Page 105 of Not Another Yesterday
Miranda chuckles softly. I frown, bristling. But her expression sobers.
“I’m sorry, Cat, but… yeah, you do.You all do.How do you think he was able to hide the abuse for so long?”
I’m glad her question’s rhetorical, because I couldn’t answer even if I wanted to.
“He’s good at giving you just enough to make you stop asking. Just enough to sound plausible. Just enough to seem okay. And that’s not anyone’s fault. We’re human. It’s easier to believe the bruises were from a fall—or whatever bullshit excuse he made up—than to keep pushing.”
She looks over at me. “But think about it, Cat. Theonetime he did open up to you—when he told you he didn’t want kids because he was afraid of repeating the cycle—what were you doing that made him say it?”
It hits me all at once, like a field of stadium lights blinking on.
“I didn’t let him get away with his bullshit.”
I remember pushing him. Not backing down when he tried to wave it off.
“Exactly,” she says, like a proud parent.
“But we had a huge fight.” I frown. “And then he ended things. Is that what I’m risking every time I try to get to the bottom of what’s going on in his head?”
She grins knowingly. “Okay, but did he open up andthenyou fought? Or did someone just happen to accuse him of still loving his ex? And didn’t someone also suggest he should ‘move on’ from what his mom did to him?”
My face burns. So Ronan told her about that, too.
“Yeah,” I say, voice small. “I should’ve handled that differently.” I wince, remembering the way I twisted the knife right when he’d finally let his guard down.
“Look, Cat, I’m not an expert. But Idoknow Rony. And…” She hesitates. “I can relate to him. My childhood wasn’t great, either. We bonded over that. I understand him in ways other people can’t. So let me just say this, okay?”
She glances over briefly, then back to the road.
“When Ronan opens up, it’shardfor him. Really hard. He’s making himself vulnerable in a way that terrifies him. You can’t take that lightly. Even when you're mad, or hurt, or frustrated—especially then—you’ve got to learn how to step back from that heat. It doesn’t mean you don’t get to feel what you feel. Youshould. But when Rony tells you about the dark things in his head, you can’t attack him for it or you risk reinforcing what he’s learned: that it’s not safe to express how he feels. I know it’s complicated, but…”
She groans, struggling for words. “What happened to Rony is heavy. And him not opening up to you? That’s not aboutyou.It’s not about how much he loves you, or trusts you, or how safe he feels with you. It’s conditioning. It’s fear and sadness. It’s years of learning to survive by keeping it all locked up. He’s only just now learning how to leave survival mode.”
She pauses.
“Your life’s been pretty consistent, right?”
I nod.
“Yeah. His hasn’t. Not even close. And it takes time to adjust. He’s still learning. You can’t ask him to run when he’s just barely learning to walk. I know he’s almost nineteen, and sure, in a lot of ways he’s a man. But in this—this emotional stuff? He’s still just a baby. And Cat? He’s scared.”
There’s a painful lump in my throat. “That… Honestly, Randi, I never… I never thought about it that way.” I swallow, shame rising in me like a tide. “I just thought he didn’t trust me. Or that maybe he didn’t love me as much as I’d hoped.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You thought he didn’t love you?”
I nod. “Yeah, I… I guess I’ve got my own baggage. Stuff that played into those fears and—”
Miranda laughs, almost like she’s had a realization. “Rony is hyper-independent. He’ll die before asking for help. And you are…” She trails off. I can tell she doesn’t want to offend me.
But I nod. “Codependent,” I finish for her. “Exactly. I keep trying to tune in to him, to understand what he’s feeling. I worry about his mental state all the time. I dig and dig because I have this constant need to make sure he won’t abandon me.”
“And all that does is make Rony withdraw more and more,” she says gently. “Leaving you chasing after safety that feels just out of reach.”
I blink. “Have you studied psychology?”
Her laugh is light. “No. I barely scraped through high school. But I read a ton. Oof,” she groans. “That definitely complicates things.”
“You think?” I deadpan.
