Kind of weird she said it again—and it doesn’t work, by the way, I mean I love Alex, and yet I’m still here and maybe I should mention to her that she is way off. But—

Wait.

Something in my chest twists and wrenches. I suck in a sharp breath.

No. No. I was wrong. I heard it wrong.

She isn’t telling me the only way through is for me to love someone, or something, else.

That’s what I heard, but it’s not what she said.

Time is outside. Happiness is inside.

Bee said something similar. It has to come from in here. In me.

What she said was the only way through is to love Jane.

There’s no comma.

I put the comma there.

Lightheaded, I slump on the bench, the realization washing over me in a wave, the truth of it sinking into my bones and settling with the rightness of it.

She didn’t say, Jane, the only way through is to love, she said I need to love Jane.

Me. I need to love myself. Accept myself, exactly as I am, warts and all.

I blink back tears. Holy hell, that’s deep.

Giddiness pulses through me. I want to hoot at the sky, but at the same time I’m struck silent, immobile, reeling with emotions. Happiness that I know what I need to work on next, satisfaction that I figured it out, and fear that I won’t be able to do something so simple and yet so essential. Why is it so hard to love myself?

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” my teenage best friend says. Her head tilts back, eyes shut, a small smile on her face.

I grin up at the desolate fog. “It sure as shit is.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I really love your shirt,” Stacey says. “Is that new?”

“It is.” I grin. “I made it.”

“Really?” One of Stacey’s brows quirk up.

The blouse is a bright teal, paired with black pants that have matching teal seams. I did my makeup and hair the way Dolly taught me, taking extra time, which means I showed up even later than normal, but I’m late every day and it never makes a difference. I simply don’t care anymore. I realize now that it doesn’t matter, so why let it stress me out? I’m just hurting me. No one else gives a shit.

“We’re ready when you are,” Blade says.

“Right so . . .” I stare down at the papers in my hands.

What am I doing? Why am I doing this to myself? Is this really what I want? Am I putting myself through this every day because I want to keep working here, or am I doing it because I want to prove to them I can?