“What are you, a therapist?” I mumble.

“I want to know what’s going on with you. You know that, right? But you ignore my texts and you change the subject whenever I ask about your life. I mean, I had to text your brother to make sure nothing was seriously wrong.”

“Please don’t do that again.”

She holds up her hands. “It was a onetime thing. But you were there for me when I was going through hard stuff. You’ve been there every time I’ve gone through hard stuff—remember how you psyched me up to go confess my love for Drew?”

I nod. “Some of my best BFF work.”

She looks right into my eyes, and I don’t know if it’s the power of her guileless gaze or what, but I can’t look away.

“Can you please just let me be there for you the way you’ve always been there for me?” she whispers, her eyes wide.

I bite the inside of my cheek. I will not cry right now, not when Annie’s wedding is coming up and she has enough to worry about. I will calmly say what I mean, no tears involved. “I didn’t have anyone to help me when I was a kid.”

Annie nods. “I know.”

“And I don’t mean to make my problems sound bigger than yours, because I know your dad died when you were little . . .”

“It’s not a competition.”

“My mom abandoned all responsibility for my problems, and I took over. I handled my problems, my dad’s problems, Milo’s problems. I did both of our science projects, I ironed my dad’s work shirts, I made dinner for all of us. It was all me, all the time, because I couldn’t count on anyone else to do it. When I asked Milo to do something, it didn’t get done. And I would never ask Dad to do it, not when I saw how he handled Mom leaving. It’s always been me.”

Annie nods.

“And I—” My voice breaks and I pause, then keep going. “I guess part of me wonders, do I handle all my own problems because this is the way I’ve always done things? Or do I handle my own problems because . . . well, because I’m afraid that people only love me because I do things for them?”

“Chloe.” Annie leans across the couch and tackles me in a hug. Leia freaks out, hopping around us and barking. “That is not why we love you.”

“What else do I have to offer, though?” I ask, wiping snot off my nose.

Annie laughs into my shoulder. “So much, you dummy. You’re funny and you’re kind and you always smell like vanilla.”

“Why be friends with me when a scented candle could do the trick?”

“And,” Annie continues. “I love you. We love you. We want to help you, Chloe.” She leans back, her hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eyes. “Let us help you.”

“But I’m used to being the helper,” I say. “I’m used to being the one who gets shit done. I don’t want to be a burden.”