Page 105 of The Temptation of Truth

I can’t make my hands stop trembling. I thread them through my hair, push my fingers into my scalp, but still, they quiver against my skin. I swear I can hear my bones and joints rattling as the floor shifts beneath me.

“I’m here,” I tell myself. “I’m sitting still. I’m not spinning out. I’m not abandoned. I’m not alone.”

I am not alone.

I repeat it over and over, but my anxiety is a talented liar, and my body doesn’t recognize the truth through the pain.

I tug at the roots of my hair. I count backward from one hundred. I recite lyrics to Heartless’s very first chart topper. I try to time my breaths with the slow, steady rhythm of the waves. None of it works.

Desperately, I reach for the first calming image I can find and focus on it.

Aurora.

Aurora with her little crocheted tops, wide-legged jeans, and glittery tennis shoes. Aurora with her orchid and the way she gets so excited talking about plants that she forgets to breathe. The way she looks at me. Like it’s physically difficult to look away. Like I’m the most fascinating thing in the room. Aurora and the way she’s literally bursting at the seams with light and energy. I’m witnessing her confidence come out little by little. She’s like a sunrise. A blooming flower. A brilliant, beautiful, wonderful act of nature.

At the wildlife sanctuary, we got to feed quokkas. One of them absolutely loved Aurora. I replay her laughter in my mind. I picture her smile, so big and wide that it transformed her whole face. Her nose scrunched up. Her hazel eyes sparkled. Her cheeks flushed with life and color. We took a selfie with that little quokka, and he looked like he was smiling right along with us. I made it the wallpaper on my phone.

Normally, when I start to feel unsteady on my own feet, when my mind starts to play tricks to convince me that the ground is shattering, I find Sav. It’s automatic. My legs carry me to her without thought. Tonight, though, she’s not who I want. She’s not who Ineed.

Tonight, I let my body lead me through the French doors and onto the terrace.

I let myself find Aurora.

I stand outside her room for a moment, noting the low hum of the television. It’s late. She might be asleep. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t?—

“Hey. I thought I felt you out here.”

My muscles relax at the sound of her voice. It’s such a relief that more tears break through my lashes. When I tilt my face to hers, her smile fades, and she brings her palms gently to my cheeks.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

I close my eyes. “I’m just having a moment.”

“What can I do?” Her thumbs caress my cheeks, the touch so grounding and safe that I lean into it. “What can I do, Mabel?”

“I don’t know.”

She goes quiet, but the silence isn’t awkward. It’s comforting. When she moves her hands to my shoulders and guides me into her room, I let her. We sit on the edge of her bed. She rubs her hand up and down my back. She does for me what I did for her. She gives me space to feel, and she feels with me. And when the spinning slows and the ground stills, I open my eyes and let them find hers.

“I look just like them.”

My whispered words are ragged, my body emotionally exhausted from the overwhelming anxiety. She doesn’t ask who I’m talking about. She doesn’t have to. Instead, she brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and nods.

“An attractive family, then.”

That brings a small smile to my lips before I push forward.

“My lawyer sent me photos. It makes them more real now, you know? It makeseverythingreal, and I feel rushed. I feel all this pressure to decide if I want to meet them or not. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I want to do or what I should do. It’s just...it just all got soheavy. I couldn’t carry it.”

“That sounds really daunting,” she says, her eyes holding mine. “It makes sense that the decision would feel heavy, but you don’t have to make it right now. There’s no time limit, right?”

I shake my head. “No, there’s no time limit.”

Just saying the words helps relieve a little more of my anxiety. There’s no rush. I don’t have to make the decision today or tomorrow. I don’t have to do anything until I’m ready.

But what if I’mneverready?

Will they go back to being strangers? To abstract figures in the back of my mind? I don’t know if that’s possible. I can’t unsee their faces. I can’t unlearn their names. I can’t bury it all back up again.