Chapter 18 – Alise #2
“Alise, fear doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means it matters.” Michele leans forward as I pass, grasping my hand and pulling me to a stop.
“You don’t have to know yet.” Ramona grabs my other hand and squeezes. “You just have to stop running before he convinces himself you don’t want him.”
That undoes me because the idea of Beau thinking he was a mistake, of him wondering if he read me wrong, fucking hurts.
“He looked so hurt when I left. He didn’t say anything, but I felt it.”
“Because it mattered to him, too,” Michele says. “It’s not just you.”
“I’m going to ruin it.” Tears continue to trickle down my cheeks, but I don’t let go of either of my friends’ hands.
“No, you’re not,” Ramona says. “You’re going to feel scared. You’re going to have to work through stuff. And you might make mistakes, but that’s not the same thing as ruining it.”
“And if I do?” I ask, my voice small as I glance between the two of them. “What if I mess it up?”
“What if you don’t?” Ramona counters.
“What if it’s already messy, but worth it anyway?” Michele shrugs.
And there it is. The quiet truth sitting in the space between us. I feel it settle in my chest like a heartbeat—familiar, terrifying, and maybe just a little hopeful.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“For what, exactly?” Michele sits back, releasing my hand.
“For not making it weird.”
“Weird is relative. You’re part of this family. Weird is the entry fee.”
“Welcome to the chaos, babe.” Ramona raises her mug and knocks it lightly against Michele’s smoothie.
“I want to be brave. I just don’t know how to stop being afraid.”
“You don’t,” Ramona says softly. “You just love him anyway.”
I wipe my face with the sleeve of Beau’s hoodie and take a shaky breath. The weight in my chest hasn’t really eased; if anything, it’s settled deeper, feeling very heavy and very permanent.
Ramona and Michele are both watching me carefully, like they know the turn is coming before I say a word. “I can’t do this.”
“You can’t do what?” Ramona blinks as she raises her mug to take another pull from the mug.
“This,” I say, waving a hand vaguely at the air, at the door and my whole damn life. “Be with him. Try. Risk everything.”
“You’re scared. That’s not the same thing as can’t.” Michele straightens a little, crossing her arms.
“No,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “I’m being honest. I’m not built for something like this. For someone like him. He’s steady. He’s good. He deserves—God, I don’t even know what he deserves, but it’s not me.”
Ramona tilts her head, her voice slow and just a little dangerous. “You want to say that again so I can knock it out of your damn mouth?”
“Just to clarify, am I allowed to cheer if that happens, or do I have to stay neutral?” Michele raises a hand lazily.
“Neutrality is for cowards,” Ramona mutters.
“Then let the record show, I’m not standing between you and that mug swing, Alise. I love you, but not that much.”
I huff a bitter laugh, but it burns on the way out as I press my hands into my thighs, eyes burning.
“I mean it. I’m always holding people together, showing up, and keeping things light.
I’ve built my life around not taking up too much space so that no one tires of me.
And Beau makes me forget all of that. He makes me want more. ”
My voice cracks, and I curl my fingers into the ends of Beau’s sweatshirt, gripping tight like the fabric might anchor me against the spin. “And it’s too much.”
Ramona’s expression softens, but she doesn’t let me off the hook. “Alise. He didn’t ask you to be anyone but yourself.”
“Yeah, well,” I snap, “I don’t like who I am when I’m not shrinking, when I’m this fucking messed up.”
Silence falls like a weight between us until Michele, quiet but steady, says, “Don’t punish him away because you’re afraid of your reflection.”
I wince as if she slapped me, and honestly, maybe she did. Only emotionally and with precision.
“I know how this ends.” I shake my head. “I get in my head and spiral. I push too hard, but then pull too far, and the person who was trying to love me tires of trying. I carry way too much baggage. I know myself. I ruin things.”
Ramona sighs and stands, stretching like she’s about to wind up for another emotional roundhouse, but she stops in front of me. “I love you, but you’re making the wrong call.”
Michele hums in agreement as she stands, peeling a string off the hem of her hoodie. “Super wrong. Like ‘ordering gas station sushi at midnight’ wrong.”
Ramona nods solemnly. “Like ‘giving Darius a blowtorch with no adult supervision’ wrong.”
“That was one time!” I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“And yet, unforgettable,” Michele says, sipping her smoothie again. “As are most catastrophic choices, but I like this one.”
“Listen. We won’t force it right now,” Ramona continues, “because clearly, you’re in ‘burn-it-down-before-it-can-leave-you’ mode.”
“Trademark pending,” Michele adds with a soft smirk.
“So make your dramatic declarations. Refuse your joy. But when you change your mind—and you will—we’ll be here. With snacks and possibly shovels, depending on how far you dig yourself a hole.”
“I don’t—” I start.
“Don’t,” Ramona says, cutting me off. “It’s okay to be scared.
It’s okay not to be ready. But don’t lie to yourself about what you’re walking away from because we saw your face this morning, and girl, you were glowing.
Darius is probably still blinking like he saw the sun through a magnifying glass. ”
“That poor boy is going to need holy water and eye drops,” Michele adds.
I snort despite myself, even as I press my hand flat against my chest like I can physically hold myself together, like maybe if I press hard enough, I can stop the ache from spreading.
“I just don’t want to hurt him.”
“Then stop hurting yourself,” Michele says. Her voice is quieter now, gentle in a way that cuts even deeper.
A sound slips from me—guttural, raw. Not quite a sob, not quite a scream, but pure grief because this isn’t what I want.
It’s what I have to do. I’ve spent my whole life being the girl who needs too much, who is too much.
And Beau? He deserves someone who won’t shatter every time the ground shifts beneath her.
Someone who won’t flinch when love comes barreling toward her like a freight train.
I curl forward, arms wrapped around my middle like I can hold in everything I’m trying not to feel.
“You’d better be hungry. I’m making waffles,” Ramona says, giving me her best side-eye as she steps around me, heading toward the kitchen.
“Cole is going to be so jealous.” Michele winks at me, tucking her smoothie under her arm like a football. “And if you don’t hurry, we’ll assume you’re wallowing and come back with whipped cream and an intervention playlist.”
“And I know your planner is in there,” Ramona calls over her shoulder. “You love accountability. It’s time to get your life together, queen.”
Michele pauses as she walks past and looks me right in the eyes. “You’re allowed to say no, Alise, but don’t lie to yourself about what you’re saying no to.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me standing in the entryway, wrapped in one of Beau’s shirts, surrounded by the ghosts of what I almost had, with a throat gone raw and a heart cracking clean down the middle because I said no. Not so much with words, but with my actions.
And even though I meant it, it still feels like I just ripped out the best part of me and left it on the floor at his feet.