Page 87 of Fighting

“Of course,” she says, rubbing light circles on my back. “What flavor of ice cream should I pick up? And which movie?”

Three daysand a few too many bickering sessions later, Shae comes back from work full of fury, looking at me in her clothing, burrito wrapped into a blanket, still wallowing.

She paces, pausing to rest her hands on her hips, before unloading on me. “You are in love with him, and you don’t want to admit it for some reason that may be ‘logical,’ but is completely cerebral and not human.”

She flips the lights on and gives me a hard stare, her brows low and lips thin.

“The other night you were fresh off your broken heart, but now it’s time for some hard truths,”she says, dropping into her swivel chair.

I’m too empty to think. I’m unmoving and uncaring as she dumps fifteen years of anger on me like a bucket of ice water.

“You don’t do all this because you want to be a good person. You do it because you need to feel important. You want to be needed. We get it. You are smart. You have an ivy league education. You climbed to the top of your field. Congrats. You have all the external trappings of a happy life, and you’re still just a competitive, snarky bitch who keeps everyone at arm’s length in hopes of maintaining control.”

She jabs a finger at me.

“You know that we have a mom and a dad, right? You aren’t in charge of us. I know you think being the oldest means we can’t function without you, but that’s bullshit. Your ex was toxic, and you tried to solve that issue alone—something you would never let a patient do. Then, when someone worth the risk of repeated heartbreak arrived, you did everything in your power to push him away.”

When I finally push to my feet, I catch sight of myself in the vanity mirror. My eyes are bloodshot, and the bags beneath them are heavy and dark. Throat scratchy, I cough a few times, trying to find words. Any words. Despite how slow the worldseems to be moving, it’s like my thoughts and heartbeat are off to the races.

Her angry speech continues slicing through me.

“All anyone needs is your love and support. You work all the time, and then, during your time off, you take care of people who don’t need it. Know what I saw at Jewish New Year’s that I haven’t seen since we were kids? I saw your fun side. I saw you look happy. Truly, undeniably happy. You made out with him in the mud, damn it.”

The final few words are a cry for me to pay attention, and it works. They bring with them the memory of dancing with Mateo in the yard, falling over ourselves. Happy. That breaks the dam, and hot, salty streams of tears flow down my cheeks.

I’m not ready to have this conversation with her, so instead, I push back halfheartedly, having already hired a cab to take me home.

“Oh, fuck this,” I haul myself up, blanket still draped over me, and shout, “And I’m taking the blanket!”

The first thingI see is the green sports car still parked in the driveway.

Instantly, fresh rage bubbles up. I stalk into the house and slam the front door, then stomp to my bedroom and slam that door too.

“Welcome home, I guess,” Delia shouts from the hall. “Is there a reason you want to break the doors in my grandma’s house?” She punctuates the question with a laugh, annoying me further.

“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

“Shift changes for vacations. But don’t think you can change the subject on me, I know your ways,” Delia says.

Whipping my bedroom door open, I wave her into the room. Then I skulk back to my bed and curl up in Shae’s blanket.

She wrinkles her nose and sniffs at my disheveled appearance. “Decided on a new style? The Halloween blanket is a… choice.”

“It’s really soft, so I stole it from Shae.”

“I bet she’s so mad,” Delia says with a light laugh.

The tension breaks, and the reason I call these girlsthe framily—or my friends who are family—sends warmth rushing through me. I drop the blanket, trying to cool off.

“Not as mad as I am!” Okay, this may not be my finest, or most mature moment.

“Not as mad as you, because…” She raises both brows, waiting for me to continue.

I roll myself up in the blanket again so only my face pokes out.

She pokes the blanket a little again, prodding me to continue.

“First we bonded after my arrest,” I say.

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