Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
And for me, to show that he was serious about what he said, he’d talked to my mom.
I knew he’d talked to her because one Saturday morning when I was trying to distract myself with a tough pole session, she called me.
I almost didn’t believe it was real when I saw her name on my screen, an old photo of us when I was fourteen lighting up the room. I had braces and braided pigtails. She had her arm around me. We were both in swimsuits, the sprinklers going off behind us. We’d been running through them all morning.
“Mom?” I asked when I answered, and instinctively, I thought something was wrong. Why else would she call?
“Hi, Jujubee.”
The nickname warmed my heart as much as it sent a knife spiraling through it.
“Is everything alright?”
“Of course,” she answered, as if she was confused as to why I would think anything could possibly be wrong. She hadn’t called me since Dad and I moved here.
“Okay.”
Silence.
“Your father has been telling me how good you’re doing,” she said. “I… I’m really happy to hear that.”
“Thank you,” I said, but the words were shaky, my eyes glossing with tears just when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore.
I wasn’t doing good at all.
“I was thinking, and… what if you two came home for Christmas? Your dad will only come for a day or two I imagine, with the game coming up. But… you and I can spend a few days here before we meet him in Texas.”
Texas was where the playoff game was on New Year’s Eve.
“You want me to come?”
“I do,” she whispered. “And I… I’m sorry, Julep. For how I’ve handled… well, for how I’ve handled life since Abby died.”
“I made you this way.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I killed her. And then I turned into a monster. If I were my mother, I would have turned my back on me, too.”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
One lone tear rolled down my cheek, and I just let it fall.
“You didn’t kill her.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“Well, I was wrong. I was hurting and wanted someone to blame when the truth is it was an accident.”
I shook my head. “It was my fault.”
Mom was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Did you know your dad and I used to do cocaine?”
I blanched. “You what?”
“We started dating in the late 80s,” she said, as if that explained it. “We would go to concerts all the time — Aerosmith, Kiss, Poison.” She laughed softly. “We were young. We felt invincible. Just like you and Abby did that night.”
Another tear slipped free.
“You were kids, Julep. Neither of you even considered the possibility of an overdose. And in a different situation, one where that drug hadn’t been laced? You both would have been fine. You would have had a great time and laughed about it for years to come.”
“But it was laced,” I croaked.
“It was. And it’s tragic that it was. But that doesn’t make it your fault, and it doesn’t make you a bad person. I know I didn’t help with making you see that,” she admitted. “I’ve been fighting through my own demons. I failed you as a mother, and for that, I’m sorry. But I’m here now. I’m here now, Julep, and I want to make things right.”
I thought of Holden’s uncle Kevin, how he’d talked to me when we were alone that night at his house. I heard his words echoing, his reminder that our parents are humans who make mistakes just like we do.
“I thought maybe we could do something for her,” she said after a moment. “A garden at the church, or a fountain, something to remember her by. Something you and I do together.”
I winced at the word together. It was so beautifully painful to hear.
“Come home for Christmas,” Mom said after a moment.
My heart warmed at the thought.
“Okay.”
Holden
It had been the most miserable holiday season of my life.
Every morning, I woke up with a pit in my gut and texted Julep, hoping this would be the day she answered.
She never did.
I could feel her giving up. I could feel her slipping away. And there was nothing I could do about it.
I promised her space, promised her time. And I held true to that. Even when everything in me begged me to break, I stayed strong. I resisted the urge to call her, to run to her, to so much as even look at her when we were at the stadium.
The only thing that saved me from depression was football.
I threw myself into preparing for the bowl game, waking up even earlier than usual and getting to sleep as early as I could each night. Even then, I’d usually lie awake tossing and turning and trying not to call Julep.