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“You’re hard to ignore right now,” I mutter, praying for death.

“You know what,” she snaps, severe edge to her voice. “Fuck you, Scotty. You think because you grew up in a trailer park with-with-with subpar parents that nobody else knows struggle? That everyone just knows how to be in healthy relationships and how to parent and life is so easy and la-ta-da-ta-da-ta?”

Herla-ta-dastabs my temples but the fight in her voice stops me cold. She’s not letting this go.

“You think that-that you’re some kind of martyr because your brother died? That you’re the only woman who ever walked out of a hospital without a baby in her arms? Well guess what?” She doesn’t give me time to answer. “You’re not. You’re not special, okay? You’re human like the rest of us.”

I look at her, feeling like a peeled peach with my softest, most vulnerable parts exposed.

“And,” she continues, emotion filling her voice, “even though I have a family in the traditional sense, you’re the one covering my walls even though you keep saying there’s nobody to put on yours.” I look around her house, almost entirely filledwith frames, and land on one of her and I from a few years ago after we let her then-young teenage daughter put makeup all over us. We’re covered in eye shadow holding wineglasses up high as we laugh. It socks me in the stomach. “And you don’t call me and you don’t show me your house. And it’s-it’s-it’s mean. And it sucks. And you suck, Scotty.”

She’s crying now and it’s because of me. If I didn’t feel like a piece of shit before, seeing her tears most certainly does the trick.

I turn so my back is to the counter and slide down the cabinets until I’m on her kitchen floor; she does the same.

“I’m sorry, Joo.” I sniff. “For all of it. I know I have you. I know I do.” There’s a long pause while I find my next words. “When Ford moved back it was like a scab ripped open I thought had healed,” I admit. “Bastard went and made me fall in love with him all over again. And his kid.” I start to cry. “And I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand before leaning against me. “You’ve just let yourself get so tangled up in your past you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Life is messy. For all of us. Not a damn one of us perfect. But you don’t have to do it alone because you aren’t alone.” She interlaces her fingers with mine. “Family doesn’t only mean blood, you know?”

I blow out a breath, dropping my head back against the cabinet. “I got in a fight,” I say. “Ishouldbe alone. I’m genetically predisposed to be a disaster.”

She scoffs. “Are you listening to yourself? Do you see your gene pool, Scotty?” She pauses. “You are nothing like them. Nothing,” she punctuates. “I could kill you for shutting Ford out—meout—and everything that happened yesterday. But”—she angles her head to look at me, a ghost of a smile on her lips—“I’d have paid good money to see it.”

I almost laugh as I let her words settle in me, unsure how they apply to me. Unsure if they even can.

“You should talk to your mom,” she says.

“Be the bigger person?” I make a disagreeing grunt. “That sounds like me.”

No, it does not.

“I’m serious,” she urges. “All these years of you shouldering the weight of everything. How she was when you were a kid. What happened to Zeb. Your dad. I know you see her, but have you ever once had a real conversation with her?” I open my mouth to argue, but she adds, “Reallyfeel?”

Talk to Glory?She knows I haven’t. Glory and I talk the way Glory and I talk: in barely tolerable dark slapstick that isn’t even remotely funny. I wouldn’t know where to start a real conversation with her. My mind goes to Wren and her therapist. Wren telling me I ruin everything and everyone.

I cry.

Again.

“Wren hates me.”

“She doesn’t,” June says with ease. “Kids lash out at the ones they love the most.”

She can’t be right; I saw the look in Wren’s eyes when she shouted every horrible truth at me. How deep every word cut.You couldn’t save your brother, stop trying to save me.

“I can’t be with Ford,” I tell her, sliding my eyes closed. “Not after what happened. How Wren feels about me. And when I tell him the rest . . .”

“That’s for him to decide.”

I open my eyes and angle my head to face her. “This is a whole human, Joo, not a game of hide the pickle.”

My arm vibrates with her laugh. “I know, Scott. But it’s him.” She looks up at me again from her spot on my shoulder, her soothing voice a soft cushion for all my hard edges. “Tell him. Let him decide. That’s how relationships work.”

Guilt talons itself under my skin, but I don’t have the energy to explain why I won’t subject him to me. I love him too much to bring him down like this ever again. I’ll tell him, and then I’ll leave. It’s the only way to fix this. The house is done. The Sellecks will buy Happy Endings. This was my plan all along, now it’s simply execution.

“You’re right,” I say, wiping my thumbs under my eyes with a sniff. My fingertips are covered in black. “Jesus. How much makeup am I wearing?”

“About that.” Her lips twitch as she pulls out her phone, turns on the camera and flips the screen before handing it to me.