Page 230 of Branded
I frowned. “I’ve never gone more than a week without talking to one or both of you since college.”
“You picked up when we called, texted back when we started the conversation, but you didn’t once call first or text first or email first, honey, and oftentimes any replies to our messages were a long time in coming, and you know it.”
I wanted to deny it.
Just immediately and out of hand.
But…breathe, think, then reflect.
I did that, and it didn’t take long for me to come to the conclusion. “You’re right,” I murmured.
Hazel blinked.
“But here’s the thing, honey. I know I haven’t shared everything—” I stopped, shook my head. “I know that I’ve hardly shared anything. And I know that I owe you an explanation, but I’m leaving.”
“Bethie—” Hazel began.
“To go to Raph.”
Another blink from her friend.
“Yeah, honey. I know I haven’t been open like I should have. God, you and Pru. You two were the only lights I allowed in my life for such a long time, and I still didn’t give you everything?—”
“You don’t owe either of us an explanation?—”
“Maybe not, but if I’m using it as an excuse to keep you guys from getting too close then, yeah, I do.” I sighed. “Because it also means that if I stop concreting over the demons instead of just dealing with them, then maybe they won’t have so much power over me.”
Hazel’s face gentled. “That sounds like a solid thought.” A flicker of guilt through her expression. “I’m?—”
Our fingers were still linked together, so I gently squeezed Hazel’s hand, cutting her off before she could apologize.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“My job is literally to see these kinds of things,” Hazel whispered. “And I missed it.” Her throat worked, more guilt. “And then I misread you again this week.”
I tugged my hand free, used both to cup Hazel’s cheeks. “I had a lifetime to bury my shit, honey.”
“I—”
“And you do not get to take on my trauma. I know it’s your superpower, fixing things?—”
Hazel snorted. “Pot meet kettle.”
“Okay, I know our superpower is to fix everything.”
Hazel smiled. Finally.
So I added, “But I’m learning that not everything needs to be fixed.”
Hazel closed her eyes, sighed softly.
“Sometimes dings and cracks are okay,” I whispered. “Because it’s better than slapping on a veneer and pretending that everything is perfect.”
Scratches and dents and warm and lived-in were so much better than an empty, pristine castle with a concreted-over basement. Even with demons in the basement and doors that may never close properly and drafts and probably a few ghosts in the attic.
“Yeah,” Hazel whispered. “It is.”
“You okay?” I whispered back.
