Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
RACHEL
I’m checking notes on Mr. Walker’s progress when Faier’s voice calls out from his office. “Rachel, a minute?”
I push back from the table. “Sure.”
“Hey, Dr. Faier.” I enter his office, trying to keep my pulse steady.
Faier is leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the edge of his desk, one hand tapping a pen against his notebook. “Rachel, sit,” he says, gesturing at the chair across from him.
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “I can say I’m surprised you haven’t accepted the director position, yet.”
I freeze. My hands grip the sides of the chair. “I—I haven’t… I was still thinking about it.”
He tilts his head, a faint frown forming. “Thinking is fine, but the department would like to post the job position to the public soon.”
I swallow, the knot in my stomach tightening. “I’m just not sure I’m the right fit. Management isn’t really my thing. I’m more comfortable one-on-one with patients.”
He smiles, patient but firm. “Rachel, you already lead half this team without a title. You know how to guide people, how to motivate them. The difference is that the title just makes it official. That’s it.”
I hesitate to answer, and before I can start, he picks backup.
“Look. I can stall for about another two weeks, but after that, the job will be available to the public. I think that should be enough time for you to seriously consider the position. Listen, Rachel, there is no pressure. But I’d hate for someone else to take this who doesn’t know the patients or the staff like you do. You’ve earned it.”
I rise from the chair, tugging my ID badge back into place. I know he is right. I’ve been waiting for permission to trust myself to make the right decision. But if I don’t know who I am anymore, how can I lead a group of people?
“Thank you, Dr. Faier,” I let out as I exit his office.
I picked up the extra shift after last night’s argument. I typically don’t work weekends, but I was desperate for any excuse not to be in that house. And now that my shift is over, I’m back to searching for an excuse.
I tug Rhett’s hoodie over my head as I head out to my car.
I’m pathetic. I know Rhett will never see me as anything other than his best friend’s sister, but truthfully, I needed something that made me feel safe.
I wanted to feel like my old self. The one before I lost Josh.
So I put on his stupid hoodie. Needing an excuse not to head home, I text Margo.
Me:
Walk?
Sissy Margs
Elmwood trail in ten?
We meet at the trail near her neighborhood, a quiet, tree-lined path tucked behind a row of townhomes and a dry creek bed. She has two coffees in her hands, and she holds one out to me.
“Hey,” she greets gently.
“Hey.” I give her a small smile back.
I lift my latte and take a sip, hoping the heat will ease the tightness in my throat.
“Did you guys fight?” Margo asks after a few minutes.
I manage a short, humorless laugh. “What gave it away?” I try for sarcasm and miss.
“Because you’re doing that thing,” she says gently.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend you’re fine, but your shoulders are tense, and you keep swallowing like you’re trying to push something down.”
Margo keeps talking before I can deflect. “Also, I was at the table when he called you Sunny. I got to witness the entire awkward, emotionally charged exchange. I knew Ben wasn’t going down easy once you two got home. And sorry for bringing up that story.”
I exhale hard and drop down onto a nearby bench, setting my cup on the slat beside me. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known how he was going to react.”
Margo sits too, close but not crowding me. I twist the mangled coffee sleeve between my fingers.
“But uh, yeah. He lost it last night as soon as we got home. Mostly over Rhett.”
Margo takes a sip of her coffee and waits for me to continue.
“He was mad that Rhett was even there. Then he got more mad that I didn’t warn him, like I was keeping it a secret or something from him,” I say, staring at my hands. “He was acting like Rhett was my ex-boyfriend. His mere existence is some kind of threat to Ben.”
“What did he say?” she asks.
I hesitate. The memory sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I drop the shredded sleeve into the trash can and wipe my palms on my leggings.
I’m not sure I want to even tell Margo the whole story.
I know once she hears the words Ben said to me, I won’t be able to change her opinion of him.
And I don’t want Margo to look at me like I’m broken, too.
“He said he doesn’t trust Rhett around me. But I don’t think that’s what he meant. He doesn’t trust me. And then he said…”
My throat closes around the words. I press my hands flat to my thighs.
“He said he thinks part of me still belongs to Rhett. That was the word he used. Belongs. Like I’m an object to be owned.”
Margo’s brow pulls tight.
“And after all that, after accusing me and yelling, he told me to prove to him that I wanted him. Physically. As if kissing him would fix it.” My voice catches. “It felt gross.”
Margo’s voice is quiet. “And did you?”
“Ew, Margo. No, obviously not. I couldn’t. The whole thing felt off. It felt like a big trap.” I stare at the trail in front of us. “He was looking at me like I was his. Not like someone he loved, but like something he owned. Like I owed it to him.”
Margo exhales through her nose. “That’s not love, Rach.”
“I know.” The word comes out thin, flimsy, even to me.
I grip the edge of the bench with both hands, pressing hard into the wood. “I tried to explain it to him,” I say. “Told him the nickname didn’t mean anything. That Rhett doesn’t mean anything anymore—”
“Doesn’t he?” she cuts in.
I snap my gaze toward her. “Margo—”
“I’m not judging,” she says quickly, palms lifting in surrender. “I’m just asking, as your sister, who would never ever judge you.”
I drop my gaze again. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I thought I was over him. I was over him. It’s been years, Margo. I should be over it. But then he looked at me like that and said Sunny and a lot of other things, and it just—”
“Felt like a gut punch,” she finishes for me.
I look up, meeting her eyes. “Yeah.”
We stand at the same time, and I force my legs to move. They feel heavy, but I need the motion.
“I’m not saying you’re still in love with Rhett,” Margo says after a moment. “But I am saying as an unbiased observer, I’ve seen the way Ben talks to you lately and the way Rhett looked at you last night.” She shakes her head. “One of those looked like love. The other looked like control.”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard, sharp pain blooming quickly. At least it’s something real for me to hold onto. We continue along the path.
“When you got with Josh, I naturally started spending more time with Rhett,” I say, watching my feet move. One step, then another. “He never gave me anything back. It was never like that for him. So, I moved on.”
“Are you sure he never caught feelings?” she asks. “How do you know for certain if you never asked him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Am I just supposed to go up to him and say, ‘hi, Rhett, after a decade of knowing me and never crossing that friendship line, do you think you have ever had feelings for me?” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I would have to be insane to do that.”
Margo doesn’t rush me. She never has. That’s why I can tell her what I can’t say to anyone else.
“I can’t go there again with him. I can’t be that girl waiting for him to see me. I spent too many years like that.” I stare straight ahead. “He’s never going to look at me like that.” The words scrape my throat raw.
Up ahead, a golden retriever lunges at a squirrel, nearly dragging its owner off the trail. I fix my eyes on that instead of the mess in my head. Desperate for a break from the Rhett-shaped hole gnawing at my thoughts, I try to pivot.
“Have you ever felt like you’ve lost who you were?” I ask. “I just feel like recently, somewhere along the way, I’ve changed so dramatically that the girl I was, the one I loved being, got lost.”
Margo slows her pace and huffs out a laugh.
“You do know who you’re talking to, right?
” she teases. “When we lost Josh, I was certain that the girl who existed when Josh existed was gone. I shaped myself into whatever people needed. I didn’t even notice how deep the hole I dug was until I met Anderson.
And he let me be angry. Sad. Happy. Whatever I wanted to be.
Didn’t matter how I felt that day; he was just there.
And he helped me realize that the girl I thought I lost, the one I thought I had to give up, was still in me. ”
“I think I’ve spent too much time letting someone else decide who I am. What I’m worth. I’m worried I’ve spent so much time making myself small to the point where I lost the girl. I lost who I loved being.”
“Maybe.” Margo nods once. “But I don’t think you can ever truly lose the person you are. She’s your essence. Your core. I think you just have to choose to stop covering her up.”
We keep walking. When we reach the end of the trail, where the trees open and the sun hits full-on, she looks at me.
“You want to come over?” she asks. “I’ll make us pancakes for dinner. The ones you love, too much butter, and exactly three chocolate chips per bite.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “Tempting,” I say. “But I think I need to go home. Be alone. Just feel this for a little.”
She doesn’t push. “You know where to find me. Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
We part with a brief squeeze of her hand. I watch her walk to her car, then turn toward mine.
When I get home, Ben’s truck is gone from the driveway.
I glance down at my phone and check the time.
It is five thirty on a Sunday. He is probably out with the guys, parked in front of a TV, pretending beer will make everything okay.
I’m pretty sure that is what he did last week.
I’m not relieved exactly, but the absence of his presence allows for my shoulders to drop an inch or two.
As I walk up the steps, something catches my eye. There is a yellow envelope sitting on top of a small rectangular box on my welcome mat.
I blink, and my brows furrow with confusion. Maybe Ben realized how last night looked and felt? Maybe this is a peace offering after everything that went down last night?
But as I step closer, I see my name written across the front.
Not Rachel.
Sunny.
My breath catches.
I crouch slowly, lifting the envelope. The box is taped shut with simple brown packing tape. I recognize Rhett’s handwriting immediately, slightly uneven, the way he always presses a little too hard with a pen.
My fingers tremble slightly as I tear open the envelope and pull out a folded piece of notebook paper.
Sunny,
I wanted to apologize for last night. I never meant to make things harder for you or to make you feel worse. The last thing I want is to see you sad. You know it kills me to see you cry. I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, stronger and brighter than you realize.
I found some things while unpacking the rest of my boxes, and I thought you should have them. Thought maybe they’d bring a little light back into your life, the way they did in mine.
I also grabbed some of your favorite snacks. I figured you might need them today.
—Rhett
I read the note twice. The handwriting blurs on the third. My throat goes tight.
I sit down on the front steps, the box in my lap, and slowly pull at the tape until the flaps open.
Inside is a small stack of things I haven’t seen in years.
My old college sweatshirt, the one from Josh’s intramural team that I’d practically lived in during sophomore year.
A photo strip from that stupid state fair we’d all gone to, me, Josh, Rhett, Margo, all crammed into one frame, making ridiculous faces.
A burned CD labeled “Study Jams / Vol. 3” in Sharpie, my tried and true old playlist Rhett used to tease me for obsessing over.
And at the very bottom, I see a bag of white cheddar popcorn, Oreos and a bottle of cherry Coke.
I let out a shaky laugh. The sweetness of the gesture twists in my chest, warm and painful at the same time. Rhett has never been careless with me. So why have I been so careless with myself?
The front door looms behind me. I don’t want to go inside yet, into that space that suddenly feels too quiet and too full of things I’m not ready to face.
So I stay here on the steps, my arms wrapped around the box, the paper still clutched in my hand. And for just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe someone sees me clearly. Maybe I’m ready to find someone else who will treat me better.