Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
She was everything my mother could have been, had she been alive.
And just like that, with the reluctant forgiveness I granted my no-show dad, I also came to the realization my life was one poor decision by my mother away from being completely different.
My abandonment issues, my fear of loss, my anger—all gone. And maybe, if everything was so fluid, so fragile, it was better to spend time being grateful for the people you did have in your life than resenting those who were absent from it.
Duffy closed the door behind her gently. If there was a DO NOT DISTURB sign for hospital rooms, I bet she’d have put one on our door. She was clearly desperate for Charlie and me to have some kind of a resolution.
Charlie blinked my way, the simple movement slow and labored.
“Hey,” I said.
His gaze dropped to my hands. I had my elbows on my knees, and I was crouching forward, toward him. My stare followed his. My jaw ticked.
He wanted me to hold his hand.
I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to forgive him, to touch him, to love him, to hurt because he was hurting. But somehow, without permission, he’d managed to make me feel all those things.
Reaching out, I placed my hand over his, clasping it firmly. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the morphine—hell, maybe it was the dying—but I swear I felt him shaking underneath me.
I choked on my saliva, willing the words to leave my mouth, knowing that I meant every single one of them.
“I forgive you,” I heard myself say, and underneath my hand, he began shaking harder. His whole body trembled, his eyes clinging to me so hard he didn’t dare blink. “I’m not making excuses for you, but you were young and extra-fucking stupid—the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, by the way. I was a goddamn demon in my twenties.” I squeezed his hand in mine. “Besides, I still can’t commit to a girlfriend at thirty-seven, so I’m not one to criticize anyone in that department.”
Though Duffy hadn’t asked to be my girlfriend. She hadn’t asked me to be my anything.
Charlie stopped trembling. His eyelids slid shut, even though I could see he was fighting to stay awake.
“Don’t fight it, Charles. It’s okay. We all have our day. And you had a good run.” I licked my lips, watching his expression as it became horrifyingly neutral. “I bet if she were alive, she’d forgive you too.”
His hand became cold as circulation stopped flowing. Everything turned slack and lifeless. The pale became paler—other than his lips, which took on a blue hue.
I was there in the most intimate moment of his life. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.
I stayed still when he flatlined, holding his hand when he slipped from the living to the dead. It was hard to make sense of what I was feeling. In a way, I was grateful for the journey with him. In another, I despised him for putting both of us through it.
A nurse rushed into the room a few moments after his EKG had signaled his loss of life. I slipped my hand away and sat straight.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said quietly, buzzing in someone with another one of the endless buttons by Charlie’s bed.
“What makes you think he was my father?” I eyed her.
She looked between us, confused. “Oh, sorry, I thought . . .”
“He was,” I interjected, and I realized that weirdly enough, today, he did feel like my dad. “You’re right. He was.”
Duffy opened the door, looking ashen. Her eyes were red, and her shoulders were slumped. She’d never looked more beautiful than she was right here, in front of me.
“Oh, Riggs.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she cupped her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
That night, Duffy and I went home together, stumbled into her bed together, and had sex together. We both needed that, and the excuse was there—we were broken, we were hurt; if there ever was a chance to make one last mistake, it was tonight. Besides, sex was the antithesis of death. It symbolized life. Lust. Passion. Warmth.
We touched slow, we kissed slow, we loved slow.
When the sun rose and I woke up—now truly orphaned, no second chances, no returns, no surprises—Duffy wasn’t in bed.
I strolled out of her bedroom shirtless, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. She stood in the kitchen, making us both oatmeal and fruit.
She swiveled to the sound of my approaching feet. She wore an oversize shirt of mine and threw a small smile my way. “Hey, you. How’d you sleep? Hope you’re hungry.”
I could tell by the look in her eyes that she thought last night was a reconciliation. I should’ve made it clear that it wasn’t. The hope swimming in her irises was about to be doused with gasoline.