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So, like an idiot, I get defensive. “Because you already get a front-row seat to all my other medical issues! I hate you seeing how weak I am! So, forgive me for wanting to maintain just a shred of my dignity.”
My fingers claw through my hair. I watch her face go from shocked to ice-cold, and I know I’ve fucked up.
“Weak? You think that I think that you’re weak?” Holly speaks slowly, like an executioner giving a gentle practice swing of their ax.
My jaw clenches as I shrug.
“So, by that logic, you think I think my brother is weak?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Those words come out whip-fast. “To clarify, I’ve never thought of you as weak or less than because of your illness. If anything, I admire your strength when it comes to dealing with all the crap life has piled on you. So, this issue you have is yours, not mine. And it doesn’t give you the right to lie to me.”
“You’re making this bigger than it has to be,” I growl, frustrated that she doesn’t understand. That I can’t make her understand. “I didn’t tell you. So what? I’m fine now. It’s over.”
Holly stares at me for a moment, no expression on her face. I thought I wanted the anger in her eyes gone, but this blank look is even worse. Silence sits heavy between us, pressing on my chest, making me wish I could take back everything I shouted at her.
“Do you know why I’m afraid of needles?”
For a moment, I can’t speak, the abrupt topic change throwing me off.
Apparently, she doesn’t need me to respond, continuing to talk in an almost-conversational tone. But sitting in the bottom of her voice is a hint of some emotion I can’t place.
“I’ve told you about my mom. Her problems with addiction. It started with pills and booze, but when those stopped giving her what she needed, she moved on to bigger things. Like heroin.”
She pauses to take a breath, and that’s when I realize what the emotion is.
Pain.
“She’d tell me she was done. Say she wasn’t going to use anymore. Then, that needle would slide into her arm, and my mom would disappear. Instead, I’d get a stranger. She’d forget I existed. Or remember and curse at me for existing. Then, the drugs would wear off, and my mom would come back. Again, she’d tell me she was done. Then, she’d get another needle.” Holly’s tone doesn’t change, but her eyes shine overly bright.
Every word of her sorrowful story digs into me, and I ache for her. If I thought she’d let me, I’d pull her into my arms, have her rest her head on my chest, and tell her to let the tears gathering in her eyes fall.
“The last thing she said to me was, ‘I’ll see you next week.’ That was two years ago. So, yeah, your lie might not seem like a big deal to you or anyone else. But I’ve had more dishonesty than I ever need from someone I care about.” While she talks, Holly keeps her gaze just over my shoulder, and now, she raises it to the ceiling, blinking rapidly and visibly swallowing.
“I’m sorry, Holly. I promise I won’t do it again. I’ll tell you everything.”
When I move to step toward her, she holds up a staying hand.
“We should probably take some time.”
The shards of glass are back, cutting up my insides as I try to stifle the panic. “What do you mean?”
She talks while keeping her face tilted upward, “This whole situation is stressful. There’s a lot of pressure. Let’s just put things on hold for now.”
My first urge is to shout, No!
I have to breathe in deep a few times before I can respond without yelling, “I disagree.”
There’s steel in my voice, and it gets her to finally look at me.
Holly frowns, obviously frustrated that I won’t just follow along with her dictate. “We can talk after the surgery.”
I shake my head.
“I made a mistake. I was stupid. But I’m not your mom. And it doesn’t matter if it’s before or after the surgery; I’m still going to want you.” This time, I ignore her staying gesture, moving to stand in her personal space so that she has to crane her neck to glower at me.
Her palms press flat on my chest to push me away, but I capture them in my hands and hold her close.
