Page 57 of Lighting the Lamp
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 noone 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.”
