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This is the trouble with being unconventional. You never know when you’re simply being annoying.
My mum used to say that eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves and I feel the truth of that.
And I was scared my expectations were never going to be met. But I’ve learned it’s better to have unrealistic expectations than none at all.
I return to these memories reluctantly. Then I push them away again. It’s like forcing too many things into a cupboard and using the door to keep them jammed in. Knowing it’s a short-term fix, and that the next time you open it—instant cascade.
When there is so much left unsaid, your mind is free to fill in the words that were never exchanged in a hundred thousand different ways, and believe me, I have.
If cities have a spirit, then its spirit is mine.
Here’s what life has taught me so far: don’t worry about that thing you’re worrying about. Chances are, it’ll be obliterated by something you didn’t anticipate that’s a million times worse.
“If you want to help me then I wouldn’t mind a bit of faith and emotional support, thanks.”
“Me, as a person? Aren’t I enough?”
But I am back to not knowing who Lucas McCarthy is, and I don’t want to be drawn in and spat out a second time.
Bloody hell, Nana Hogg is phenomenal.
“Georgina, about your dad. He never gave up his Saturdays with you, for her. I took some comfort from that.” This makes me feel gratified and confused and guilty and sad, all at once.
Esther gives me a tight hug and I linger in it, feeling small, and made of pink fluff.
Not knowing if he feels the way I feel, knowing I could fall from a huge height, if not. Even though you could be utterly destroyed by hitting the rocks below, there’s no feeling like it.
He was blameless, and he was mine, and he must be protected at all costs.
But I did win. For the first time, I’m not scared of the future. I want to use its potential. Words saved me. My words.
I shake my head. “You made decisions without all the information, which I’ve discovered is how we make every decision.”
Us. After all this time, he is using “us,” and he’ll never know what that means to me.
My heart contracts for the people we once were and I have to clear my throat too before I can speak.
That generosity of caring what someone else thinks, it’s a great quality, it’s not weakness. It’s not your fault if others have exploited it.
I laugh, but I’m heartsore.
He grins and I marvel at how there is now nothing unspoken between us. It’s such a good feeling. I like being able to feel good about him again.
“We’re done,” I shout back, fingers wiping under my eyes. Wishing that weren’t true.
So I reach out into the past, take the hand of that vulnerable, hopeful girl I used to be, and pull her forward to join me.
I don’t know what he’s thinking. I look forward to finding out.