“I have to go, Kit. She’s almost well enough.”

His eyes come alive with something, but he looks at a passing car to cover it up. “I know you eventually have to get back to your own life, I do. But stay a little while longer.” When I cock my head at him, he says, “Please, Helena.”

“Why?” I ask. “She doesn’t want me here.”

“I do,” he says. He clears his throat, and then repeats himself. “I want you here.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“Annie loves you,” he says, like it’s explanation enough.

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “And I love Annie. But, I’m not her mother; Della is. And I’m not your girlfriend; Della is. And I can’t stay here and play house with you. It’s hurting me. It’s going to hurt me to leave. I just want to get it over with.”

I didn’t intend on saying all of that, but I’m sort of relieved. Kit suddenly spins toward the street. Both hands go to his head, where he grips his hair until it’s standing straight up. I can’t see his face. Just the tensed up rear side of him.

When he turns back around, he’s angry. I’ve seen many things in Kit’s eyes—fear, wonder, play. I have never seen emotions boil. Irises hot and sharp and full of color. They’re zoned in on me, pounding out anger in between blinks. I back up a step.

“Go back where?” he says. “To my hometown? To Greer’s cannery? Why are you even there, Helena? Want to tell me that?”

I smooth down my hair. “Sure, Kit. I’ll tell you. I moved to Port Townsend because I fell in love with my best friend’s boyfriend. I wanted to get as far away from the both of you as I could, while also being as close to you as I could. Does that make sense, or does it sound too crazy?” He’s blinking fast, so I keep going. “Because when I say it to myself it sounds crazy. And here I am, taking care of your baby, falling in love with your baby, which, by the way, she’s so much better than both of you. Your girlfriend is a narcissistic bitch, and you’re an indecisive coward. Congrats on creating a little human that’s perfect. So, I’ll go home now, back to Washington, which you left, and I chose. And you stay here with the woman you chose. And I’ll keep loving all of you, despite the fact you’re all idiots. And Kit, take care of my little girl. If you fuck her up, I’m going to fuck you up. Now move your car so I can leave.”

I fully expect him to do as I say. Hands on hips, I wait. After all, I am angry, and yelling—channeling my inner Professor McGonagall like a bad bitch. Kit doesn’t leave. Son of a bitch. All Florida does is make my hair frizzy, and my brain crazy. I have to get out of here.

“Would you stop just standing there with your pretty hair blowing in the wind, and say something,” I yell. Kit’s eyes are focused over my left shoulder.

“My God,” I whisper, closing my eyes. Of course this would happen, of course. I turn around to face my former best friend. Former, as of five months, or five seconds, ago. I don’t even know anymore. She’s leaning against the side of Kit’s truck, her chest heaving. It must have taken everything she had to walk out here on her own. My impulse is to go to her, help her back inside, but the look on her face keeps me where I am. It feels like a standoff, no one really knowing how to break the silence. It should be me, I think. I’m the one who screwed up.

I feel the air move as Kit rushes to her. She lets him pick her up, never taking her eyes from mine. I can see the betrayal, the hurt. This sucks so badly.

“Della…” her name drops from my lips too late; they’re already inside. I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave because Kit’s car is still in the way. What have I done? I shouldn’t have come back. Kit comes out a few minutes later, his head bowed, hands in pockets.

“She wants to speak to you,” he says. “She’s in the living room.”

I nod.

“I’m so sorry, Kit. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” he says. “You should have. Just go speak to her. I need to take a walk.” He walks past me, down the street, and my stomach rolls with sick. I just admitted to being in love with my best friend’s guy. Out loud. To him, and unknowingly her.

I take my time going in. This whole situation has been boiling for months. I knew it was coming, but I still feel wholly unprepared. Della is sitting in her pink armchair when I walk in, like a queen. She’s always made me feel small, and I’m tired of it. She doesn’t look at me. No one wants to look at me. That’s how the truth works. If you avoid looking at it, you can pretend it’s not there.

“You’re not even as pretty as me.”

That’s the first thing she says to me.

“I’m having a really hard time believing you just said that to me,” I say. “Can you say it again, just so I can confirm to my own mind what a bitch you are?”

“You came here to steal my family.”

I shake my head. It’s sort of a slow shake because I’m trying to mentally catch up to the fact that my best friend of ten years just told me I wasn’t as pretty as her, followed by one of the most insane accusations ever.

“I came here to help you. To help you with Annie until you got better.”

“You’re a liar,” she says. “I’ve seen the way you are with him. You came here hoping something would happen to me so that you could have Kit and Annie. I’m not going to let you take my family. She’s my baby, and I don’t want you near her. Do you hear me?”