The Three Lives of Cate Kay

by Kate Fagan

She was a confident person. But like all confident people, it was only about 87 percent authentic. Doubt just lived on the outskirts of town instead of in the center, like it does for everyone else.

Listening to my brain was exhausting. Only now do I question my brain’s wisdom, wonder if it’s actually working in my best interest. But back then? A thought was reality. And how do you tell your best friend that your brain imagines outgrowing them—that it’s not even a choice; it’s a necessity.

The way they walked up to the house, like they were magnets trying not to merge, it set my brain bouncing.

Why had she told me this story? Because Amanda and I were so close? The chemistry between us seemed palpable (to me), so maybe she had sensed something. Then again, I had thought my yearning for my mom’s love was unmistakable, yet she’d never seemed to pick up on that.

My eyes were open containers, and I made room inside them for her to pour herself into.

Unmistakably, I was telling her something a little different from anything we’d said before, and she understood because a subtle ripple of dread passed through her eyes.

I grabbed the rearview mirror to look at my broken reflection, stunned that I’d forgotten the glass was cracked. What else could I forget without even trying?

“It’s like… ummm… how do I explain this? It’s like you hold me steady, but without holding me still.”