of worry that something is going to go wrong. Something is going to trigger the figurative trapdoor beneath my feet, and I’m going to plummet. I don’t always know what it is, or when it will happen, but I know it will happen. I know the darkness is nearby, waiting for a reason to ruin everything.”
“But knowing that…” He twists his jaw. “Can’t you make it stop? Can’t you just—I don’t know—stay happy?”
I laugh despite the concern in his gaze. “If I could do that, of course I would. But it’s not like that. I mean, I can talk about it now. I can explain to you what it feels like. But when I’m feeling it? I can’t reason with the monster.” And then I’m tugging on his arm like I’m pleading with him to see that everything is fine. “You don’t have to worry. I’m maybe oversharing—I do that sometimes—but I’m definitely not telling you this because you need to worry. But you asked, so I explained.”
He nods slowly. “And you’re happy now?”
I nod what feels like a thousand times. “Enormously. Like, volcanic levels of happiness. I’m so happy, I could punch a unicorn.”
Vas locks his fingers around mine. “Well, if you’re that happy…” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ll save all my worries for the unicorns.”
I make a face. “I doubt this village has them. They don’t even have a town crier.”
I feel his laughter against my hair, and then we’re walking again, through the park and back down the main street, like we’re the only two people who exist in the world.
And my smile grows and grows until it’s so wide, I’m worried it might shatter.
Smiles are like happiness—eventually, they break.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
To: FlightOfTheRedPandagmail
From: Delilah.Milanoteatrodellanotte
Subject: The time you ate too much ice cream
You wanted to go to that buffet for your birthday—the one at Green Valley Ranch. They had that soft-serve ice cream machine, and you insisted that was all you wanted to eat for your birthday dinner.
You kept going back, again and again. I told you to stop—I said you were going to make yourself sick. Your dad said to let you be, and that if you got sick, you’d learn your lesson for next time. So I left you alone to keep eating ice cream, because I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I didn’t want to be the person that ruined your birthday.
And then you got sick. You cried on the drive home because your stomach hurt. You threw up when we got home, and cried some more.
It felt like my fault. It was my fault. Because I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve been your parent and said, “No, that’s enough ice cream.” I should’ve protected you when you were too young to see when you were making a mistake.
After that, I didn’t care about being the bad guy. I was the bad guy if it meant keeping you safe.
You aren’t young anymore. In some ways you always will be, to me, but you aren’t. Not really. And I don’t know how to stop trying to protect you. I don’t know how to be when I see you doing something dangerous or reckless. I don’t know how to sit back and watch you do something I know in my heart you’ll regret.
It’s always been my job to protect you, since the very beginning.
And maybe you don’t think it’s my job anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can suddenly just stop.
And it’s not fair, you know. It’s not fair that I’m the bad guy just because I care.
I don’t want to be the bad guy. I just want to be your mom.
Love, Mom
The phone rings three times before Mom answers.
“Hello?” She sounds suspicious, like she’s not sure if it’s my voice she’ll hear next.
“Hi, Mom,” I say.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I hear the relief in her voice immediately. “Ah. That’s good.”
“I got your email,” I add.
Mom stays quiet, and the sound of the surviving katydids chirping in the nearby bushes becomes overpowering.
I take a breath, focusing on my words. “You’re not a bad guy, okay? I just… I wanted something different from what you wanted for me.”
“Okay,” she says.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I continue. “Or punish you. Or negatively affect you in any way at all. But you can still be my parent and also let me make my own choices. Because maybe what worked for you isn’t going to work for me. And what you think is a