Page 133 of The Design of Goodbye
“What would happen if you turned that puzzle over?” he asked softly.
“It would fall apart.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But you could put it back together, and it’d still be beautiful. Even with a missing piece.”
“That’s impossible,” I said. “Who wants something that’s broken? There’s nothing beautiful about that.”
I was being hypocritical. Hadn’t I, a few days ago, accused Liam of being broken? But I wanted him more than anything. To me, he was beautiful, missing pieces and all. But I couldn’t get myself to believe anyone would ever feel that way about me.
Even him.
My mom’s honesty had destroyed me. Her abandonment had broken me. Now the pieces of who I once was were missing, leaving me gaping open and an ugly mess of someone I didn’t know.
Could I move on? Find myself again? Had my mom stolen my passion for fashion design in one conversation? Would I ever be good enough?
“It’s all about perspective,” said Liam, scooting closer to me. “And I want you as you are. You’re beautiful and more than enough for me. Missing pieces and all.” He paused. “Do you believe me?”
“I’ll try.”
They hadn’t been the words he’d wanted to hear, but they’d been honest. He leaned over and kissed me. First, on the forehead. Then, finally, the lips.
“Can I tell you what happened this week?” I asked when he pulled away.
“Only if you want to.”
I nervously twisted my fingers. I wished we hadn’t finished the puzzle so I had something to do with my hands. “I saw my mom.”
His eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it didn’t go well.” I traced my fingers over the plaid comforter. “She admitted she never wanted me. She resented me.” Voice tight, I finished with “She never loved me.”
He didn’t speak. Instead, he grabbed my hand.
Amazing, wasn’t it? How physical touch sometimes said more than words.
“When you showed up on Tuesday,” I continued, his thumb caressing the top of my hand, “I couldn’t handle any more secrets. That’s why I looked you up. I really thought it would fix things—you wouldn’t have to tell me, but I’d know. And I don’t know...”I blew out an aggravated breath. “I also wanted to be able to help you more.”
“You do help me,” he said.
“But I wish—”
“You can’t make me better,” he said, reading my mind. “I don’t know how to help myself. I can’t expect you to.”
“I wish I could take back the last few days,” I said. “I wish I would’ve done things differently.”
“You can’t change the past,” he said, resting his head on his bed and closing his eyes. “No matter how hard you want to.”
I ran my fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for what happened to your mom.”
His eyes opened. “I’m sorry I made you think she abandoned me,” he said. “When I told you she left me, thatwastrue—to me. But you took it differently, and I couldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t tell you the truth and fix what you thought was true.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s okay. We’re okay.” A strong gust of wind blew, rattling his window. “What do you want to do now?” I asked once the wind calmed.
“Sleep.” With a nervous smile, he asked, “Will you stay?”
“I’ll need to borrow some clothes.”
“I think I can find something for you to wear,” he said, grinning. He got up and limped to his closet, where he rifled through a plastic bin I hadn’t noticed before. “There.” He threw some clothes on my lap.
