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How could I have done all this to him, my love, the one person I feel safe with, when I couldn’t do anything to defend myself against Kevin that night? And then I realize the difference, as he watches me with those soft, dark eyes. Josh wasn’t fighting me off. He was just taking it.
“Dominic. Stop. She’s worth it.” But I feel myself getting all emotional again—angry, sad, it’s becoming harder to even know the difference anymore. “You know, this is all happening because literally everyone in her life has treated her like she’s not worth it for so long.”
I’m strangely, suddenly, acutely unworthy.
“Because it’s me.” “Yeah, exactly,” I blurt out. “This is you.” The way she looks at me—like if I’d just slapped her, it would’ve hurt less—makes me want to die. I try to take it back. “Okay, don’t—don’t look at me like that. You know that’s not what I meant.”
Because I am this, and someone needs to protect him from this, even if it has to be me.
The universe wants to test me? Fine. Bring it on. I’ll fail—that’s what I’m best at.
I nod in response, but what I really want to say is: no, we all don’t, I don’t—at least, I’m not supposed to mess up—not this bad, anyway.
But ever since then, it’s felt like someone’s had a hand inside my chest, squeezing my heart, tighter and tighter, anytime I would try to feel anything good. And now I wonder if this is how she must feel all the time. If it is, I think maybe I can kind of understand now.
“Found it,” I call out to Mara. She skips over to me and looks. “A dandelion? That’s sweet. Understated. Very you.”
Back then I felt like I had no choice but to accept whatever kind of affection was offered to me even if it wasn’t what I wanted or needed. But maybe we can only accept the love we think we deserve.
I look at my wrist, at my own personal dandelion, little seeds floating off toward the palm of my hand. Wishes, hopes. Mine.
“Do you know I broke up with Eden? It was me. I broke up with her, even though I love her so much, because I thought I couldn’t trust her. But it’s you—you’re the one I don’t trust.”
It feels good to use my brain for something other than worrying and hating myself.
It’s only at this moment I realize that pressure, that difference, isn’t something I’ve been able to talk about with anyone—not Josh or Parker or Dominic—because they’re all already past the newness of it. But I’m not; I’m in it. Right now I’m directly in the middle of it.
“I seem to remember a wise young man once told me that just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it makes you happy.”
“A dandelion?” My heart starts racing. Because. Dandelions. That was our thing. “It’s beautiful.” “Thank you.” “Does it mean something?” I dare myself to ask. She breathes in through her nose, gazes out, beyond all the people that are gathered here on the roof, and says, “Well, I guess it’s about being free. And strong.”
“And you too,” she adds, quieter. “What do you mean?” “It’s sort of about you, too,” she says, making my pulse quicken again. “Just a reminder to”—she breathes in deeply again and exhales before continuing—“to try to be the kind of person you think I am.”
“I don’t know, someone who’s resilient instead of destructive. Hopeful instead of… you know, feeling doomed or powerless or whatever. Brave,” she adds. “That’s not the kind of person I think you are. That’s the way you really are, Eden.”
“Yeah,” she says sadly. “And besides, this time of year is always triggering anyway.” “You mean because of family stuff?” “Oh,” she breathes. “Sometimes I forget you can’t actually read my mind. Um, no, it’s—the holidays, that’s when it happened. When Kevin—the assault,” she says,
Because anyone with half a brain or half a heart would understand that me verbally saying the word no was beside the point.
Something I thought should definitely be on this exam. I texted CeCe about how he assaulted me the next Christmas in our kitchen—I’ve had to practice using that word too, “assault.” I never even mentioned it to anyone, not the detective or Lane or CeCe. It was something I thought didn’t even matter before, wasn’t bad enough to be worth mentioning.
To remind me that he was there, to remind me that I’d promised not to tell? That he was holding me hostage for so long after that one night. Because I’d read that article—and even though Josh told me not to read the comments, I did—and I saw the one about five minutes. Only five minutes. And they needed to know it wasn’t only five minutes that he had me.
I lean into the microphone, even as my whole body is trembling, even as I feel the tears rushing to my face, and say with precision now, not breaking eye contact with him: “He. Never. Asked. The. Question.” I bypass White Hair and look up at the judge, sitting there perched above my shoulder. “That’s my answer.”
I look at our three hearts for a moment and remember, whatever happens, we did this for us.
It was like she was the only thing in color to me, everything else in my life felt so gray. I don’t know how I convinced myself to go sit down next to her. She was unlike anyone I’d ever known, and I was so intimidated by her—but I liked her. I wanted to know her, wanted her to know me. It was that simple. I was sure. She was worth whatever risk came with trying. Then and now.
look at myself for the first time in a long time. I’m almost surprised to see that it’s still my face, my eyes, looking back at me. My hair, my body, my tattoo, my scars. “This is you,” I whisper to myself.
I look around and see that dandelions have sprouted up all around the perimeter of the fountain, just over the past few days of sunny weather, just for us, it seems.
“This is a good place,” I tell him. “For what?” “To be ready,” I answer. And then I take his hand in mine. I squeeze once. He looks down at me and squeezes back, two light pulses. I repeat myself, clearly this time, no questions, no doubts. “I’m ready.”
