Page 68 of Entangled
It’s Christmas morning.The gifts are unwrapped, breakfast is done, and Dad and Greta are in the main living room, watchingMiracle on 34th Street.
Meanwhile, I’ve done nothing but mope.
I miss my mother. I miss Henry. I’m jealous his sister gets to spend Christmas with him. I’m envious of my father’s healing capacity.
“Rowan-Anastasia Punzel, would you please stop pacing and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.” I plop onto the other end of the couch and hug my bent knees.
“Your mother used to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend everything was fine.” He eyes me sadly and fixes the quilt draped over his knees. “Even when it wasn’t.”
Greta rises. “I’ll let you two talk privately.”
“No, stay.” I point to where she was sitting beside me. “I want you here. I’m sorry for moping. I’m just a little sad. I don’t want to put a damper on anyone’s Christmas.”
She slowly settles back down. “If I can speak on behalf of your dad and me, you aren’t putting a damper on anything. We just want to see you happy.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “Where’s Henry?”
“His sister is visiting from New York. He’s with her.”
“Were you invited?” Dad asks.
“Of course, I was.” I stare at the lit tree decorated in blue and silver. “But you know I can’t leave the house.”
“You can, Rowan-Anastasia. You just choose not to.” Dad pauses the movie. “I want you to listen to me. I know you miss Mom. I miss her too, and I will love her until the day I die. Part of loving her and honoring her memory is allowing ourselves to move forward. To live. Mom wouldn’t want me to be alone.”
“Dad, I’m not upset with you for finding love again. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.” I glance at Greta. “I adore you, and I’m so grateful to you for making my father happy.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she whispers, squeezing my hand tighter.
I gesture between them. “You two deserve happiness.”
“And so do you.” Dad wipes a tear from his cheek. “Mom would hate seeing you punish yourself all these years for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“But itwasmy fault.”
“Honey, no. You were only a child.Iwas the one behind the wheel.” Another tear slides down his cheek. “I’m the one who lost control of the vehicle.”
“It was an accident,” I say, realizing after all this time that he blames himself too.
Greta hands him a tissue, and he blows his nose. “Right.” He sniffs and takes a moment to compose himself. “And even though it’s been sixteen years, it still hurts.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “It hurts a lot.”
“And you know what? That’s OK. It’s allowed to hurt. We’re allowed to grieve. But Mom wouldn’t want us to spend the rest of our lives grieving.”
“I know.”
“I’m finally living again.” He reaches for Greta’s hand. “I’m truly happy, and I want that for you. It’s time for you to start living your life, Rowan-Anastasia.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I have atoned for long enough. The problem is, I’ve spent so long locked away from the world that I don’t know anything about the world I hid from.
