“No, you won’t. Have you eaten?”
“Kristy brought me a sandwich. I only ate half, but you probably need more food than half a sandwich for dinner, huh?”
He grunted. “Yeah. I’ll just eat on the way.”
“I’d offer to cook, but I’m in desperate need of a trip to the store.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon.”
“’Bye.”
After ending the call, I ran around the house, making sure it was still clean and that I looked presentable. I got ready for bed, but I didn’t wash my makeup off. Even though I was pretty sure that Dalton would still adore me makeup-free, I wasn’t ready to take that step with him yet. A girl with no makeup on always felt a little vulnerable; it was a universal truth. They didn’t call it war paint for no reason.
Dalton walked right in without knocking, clearly making himself comfortable already, not that I minded. “Hi!” he shouted as he opened the front door.
“In the living room.”
“Please tell me you made me more cookies.” He peered into the kitchen and sniffed the air.
I had. Because I’m a complete sucker for him already. Again.
“You’re the best,” he said as he grabbed one off the cooling tray and bit into it. “I seriously love you—” His eyes grew as wide as mine at his words. “Your baking. I love your baking skills
,” he said in an awkward attempt to backtrack.
“You can thank my mom. She taught me how to bake, and it’s her recipe.” I smiled at him but my heart was racing, still trying to process what he’d almost said.
“Speaking of, how’s your mom doing?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. He moved onto the couch next to me, threw his arm around me, and pulled me close.
I smiled as I thought of her. “She’s doing really well, thanks for asking.” I nuzzled against his chest, reveling in the fact that it was comfortable instead of hard like a rock.
Death had a weird way of bringing people together. When my dad first died, neighbors brought us meals, stopped by at all hours, and checked on us every single day to see if we needed anything. But it was during those first few weeks, months even, that my mom and I could barely see past our own grief to truly appreciate what they were trying to do.
So many meals got tossed in the trash before we could eat them. It wasn’t that we were ungrateful, it was simply that we were unable to navigate through the fog of sorrow that had settled over us to do simple tasks like feed ourselves. Everyone gathered around us when we weren’t ready for it, crowding us at a point that we needed to be left alone. Meaning well, they tried to lift us up when all we wanted was to stay on our knees.
By the time the fog started to lift and I realized that I needed the help and support of others, it was too late. Everyone had moved on. Daily visits had turned into weekly ones, which eventually turned into none. It was just the way life went. Everyone else had moved past our grief because they didn’t have to live in it. Our tragedy was no longer their front page news.
I never blamed anyone for it, I simply wished it had been different. People surrounded us when we couldn’t see them and left us alone when we needed them most. And that was when the true loneliness crept in, reminding me that my grief was mine alone to bear and work through. Although for the most part, I tucked it away and tried to be strong while my mom fell apart.
My grief saddled me, though, and I wore that heavy burden like an oversized cloak I couldn’t shed. Until Dalton came along, that is, and I allowed him to peel back the layers.
“Did she ever get remarried?” he asked.
I winced a little. “No. She has a boyfriend that she’s been seeing for a couple years, but I don’t think she ever wants to get married again. She seems really happy, and that’s all I want for her, you know?”
He nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I would want too.” His smile looked sad as I vaguely remembered his parents.
“How are your parents? I bet your mom’s glad you’re back in California instead of New York, huh?”
“She is. She’s good. She actually got remarried and had another kid, if you can believe that.”
I swallowed, remembering that the topic of parents was a sensitive subject for him. Hell, it was a sensitive topic for us both. “Do you like her new husband?”
He leaned to one side and his neck cracked. “I do, actually. He’s nice. They seem to really like each other, and that’s not something I’m used to seeing.”
“What about your dad?”
“I saw him last week. I don’t know what happened with him. He was fucking miserable when he and my mom were together, but he seems even more miserable now that they’re apart.”