Prologue
Nea
Sixteen years old
You never think about your parents dying. But then, one day, you turn around and notice that the person who you believed would always be there is leaving you. It happened to me before, when my father decided he didn’t want my mother or me anymore. He walked out, leaving me with my mom, who had to be both parents while working. She gave me all she could, ensuring I was clothed, fed, and schooled.
And I loved her for it.
But as she walks into the room, I no longer see that Wonder Woman who’s taken care of me all my life. My heart aches because she’s become a shell of my mom; the dark circles under her eyes, the sallow hue of her skin, and the frail limbs that used to carry me for hours gone.
“You should go to school, Nea,” she tells me, but I shake my head. I’ve always been stubborn, and normally my mother would give me one look that would make me change my mind. But now, she can’t because I’m not leaving her side.
“What would happen if I left, and you weren’t here when I got back?” I challenge her, and she can’t dispute me. Even as the words leave my lips, I feel the familiar pain. It’s my heart breaking. My mother taught me about heartbreak when I was younger, and she said it feels like you’re physically breaking.
“I’ll be right here. You don’t have to worry, sweetheart,” she tells me with a sad smile, and I know it’s not the truth. I have to worry because my mother is dying, and no matter what we do, we can’t make her well again. She’s not coming home; I heard the doctor tell the nurse.
“I just want to be here. Can I please be here?”
Silently, she nods, settling back on the bed, and for some reason, when she pulls me in, I’m sure she’s about to say goodbye to me. My mother takes my hand and kisses it before she sets it back. Her eyes are watery, and I feel mine burning too. I don’t want her to see how much this hurts me because I know she would want me to be strong.
“I love you, Neacakes,” she tells me in a breathy voice. She used to call me that because I had an epic love of cupcakes, but my mom would put a large, buttery icing on top with the letter N. And they became Neacakes.
“I love you too, Mom, you know that,” I tell her, and she nods. She doesn’t say anything more as she lies back on the pillows. She’s tired. I can tell by the way her eyes flutter, but she manages to keep them open and on me. She watches me with so much affection, but the pain that’s mingled in those familiar eyes makes my heart lurch. I can hear the gentle breaths coming from her. “Tell me about one of your happiest memories?”
She smiles. I can tell the sadness has taken over her. “Besides having you?” she whispers, making tears burn my eyes. “My childhood was filled with excitement. Growing up in New Orleans was special. The city brings out the magic in everything. As if it can bring happiness to anyone. And there was never a dull moment.” Her breaths come out shallow, but the more she speaks, the deeper she smiles. “That house, Neacakes,” she says, looking into my eyes. “It’s special. It’s a home, and if you ever get a chance to visit, go there.”
“I will, Mom,” I tell her. “I promise.”
“I know you’ll love it. The city is . . .” Her words falter, her eyes flutter, and my heart stops for a second before she reaches for my hand. “The city is filled with places to fall in love,” she tells me. “Love will heal you from any heartbreak. It’s never easy getting over pain, but you will.”
I know she’s trying to tell me I’ll get over the heartbreak of losing her. I don’t want to say goodbye, not yet. I want her to stay, to grow old, and walk me down the aisle. But I know I can’t change what’s happening.
Even as I pray to a god I no longer believe in.
I know it’s time.
“I love you, Neacakes. Find love. Go to New Orleans.”
Julian
Twenty-one years old
I always saw my father as a hero. He was strong, responsible, and everything I wanted to be when I grew up. For a long time, I thought I would be like him, focused on my art, on making creative pieces that people would buy and hang in their homes.
But now that I see the man I looked up to stumbling into the house at almost two in the morning, I feel as if I’m living with a stranger. Yes, my dad had been rather eccentric when I was growing up, but he never did anything this irresponsible.