going. I didn’t want him in my head, dissecting every thought and emotion. I didn’t want to talk about Charliegetting married or how it made me feel. It made me feel shitty and anyone with a brain would get there without me sitting in this damn room, bleeding in front of someone I pay to feel like a friend.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. No I don’t.” I throw an arm over the back of the couch and look away. “Not with you or Angela or Mom or Dad or Uncle Lucas. Charlie didn’t even get married and you know what? That’s fine. I’m fine. She’s fine. Everything is fine.” I spit the word into the conversation and Dr. Eddington cocks his head.

“You went to her wedding and she didn’t get married?”

I find myself explaining the situation.

The panic attack that chased me into the hall. Running into Charlie. The way her husband-to-be treated her. The bullshit her stepmom spouted about every awful thing actually being a blessing in disguise. I tell him about how good it felt to be with Charlie again and the panic attack that finally descended as she talked about returning to Wildrose Landing, leading to my hasty exit so my shit wouldn’t supersede her needs.

“Being with Charlie? It was the first time I felt like myself since the accident. And what a shitty thing, right? Her heart was broken and I felt whole because, what? Because I could step in and help? Because she didn’t get married? Because she didn’t treat me like I’m made of glass like everyone else? Because being with her makes me feel alive?”

“Maybe it was all those things.”

“Yeah. It was all of those things.” I lift my chin. “That’s why I’m angry. Because it was all those things and I still can’t have her and that makes me sad, and I feel guilty and embarrassed because I’m the reason, and it hurts to see what could have been, and I’m afraid this is all there is for me. This… nothingness. This emptiness. This ache in my chest that I cover up with routinesand habits and positive thinking and pretending I’m fine when everyone knows I’m not.”

Dr. Eddington nods but stays quiet. Even though I know what he’s doing, I rush ahead to fill the silence.

“But none of that matters. Charlie’s gone. She went home to put her life back together and I’ll never see her again. And before you ask me how that makes me feel, let me just tell you.It’s fine.She’s better off without me and you know it and she knows it and I know it most of all.”

ELEVEN

Charlie

I stand on the front porch of the house I called home just last week, tugging my coat tighter around me. The icy March wind in New England bites at my cheeks, so different from the warm, lazy breezes of the Keys. Overhead, the sky hangs heavy, gray and oppressive, mirroring the weight pressing on my chest.

“You okay, sweet girl?” Mom’s voice is soft, concerned. “You’re not worried Davis is home, are you?”

Dad steps in front of us, his hand on the doorknob, ever my protector. “I’ll go in first, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say with a small smile. “Davis is on our honeymoon.”

Dad freezes, his brow furrowing. “He went on the honeymoon?” His voice is a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

“You’re kidding me.” Mom’s eyebrows launch into her hairline.

“I wish I was. But yeah. When I texted to ask about a good time to get my things, he made it pretty clear. Said he was‘enjoying everything French Polynesia had to offer’ and wanted my stuff gone before he got back.”

“He went on the honeymoon by himself?” Dad looks genuinely stunned, the sheer audacity of it beyond his understanding. And I get that. I do. I was equally dumbfounded when I found out.

I snort softly. “Who knows? Maybe he’s not alone. Maybe he brought someone with him.” Like no boundaries Brandi or super fun Serena. “I really don’t care.”

Mom exhales, her breath clouding in the cold air. “Ignoring your emotions doesn’t make them go away, honey. They just get all jumbled up inside, then come out when you least expect it. It’s okay to not be okay.”

A sharp gust of wind rattles the chimes I hung on the porch when we first moved in. Davis hated them, called them noise pollution. I slip them off their hook and place them carefully in the box at my feet, feeling a small surge of pride, like I’m taking back what’s mine.

“Fine. It hurts. I do care. But I know I shouldn’t, so I’m just trying to skip to the part where I’ve processed it all and moved on. Happy now?”

“You can’t fast-track healing,” Mom says gently.

Dad rests a hand on her shoulder, giving me a supportive nod. “Fake it till you make it, though. There’s truth to that, too.”

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