Page 79 of Fearlessly Us

“Can I…what?” she asks, looking so thrown I almost laugh.

“Sprite and a glass. I need both those things.”

Emmy gapes at me. “You’re not going to get up and get them yourself?”

I shrug, enjoying being unpredictable for the first time in my life. “Maddy’s closer.”

“Okay.” Sarah sits down across from me and crosses her arms over the island, staring me down, and this time I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing because I can tell she’s trying to be menacing, but Sarah Wyles is about as menacing as a puppy. “What the fuck is happening? You always get your own drink and everyone else’s too. Have you been body snatched? Did you have to work from home for that whole time because you had a brain transplant? Everyone sit,” she orders. “Caitlin has some explaining to do.”

Sophie snorts out a laugh, leaning down to hug me from behind before taking the seat on my other side, and Maddy turns and gets the glass and the Sprite, sliding them across the island before plopping down next to Sarah with her eyes on me. “You look happy, Cait.”

Those four words cut the humor I’m feeling off at the knees, replacing it with an emotion that burns my eyes, and for the second time since my surgery, I can’t stop the tears. I don’t even know what I’m crying about. The surgery, maybe, and the upcoming appointment with my surgeon where I’ll learn just how broken I actually am. The man who has never had more than one night with any woman ever who’s let me sleep with my head on his chest and his arm wrapped tightly around me every night since my surgery and takes care of me when I’ve only ever taken care of myself and makes me feel and makes me think and doesn’t want to change anything about me. The five women sitting around this table who I love more than anyone or anything. Who came because I asked them to and who have loved me for years even though I’m not an easy person to love.

Drew might have filled up some of my empty spaces, but it’s these women, I realize, who make me whole. Who have been propping me up for years. Helping, even when I thought I was the one being the helper.

And knowing that makes accepting the comfort they offer the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

Sarah and Maya each reach across the island and take one of my hands while Sophie and Emmy wrap their arms around me on either side. Maddy stands and pours my Sprite for me before opening the refrigerator and taking out two pitchers of margaritas and pouring those too. In two minutes flat, there are bowls of chips and guacamole on the island and the taco order is placed and Maddy retakes her seat, her green eyes full of understanding. Like me crying at her kitchen island is something that happens all the time instead of something that has literally never happened in the entire history of our friendship.

It occurs to me this is the first time any of them have ever seen me cry, and it’s not so bad to let go a little, it turns out. To let these women take care of me.

“Talk to us, Cait.” Sophie squeezes my hand, and knowing I have them makes it easier to figure out where to start.

Taking a shaky breath, I let it out slowly, looking at each of my friends in turn. “I had surgery last week.” I hear Sophie’s sharp inhale next to me, see the way Sarah’s eyes shoot to mine, worry in her gaze. Maya’s hand flexes on mine, and Emmy looks me up and down like she’s reassuring herself I’m all in one piece, while Maddy just watches me with that even gaze.

“That’s where I’ve been,” I say, looking at Emmy. “Why I haven’t been in the office. It wasn’t because I was introverting out or because your allergy to deadlines was making me crazy. Even though it does,” I say with a little grin, and I see the relief in her eyes at the joke. “It was because I’ve been pretty sure for years that I have endometriosis, and the surgery I had is the only way to diagnose it for real. I’ve been trying to get a diagnosis for a long time, and I finally found a doctor who could help. I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, staring down at the island. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. That I’ve been keeping this from you and everyone else for so long. I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m not…good at that kind of thing.”

Sophie squeezes my shoulder. “Before doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is now, so tell us now. We’re here for you, Cait.”

“Always,” Maya says a little fiercely. “We’re always here for you. That’s the way this works.”

“Sisters.” Sarah’s voice is quiet, her eyes glossing over just a little, soft heart on full display.

“Fuck yeah, we’re sisters.” Emmy nudges my drink closer to me. “And as one of your sisters, I’m going to order you to drink this because spilling your guts is always easier with tequila.”

Laughing a little, feeling lighter with my friends around me, I take a sip, and as I set the glass down, Maddy speaks for the first time. “I’m proud of you, Cait. I swear I mean that in the least patronizing way possible. I know sharing doesn’t come naturally to you, and you would rather help than be helped. I understand this is a big deal for you, and I just wanted you to know that.”

I know the psychologist in her understands. That she probably always has. But this isn’t psychologist Maddy. This is best friend Maddy, and her words have warmth filling my chest. It’s an uncommon kind of joy, I realize, to be seen so clearly by your friends. The family you chose. And I’ll always choose them, just the way they choose me. That’s what it means to be a part of this family.

We’re the lucky ones.

“I seriously thought you were coming here to tell us about all the sex you’ve been having.” Maya’s voice carries a tinge of disappointment, and it cuts the tension right out of the room as we all start to laugh.

“That too,” I say with a grin. “Who do you think took care of me after surgery?”

“Oh my god,” Sarah squeals, clasping a hand to her chest. “Caretaking is so fucking sexy. You better tell us everything, immediately.”

I want to, I realize. So much.

So I do.

I tell them about fourteen years of bad periods that kept getting worse. About doctors that didn’t help and hiding it from everyone. About searching for answers and a self-diagnosis and finally finding someone who might be able to fix me. About surgery and waking up alone and then not being alone because Drew came to get me. About being in his house instead of my own because I like being with him. About him making me breakfast every morning and bringing me an iced latte before my eyes are even open and kissing me goodbye before he leaves for the stadium. About dinner together on the couch and watching movies and talking. So much talking. About telling secrets in the dark and my head on his chest and feeling the most whole I ever have when he’s there next to me. About how it feels to let someone care for me for the first time in my life and how as the outside of me heals, the inside of me feels like it’s healing too.

“You love him.” Maya’s words are a statement, not a question, but I answer her anyway.

“I do. I really, really love him.” Those words are a revelation, and maybe it should feel weird saying them out loud for the first time to my friends instead of to Drew, but it doesn’t. It feels right. Like this is exactly the way it’s supposed to be. “I wasn’t sure I had that kind of love in me. That I could feel that way about anyone. Love means being vulnerable, and I’m not exactly good at that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know,” Sophie says thoughtfully, dunking a chip into the guacamole and popping it in her mouth. “Sounds like you’re doing vulnerable just fine.”