After a long pause, Tatum giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth to hide her grin.
“I’m going to freeze-dry my parents when they die. Prop their old asses on a love seat so it doesn’t feel like they’re dead,” I said without missing a beat.
Tatum’s giggle exploded into a full-on laugh. “Oh my god! That’s terrible.”
“It would save me and my brothers time. We wouldn’t have to visit them at the cemetery. Spend money on flowers. They could sit in the front row at their own funerals. We could wrap lights around them for Christmas. Hide Easter eggs around them. Of course we’d have to keep the love seat away from the window and direct sunlight. And moisture … and bugs. Nothing a little Borax sprinkled around them won’t remedy.”
“Stop!” Tatum leaned forward, holding her stomach as she fought to catch her breath. She blotted the corners of her eyes. I’d brought her to tears from laughter, and that made my chest fill with pride.
I liked her laughter and her smile.
I liked how right my world felt in her presence.
“You’re so morbid.”
“It’s an inherited trait,” I replied.
“Oh …” She hummed on a long sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed that much.”
I couldn’t remember the last time another human being made me feel so enraptured.
And that feeling? It never faded.
Chapter Five
NOW
“Emmett?”
I glance up at Tatum. “Um … yeah. My dad’s officially retiring. I’m sure he’ll keep the equipment so we can freeze-dry him and Mom.”
Tatum doesn’t wince. Not even a blink. She knows why I said it, but it no longer makes her laugh. I no longer make her smile. That feels like its own death I would grieve for eternity. Her dad still drives for Waste Management. He’ll drive for them until he can no longer physically drive. And her mom still teaches piano and flute lessons in spite of her arthritis. But they did take off the entire month of February to stay with Tatum’s sister in Florida. That was her dad’s idea of partially retiring—saving his vacation to use all at once each year.
I know everything about her family because I bled Lucy for every detail. And I like to believe she asks our daughter for details about my family—and maybe even me. Pretending Tatum still loves me in some small way makes my life a little less awful.
“So are you serious? About wanting the house?” She pushes off the kitchen counter and makes her way into the living room, taking a seat on the cotton side chair that was not made for normal sized people or giants like myself. But my wife (she will always be my wife to me) is still a tiny dancer.
“Of course.” I lean forward on the sofa, resting my forearms on my knees.
“Do you want to discuss it with Lucy first?”
“Why? Is it her idea to sell it or yours?”
“Both. We’ve discussed it, and we agree it might help.”
“I’m confused. Help? Who? Does she need help?”
Tatum picks at nonexistent lint on the arm of the chair. “That’s the thing … I think she should be done with therapy by now. And I can’t help but wonder if living in this house is the last thing holding her back from completely moving on.”
I clear my throat. “Did she say that?”
“No.”
“Did her therapist say that?”
Tatum rolls her eyes. “Dr. Kane never says anything to me. Why would she? I think she likes all the money she’s getting just to chat with Lucy. I don’t think there’s much actual therapy taking place anymore. But Lucy feels she’s not ready, and she won’t say why exactly, so the only thing that makes sense is the house.”
“I’ll talk with her.”
“Fine, Emmett. You talk with her. I don’t know what you say to her every time you two have your little talks, but clearly you have more influence over her than I do.” Tatum’s voice holds a world of resentment. She got custody of Lucy. They spend so much time together, but Tatum doesn’t have the same bond that I have with Lucy. And she doesn’t understand that it’s not a bond that she should envy.
“I think the influence is time.” I give her a sad smile. “I don’t get to see her that often, which means I don’t have as many opportunities to butt heads with her. I get to be her friend more than her dad. You have to balance the friend role with the mom, disciplinarian, role.”
Tatum slides her gaze to the front window, dragging her teeth over her lower lip a few times. “You know … she’s seventeen now. She’s driving. She’s becoming a responsible young woman. I think she should start making some of her own choices when it comes to you.” When her gaze returns to me, it’s softer.
“What do you mean?”