1. #3
"Oh my God," she says, voice wobbling. "I-I watched it. I watched the whole thing. They kept panning to you and I just..." She inhales sharply, like she's trying not to sob. "I just wanted to crawl through the screen and hug you."
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
The lie comes out too smooth.
Bianca shakes her head hard enough that her bun loosens. "No, you're not."
I don't respond. I don't deny it. I don't confirm it either. I just turn slightly, walking along the edge of the patio like movement will make this easier to hold.
Crickets chirp. The backyard lights glow low and warm. The air smells like trimmed grass and expensive landscaping.
Bianca wipes her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Did he..." Her voice drops. "Did he do anything tonight?"
My stomach tightens, but my face doesn't change.
"No," I say. "Not tonight."
Not yet, I don't add.
Bianca nods like she's relieved, but the relief doesn't stay. It never does. It always gets replaced by the next fear, because with Rodney, the fear is never about what already happened. It's always about what's coming.
"He won," Bianca whispers, like she's saying a curse.
"I know."
"He's going to be-" She swallows, blinking rapidly. "He's going to be more stressed. And you know what happens when he's stressed."
I watch the dark outline of the trees at the edge of the yard. My toes curl against the stone beneath me.
"I know."
Bianca presses her lips together, breathing hard through her nose like she's trying to stay calm for me, but Bianca has never been good at pretending.
"I hate him," she says, the words sharp for once. "I hate him so much."
I let out a small breath that could almost be a laugh. "B..."
"No. I'm serious." Her chin lifts. Her eyes shine. "He doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve anything he has. And I-" She breaks, voice splintering. "I'm so far away."
Something soft moves in my chest, and for a second it's almost unbearable, because Bianca is one of the only people in my life who loves me without wanting something from me.
"You being far away is a good thing. You're prioritizing yourself and becoming Dr. Price," I tell her gently.
Bianca looks like she wants to argue, but she can't.
I stop pacing and lean against one of the patio columns, phone held steady.
"I'm okay," I say again, but this time I make it sound like a reassurance, not a lie. "I'm... I'm strong. You know I'm strong."
Bianca's mouth trembles. "I don't want you to have to be."
I swallow and glance down at the hem of my pajama top, smoothing it even though it's already smooth. My old habit. Fix the surface. Control what you can control.
"How's your program?" I ask quietly, shifting the conversation the way I've been trained to shift it. "You're still doing clinical hours this week, right?"
Bianca sniffs. "Naomi."
"Bianca."
She stares at me for a long moment. Like she's deciding whether to let me get away with it.
Then she sighs, defeated, because she knows this is how I survive. I don't survive by talking about Rodney. I survive by pretending he's weather. I survive by acting like I can handle storms.
"My program is fine," she says, voice softer now. "My advisor is still a demon. My cohort is still annoyingly competitive. And yes, I have clinical hours. And yes, I'm still behind on my dissertation proposal." She tries to smile. It doesn't stick. "But that's not what matters right now."
"It matters," I say, and my voice is steady. "To me."
Bianca's eyes go glassy again. "You always do that."
"I just don't want to talk about him right now, Bianca. I'd much rather talk about you and your life in California or anything else."
"You hold everybody else up," she whispers. "You always make it about us so we don't look too hard at you."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Because she's right.
And because if Bianca looks too hard at me, she might see the version of me sitting on the shower bench, shaking, praying for time to speed up so my mother can be free and I can finally be gone.
I don't want Bianca to carry that.
So I give her my calm. My composure. My carefully arranged normal.
"I'm going to sleep," I say softly. "It's been a long day."
Bianca's shoulders sag. "Okay."
But then she leans closer to her camera, eyes fierce despite the tears. "Promise me you'll text Reese if anything feels off. Promise me you won't try to handle it alone."
I manage a small smile. "I always text Reese."
"That's not a promise."
I exhale and look up at the night sky like it might give me something holy.
"I promise," I say.
Bianca nods, and tears finally spill down her cheeks. She wipes them quickly, embarrassed, like crying is something she should apologize for.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too."
The words are simple. True.
Bianca watches me like she wants to memorize my face through the screen. Then she whispers, "Good night, Naomi."
"Good night, B."
I end the call before she can see my throat tighten.
The screen goes dark, reflecting me back to myself.
I stand there in the backyard for a moment longer, phone hanging at my side.
Then I turn off the patio lights and go inside.
Because tomorrow will still come.
And I will still have to smile.