Wyn squeezes the back of my neck: I’ve got you.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to make it up to them.”
Wyn tucks a curl behind my ear, ever patient and calm, warm and safe.
“That we cost them so much,” I go on. “That they didn’t get the lives they wanted, because of us. But if I could be good enough . . .”
“Harriet,” he says, crushing me in against his chest, tightening his arms against me, a human barricade. “No.”
His voice takes on a throatiness. “Sometimes when things go wrong, it’s easy to blame someone else. Because it simplifies things. It takes any responsibility out of your hands. And I don’t know if your parents did that to you and your sister or if somewhere along the way you took that blame on yourself, but it’s not your fault. None of it. Your parents made their decisions, and I’m not saying their situation was easy, or that they didn’t do the best they could. But it wasn’t enough, Harriet. If you could even think that, if you could ever even fucking wonder if they regretted you, then they didn’t do enough.”
But he doesn’t understand. They’ve done everything. Shelled out for tutors, paid the fees for every club I signed up for, chauffeured me back and forth, helped me study when they were dead tired from work, cosigned my med school loans.
My parents aren’t people of words, but they sacrificed so much. That’s love, and I hate that I want more from them. That I can’t just feel grateful for all they’ve given me, because at all times I’m aware of what it cost them.
“You,” Wyn says roughly, “are the very best thing that’s ever happened to me. And they were lucky to have you as their kid. Even if you hadn’t bent over backward to make them proud, they still would have been lucky, because you’re smart and you’re funny and you care about the people around you, and you make everything better, okay?”
When I don’t answer, he says again, “Okay?”
“How can love end up like that?” I ask thickly. “How is it possible to love someone so much and have it all just go away?”
The thought of resenting Wyn like that is torture. The thought of him resenting me is even worse. Of holding him back, keeping him from what he wants.
“Maybe it never goes all the way away,” he says. “Maybe it feels easier to ignore it, or turn it into a different feeling, but it’s still there. Deep down.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses my tears as they break. “Do you want me to promise I’ll love you forever, Harriet?” he whispers. “Because I will.”
An ice-cold rush of adrenaline, a spurt of terror, a whole-body bracing, every muscle drawing tight to keep the words from sinking into my heart.
Because it won’t matter.
Because he can promise me anything, but in the end, feelings could come and go, and we’ll be powerless to stop the change.
“Just promise,” I say, “we’ll end things before we ever let them get like that.”
Hurt flashes across his face. I want to take it back, but I don’t.
This is all I can give him, all I can give myself: some tiny measure of protection.
The only way I can bear loving anyone this much is knowing it will never turn to poison. Knowing we’ll give each other up before we can destroy each other.
“If we’re making each other unhappy,” I say as evenly as I can, “we can’t keep going. I couldn’t stand living every day knowing you resent me.”
“I won’t,” he says softly. “I couldn’t.”
“Please, Wyn.” I touch the muscles along his jaw. “I need to know we’re never going to hurt each other like this.”
His eyes travel back and forth across my face. “I’m not going to stop fighting for you, Harriet.”
My vision blurs behind tears. He pulls me in, holds me tight. “I’m not going to stop loving you.”
It’s not the answer I asked for. It’s the one I desperately want.
Years later, when it’s late and I can’t sleep for the phantom ache in my chest, I pull this memory out and turn it over. I think, We did the right thing. We let each other go. That too is a kind of comfort.
24
REAL LIFE
Thursday
WE SIT WITH our toes in the icy water and eat the cheese, fruit, and bread we brought from home. We doze in the sun and watch the clouds drift. Afterward we hike along the pine-needle-dusted trail in the woods, moss and ferns all glistening with dew, the ground soft and hollow.
Cleo seems to have entirely let the moment of tension go, but Sabrina’s uncommonly quiet and keeps stalling toward the back of the pack as we walk. Every time I slow down to walk with her, though, she seems to speed up and chime in on whatever conversation the others are having.
When we get back to the shore, we’re not ready to leave, so we stretch out along the red-brown rocks, watching birds dive toward the whitecaps in the distance.
“What’s one tiny thing you’ll miss about these trips?” Cleo asks.
“The Warm Cup,” Parth says. “I love walking down to get coffee while it’s still cool and gray out and the streets are empty. And Sab and I are both totally silent because we haven’t had caffeine yet, but it’s nice. At home we’re always rushing in the morning.”
“I’ll miss that too,” Kimmy says. “And sitting on the bench next to the walk-up window, petting all the dogs that come past. And all the junk shops and yard sales. Every time I come here, I end up trying to convince Cleo to rent a U-Haul to drive back.”
“A garden filled with lobster traps has a different aesthetic effect in upstate New York,” Cleo says.
“Yeah, but we could at least cover our walls with wood-burned signs that say Wicked Pissah.”
“Well, now we know what to get you for your birthday,” I say.
“Should we all get wicked pissah tattoos?” Parth jokes.
“We can do better than that,” Sabrina says.
“Giant lobsters,” Wyn puts in.
“Mermaids that look like Bratz dolls,” I suggest.
“I’ll come up with something.” Sabrina props her chin in one hand, the other fluttering through the shallow water.
“What’s something you’ll miss, Harry?” Cleo asks. “Something small.”
I say, “Seeing everyone so happy together.”
Cleo bats her hand against my leg. “Something for you.”
I think some more. “I guess . . . going to sleep.”
Parth bursts into laughter.
“I’m serious!” I cry.
“Your favorite part,” Sabrina says, “of this amazing trip I planned for us . . . is going to sleep.”
“No.” I toss a seashell shard toward the sparkling lip of the tide. “It’s going to sleep so tired, in a good way. Feeling content and exhausted and relaxed, but also excited to wake up and still be here.”
I catch Wyn’s eyes and look away. “It feels like nothing can go too wrong here. At least once you’re off Ray’s airplane.”
Sabrina grabs my hand a little too hard, then lets go on a sigh. “I’ll miss that too. Hell, I’ll even miss Ray.”