Page 136 of The Design of Goodbye
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to be closer to him. I crawled over the middle console and sat on his lap. It was cramped, uncomfortable, butright. I kissed his cheek and tasted the saltiness of his lingering tears.
“What do you need?” I asked. “We can sit here and stare at the lights. We can talk more. We can go somewhere...”
He contemplated my question.
“I want a CinnaMonster,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Wanna share one with me?”
I leaned forward and kissed him.
chapter forty-six
“What happened?”
My dad stood in the doorway of my mom’s sewing room, holding two steaming cups of hot chocolate and looking concerned. I was lying on the carpet and pushed myself into a sitting position.
“Cleaning,” I said.
He walked over to me. “On Christmas?”
Nodding, I took my Santa-shaped mug of hot chocolate from him. The drink was topped with whipped cream, red and green sprinkles, and smelled of peppermint.
“This looks more like purging.” He sat down next to me and adjusted his apron. He’d gone all out this year and made his own. It was shaped like a Christmas tree, had lights sewn in for the ornaments, and a large star on top covered in an abundance of gold glitter that fell off with every movement he made. “There’s nothing left.”
I pointed to a few plastic bins tucked away in a corner. “There’s those.”
“What’s really going on?” he asked.
I took a sip of my hot chocolate—whipped cream and sprinkles stuck to my lip.
Should I tell him what I’d done? That I’d found Mom?
The easy choice would be no. I didn’t want to revisit everything she’d told me. I wanted to forget. But forgetting was impossible. That was one of the many lessons I’d learned from Liam.
And I still had questions; I was still confused.
Since I’d seen my mom, I’d struggled to accept the person I’d always thought she was with the person sheactuallywas.
I took another sip of hot chocolate—for courage—and said, “Don’t get mad, okay?”
He chuckled. “I can’t promise that.”
This had been his standard response since I was little. Normally, he’d get a snort or an eye roll out of me, but I’d been naïve back then. That’d been before someone I’d loved left me.
“So, I kind of—” My voice was a whisper, and I forced myself to speak louder. “Found mom.”
“You did what?” Some of his hot chocolate spilled down the side of his snowman-shaped mug. “When?”
“Almost two weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it didn’t go well. And she said—” I ran my fingers over the burgundy rug. “She said things that...”
“What’d she say?” He asked this softly and with no anger, but fire was in his eyes.
If I told him...would he leave me, too? It’d been my fear for so long. But I’d started this conversation, and I had an overwhelming need to be honest. And, if he had them, to finally get answers.
“That she never wanted me,” I admitted. I’d expected him to be surprised, but regret shined in his eyes. “Youknew.”
